<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489</id><updated>2011-07-29T01:10:31.817-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mimic</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>41</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-4733183247838458471</id><published>2008-09-23T14:35:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T15:00:48.093-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chuchette</title><content type='html'>My son is the child who still sleeps with a pacifier (or chuchette)-and I stress, SLEEPS with it only. I do not allow him to have it any other place but his bed. (OK ,I take it back, if the very occasional nap time is in the car, he can have it)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I couldn't figure out why he wasn't falling asleep during nap time. 1 hour became two, so I decided to go up there and investigate. He had thrown everything out of his crib, and was smiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Maybe he's not tired&lt;/em&gt;?&lt;/span&gt; I thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not my son, he's the kind of kid who requires at least two hours of nap, and 11 hours of sleep at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After finding his two pacifiers on the floor, I figured he had bitten through them. When he's teething, he bites on them with all his might to relieve the pressure and bites holes in them, "breaking" them.&lt;br /&gt;I snagged the reserve one in the cabinet, and he put it in his mouth, and he fell fast  asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it's a "crutch", but if it gets him to sleep, would it really be a crime if Vaughn had a pacifier until he's say...18?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-4733183247838458471?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/4733183247838458471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=4733183247838458471' title='46 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4733183247838458471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4733183247838458471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/09/chuchette.html' title='Chuchette'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>46</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-2473677409446297305</id><published>2008-09-11T20:42:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T20:58:07.309-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pre- School, Already?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Panic stricken, my friend Katie called me to inform me that we have to start looking into pre-schools for the kids.  She spoke with my neighbor about the program she sent her kids too, and was told that there is a pretty large waiting list, and we should sign up a.s.a.p. for next fall to insure a spot. Now, there are a ton of programs we could send them, but our school district has an internal program.  It makes the most sense for me to send them to the school district pre-school program.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; It is so crazy how fast time goes, and how fast we are making it fly.  V and A are only 2 years and 4 months old.  They are starting school a year from now!  Yes, it's pre-school, but real school none the less.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-2473677409446297305?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/2473677409446297305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=2473677409446297305' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/2473677409446297305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/2473677409446297305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/09/pre-school-already.html' title='Pre- School, Already?'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-1709649910721043288</id><published>2008-07-31T13:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T13:34:15.259-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Swinging into Summer...too late</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Last week was a great week.  I finally got together with my High School friends, two of them with twins, and one is a new momma. I went over to my neighbor Katie's house for drinks after the kids went to bed.  Rick and I took Vaughn and Avery for a fun day at the near by Lake Park for some afternoon fun.   This week, we walked to our community center, played at the park, had a picnic snack and looked for ducks in the pond.  After nap, we went over to the pool, and the kids for the first time, REALLY enjoyed themselves.  Vaughn was running through the sprinklers screaming his head off.  Avery was dancing under the raining flower doing arabesques.  We went over to the "big" pool, and they actually walked in on their own.  Avery lays on her belly in the zero depth area and kicks her feet.   Finally, we had some playtime with almost all the cousins, and they really had a ball.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Every morning when I wake up, I look out the window and notice that it isn't as light out anymore, and the sun is setting earlier and earlier with every passing day.  It makes me sad, because I feel like I've just now, dove into summer.  As soon as it arrived, it will disappear.  I'm trying to soak up every day, and enjoy the shoelessness, the easy "go throw some shorts on".  I love flip flops and afternoons at the park.  Grilling every night, or going out to a restaurant to sit outside with a Mojito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Summer is the best time of year for me.  This is one of the best summers I've ever had.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-1709649910721043288?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/1709649910721043288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=1709649910721043288' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1709649910721043288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1709649910721043288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/07/swinging-into-summertoo-late.html' title='Swinging into Summer...too late'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-1323886931811545162</id><published>2008-06-30T12:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T13:17:50.135-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The few things I dislike about Summer</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;We all love summer right?  The warm weather, being outside in the fresh air...I could go on for hours.  There are some things that are really ANNOYING about summer.  I know they don't out weigh the winter's crappiness, but they do exist, so let me tell you what I don't like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;There are only 3 (thank god, any I experienced all of them last night)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;#3) &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mosquitoes. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; I would venture to guess we all hate these little buggers.  At least we can repel them.  This is why they are at the bottom of the list.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;#2)  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Firecrackers.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Since having children, I have grown to HATE, HATE, HATE them.  The people of the neighborhood are always firing them off when my children are sleeping ('cause it's dark).  The home schooled kids down the street happen to light 'em up in the street, and scream at the top of their lungs.  It kills me.  I guess it is that time of year, and not much can be done about it for the next month.  Thank god for the sound machines we purchased for the kids a few months ago.  They muffle out a lot when they are on the highest setting, although, last night they were awakened at 10pm by the last pops of them.  This too can be stopped after 10pm when the noise ordinance kicks in.  It's just a quick call to the police station.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;#1)  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ding Dong Ditchers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;In our case since we do not have a doorbell, the little bastards either knock ferociously, or in the last situation, kick the door so hard the knocker we have knocks with the aftershock.  I was watching a movie at about 11pm, when I was startled by the sound of someone kicking my door in.  I slapped my husband in the face a few times (who was sleeping in my lap) to wake him screaming "wake up, didn't you hear that?".  I heard the punks leaping from the stairs, and scatter.  My first instinct is to open the door an let my trusty hound out to "sick 'em".  But I didn't.  I put Louie's leash on, and walked around outside saying,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"OK Louie, find them.  Hey punks, should I let my dog find you, and you can square it up with him?  Next time I will, and I'll tell the cops you were trespassing".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I saw a little punk kid scamper across the street and dodge behind a house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; There isn't much you can do.  Kids will be kids.  I guess it's payback for my husbands behavior as a teen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;All in all, summer is fantastic!  If it was only a few months longer.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-1323886931811545162?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/1323886931811545162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=1323886931811545162' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1323886931811545162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1323886931811545162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/06/few-things-i-dislike-about-summer.html' title='The few things I dislike about Summer'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-8780539234362471634</id><published>2008-06-19T21:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T21:40:44.866-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll scratch your back, if you'll scratch mine</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;My friend Katie and I have begun kid swapping.  We started this after we watched each others kids a few afternoons to get some errands done.  I finally said to her,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;"Hey, why the hell aren't we doing this once a week?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;So, the birth of "Kid Swapping".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I LOVE it!!  Who wouldn't?  I have 2 free hours a week for &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;.  The best part is, it's free and guilt free since I then watch her son.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;These past few weeks, all I've done is accumulate supplies for my yard.  Overall, I have worked a total of 8 hours doing yard work during naptime.  It is finally looking pretty nice.  I have a few more things I'd like to do, but the maintenance alone will keep me busy all summer when the kids aren't.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-8780539234362471634?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/8780539234362471634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=8780539234362471634' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8780539234362471634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8780539234362471634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/06/ill-scratch-your-back-if-youll-scratch.html' title='I&apos;ll scratch your back, if you&apos;ll scratch mine'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-4508221114247453429</id><published>2008-06-04T13:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T13:54:59.931-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Imaginations Gone Wild</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Last week, my lovely daughter told me that she was going to run away.  I was changing her diaper, and she looks at me and says&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Mom &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;(yes Mom)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;, I onna run way."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Your going to run away?" I asked&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Yep Mom, run..aaaaway" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;and she points her finger towards the door.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Where are you going?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I asked&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"I, I , I live at store!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I decide to inquire further.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"What will you eat and drink at the store?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Without hesitation,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;" I eat Thai food, and drink coffee" she replies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"And who will change your diaper and give you a bath?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;With a big smile,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;"Katie will change a diaper"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;(she's our good friend).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;After lunch today, Vaughn and I were talking about Daddy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Vaughn, what is Daddy?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;(they usually reply"A Man")&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Daddy a bird"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Daddy is a bird?What color is Daddy?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"green, yeah a green bird.  He fly away, to far &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;(reaching to the ceiling)&lt;/span&gt; to high, can't reach 'em"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"And Mommy is...?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"A yellow...bunny rabbit"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"What are you?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"A green bird, no... a bunny rabbit bird" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I guess her understands the blending of DNA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"You are a bunny rabbit bird?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"Oh"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;("Oh", means "yes" to Vaughn, it's an Italian thing I think)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;"What is Avery then?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Avey a red &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;(her favorite color)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt; bunny rabbit too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;It is so funny to watch how much they imagine every day.  I've learned a votive candle can be a baby's bottle, a fig bar bitten a certain way can become a boot for your finger.  Spitting water from your mouth makes you an elephant, and a dust bunny from under the couch is a mouse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-4508221114247453429?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/4508221114247453429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=4508221114247453429' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4508221114247453429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4508221114247453429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/06/imaginations-gone-wild.html' title='Imaginations Gone Wild'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-4859011729005817081</id><published>2008-05-16T12:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T13:04:09.749-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Facebook</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;I created an account a while ago, but never really got into it.  I haven't got a ton of time to spare.  It's not easy keeping up with the kids, the house, the yard, paying bills, making meals, my blog, and Facebook all at once.  Since my friends list is growing, I can't help but run down to the computer and sign in.  My lovely sister- in- law did warn me about how addictive it is. I still limit the amount of time I am logged in and try not to invest precious moments typing  and searching away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;It is so much fun to find people I haven't seen in years.  I am happy to see that most are doing well, and seem happy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;How many of you are addicted????&lt;/span&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;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;Haven't worked out since Tuesday.  Yasmin is making me feel funky, but it's better than another set of twins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;???? on the lbs.  I'll come bake up to speed, and have some courage to weigh myself again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-4859011729005817081?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/4859011729005817081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=4859011729005817081' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4859011729005817081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4859011729005817081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/05/facebook.html' title='Facebook'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-8230080612791277969</id><published>2008-04-17T13:25:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-17T13:44:18.463-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring is Paradise</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I am really enjoying the weather these past few days!  There is nothing like opening the windows to let the nice clean breeze in, and flush out the stale winter air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;All the different sounds of the birds are glorious and the small sprigs of green on the tree branches really promises that spring is finally here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Waking up before 7am is no big deal, now that the sun is up, and we can spend the day playing and exploring the newness of spring. It is so much fun to watch the kids become so exited by what we have taken for granted for so long.  Birds flying overhead, all the little flowers blooming, worms on the sidewalk, ant hills in the dirt. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I think of the sentence in the chorus of Paradise by the BoDeans:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;Paradise, it aint hard to find, lookin' out your window at the world outside.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Spending hours outside is wonderful!  I love digging in the sand and rolling in the grass.  We have already gone through a bucket of sidewalk chalk since Easter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;What is your favorite outdoor activity??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-8230080612791277969?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/8230080612791277969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=8230080612791277969' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8230080612791277969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8230080612791277969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/04/spring-is-paradise.html' title='Spring is Paradise'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-5554618734126178977</id><published>2008-03-18T12:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-18T13:07:59.654-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The North Face Nation</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I went to a Black Hawks game on Sunday with my friends.  As we arrived to the United Center, I realized that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;ONE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; out of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;THREE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; people were wearing &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;The North Face&lt;/span&gt; jacket of some kind. As we drove to the parking lot, there was just a sea of people with the white lettering on their right shoulder.  There were less people wearing hockey jerseys.  I have had the conversation before with ...someone, but I never saw so many of the same brand of jacket in such a small area.  I guess it's the label right?  I have a Colombia fleece jacket that's really nice, and I only spent $30 (at Nordstrom Rack) as opposed to close to $150.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Of course I made a comment to the girls who both had their &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;North Face&lt;/span&gt; jackets on.  To make it worse, I had also pointed out that most of the women and girls wearing the &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;North Face&lt;/span&gt; jackets. were also wearing Ugg's.  I looked at both of their feet as we got out of the car, and they two were wearing Ugg's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;What's the big deal?  I know it sounds funny from someone who love designer jeans, but I love them because of the way they fit.  Is there something I am missing with these jackets?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;The issue is not money, it's the very specific brand.  Why does everyone have one?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;125&lt;br /&gt;3.5 miles today&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-5554618734126178977?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/5554618734126178977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=5554618734126178977' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/5554618734126178977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/5554618734126178977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/03/north-face-nation.html' title='The North Face Nation'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-7456144007537019001</id><published>2008-03-11T13:39:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T14:17:37.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Terrific Two's Emerging</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R9baORH7EcI/AAAAAAAAADw/QtfbNfML9hE/s1600-h/IMG_0106.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 156px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R9baORH7EcI/AAAAAAAAADw/QtfbNfML9hE/s320/IMG_0106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176564760358621634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;How sweet they look!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Yes, they are beginning to morph into screaming, hitting, pushing, defiant children.  I knew it would happen.  I used to be in a room filled with 10 of them.  The quietest, most gentle kids seemed to be the ones who really start to act out.  I guess they make up for lost time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R9baOxH7EdI/AAAAAAAAAD4/RFyRZXqMc-Q/s1600-h/IMG_0099.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 118px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R9baOxH7EdI/AAAAAAAAAD4/RFyRZXqMc-Q/s320/IMG_0099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176564768948556242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Vaughn has quickly found his independence, and finds that if he pushes and hits anyone, he gets a reaction one way or another.  Rick and I really try not to react, and just tell him over and over again &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"we don't push one another"&lt;/span&gt;, and &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"it's not nice to hit!"&lt;/span&gt;  He repeats &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"no pushing, no hitting"&lt;/span&gt;, walks up and smacks me in the face.  We redirect, give him a ball to push and tell him, &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"push the ball"&lt;/span&gt;. We have started to remove him from the room, and put him in the corner.  He stands there willingly, and says &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"manners, not nice...corner"&lt;/span&gt;  It's hard not to laugh, but we keep our composure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Avery is actually manageable right now.  She is spirited, and will sometimes hit or push, but when we discipline her, she crumbles.  She buries her face in my lap, or falls to the ground in a fetal position.  It's pretty funny too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Meal times are especially fun when slices of apples are chucked at you.  Vaughn loves to throw anything, and put his feet on the table.  I know it's just a matter of ignoring behaviors, and staying calm, but some days it's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; hard.  If we remind him of using good manners, he says &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"yes, manners"&lt;/span&gt;, laughs, takes a big sip of milk and spits it all over the place.  &lt;/span&gt;ARGHHHHH&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;!!!!!!!  Avery is not that extreme since food is worth it's weight in gold to her.  She will almost never intentionally throw food on the floor.  She does, however , put her feet on the table, and scream.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I WON'T call them terrible though.  They are smart kids, and are just trying to find out where the limits are.  They challenge us more every day, but make us laugh just as much.  It's all a phase, and if handled the right way, will pass quickly.  I just really hope they do not become the kind of kids who people talk about in a negative way, like they talk about Rick or my cousin Chuck.  I'll often hear, &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;"Wow, Richie was quite a kid!!! I hope they don't act that way" &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Thankfully, both turned out to be wonderful caring adults.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I am looking forward to summer, when they can expel a lot of energy.  Most the time, kids act out when they have an over abundance of energy, no structure, and overtired.  Thankfully, I am very structured, and they get plenty of sleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Spring where are you!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;/span&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;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;126&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;ran 3.5 miles today&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-7456144007537019001?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/7456144007537019001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=7456144007537019001' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7456144007537019001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7456144007537019001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/03/terrific-twos-emerging.html' title='The Terrific Two&apos;s Emerging'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R9baORH7EcI/AAAAAAAAADw/QtfbNfML9hE/s72-c/IMG_0106.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-560813031699032564</id><published>2008-03-07T13:21:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T13:29:58.682-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;Very quickly, I'm updating my progress.  I started bringing the kids to the community center twice a week so I can work out.  The regular teacher is in love with both V and A and is very good with them,  although, they do cry for a bout 5 minutes after I leave.  When I peak in after my run, they are happily playing with Mrs. Liz.  They have so much fun, they don't wan to leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;Today I ran 3.2 miles easily.  Every week, I'll try to get a bit faster since I'd like to run some races this year.  I'm not concerned about time right now.  I just want to go the distance (maybe more) and speed up from there on in.  I do feel so much better already.  It's nice to drop the kids off, plug in and tune out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;126&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-560813031699032564?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/560813031699032564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=560813031699032564' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/560813031699032564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/560813031699032564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/03/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-7912732719426164876</id><published>2008-01-31T12:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-31T12:44:05.167-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Biggest Loser at Home.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R6IWlt-XQhI/AAAAAAAAADc/qb9y4hfpGtU/s1600-h/scale.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R6IWlt-XQhI/AAAAAAAAADc/qb9y4hfpGtU/s320/scale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161712960172147218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I love this show.  It's really nice to see people achieving weight loss through hard work with diet and exercise.   I get all teary eyed up when I watch it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;This is inspiring me to log in my progress every time I post.  Rick and I have been working out three times a week now, and although I don't spend as much time at the gym as I'd like, at least I'm going.  I run for 30 minutes, or run 20, then do the elliptical for another 10 minutes.  I then end with a bit of weight training (what ever I can fit in).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I try to do "donkey kicks" and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;lunges&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt; at home, since my tush is starting to slide.  How depressing!  I also fit some &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;ab work&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt; in, in between the loads of laundry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I figure I might have some extra motivation to start eating more healthy again, or just eating less if I post my progress.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;My water consumption is way down too.  I used to drink at least a liter of water a day, and I'm lucky if I drink more than 8 oz these days.  Wonder why I get headaches eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;So watch for the loss (crossing fingers) at the bottom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                                                                                              128 lbs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-7912732719426164876?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/7912732719426164876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=7912732719426164876' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7912732719426164876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7912732719426164876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/01/biggest-loser-at-home.html' title='The Biggest Loser at Home.'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R6IWlt-XQhI/AAAAAAAAADc/qb9y4hfpGtU/s72-c/scale.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-8364286132935864385</id><published>2008-01-23T14:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T15:16:56.182-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The First Day of School</title><content type='html'>Today was our first day of our "Stay and Play" class with the park district.  We walked in, took off our coats, and made our way to say hello to the teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I walked across the room, I noticed we were the only non Eastern European people in the class so far.  I walked &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; up the the teacher, introduced the and myself, and greeted the teacher.  I was very clearly the strange american woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As other class members came in, I noticed we were the minority.  The "E.E" parents sat in the corner and chatted (jzib jzib) while their children ran about pushing other kids, as the rest of us supervised our children and encouraged them to share and be kind to the other kids.  I was also making sure &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; weren't licking any of the sticky toys, as to not ingest any other viruses and bacteria for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was surprised to see my babies having no problem running off and interacting with other kids and adults.  They were sharing toys with other kids, and would occasionally call out for one another to make sure their sibling was at least in the room.  They would periodically meet up in the center of the room, say a few words and then separate again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried very hard to not interfere with what they were doing, so they can initiate play on their own.  I did however, as I mentioned before, keep an eye on them at all times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was then time for "snack".  We sat at the little tables, and had some dried cranberries, and cheerio's, and I tried to strike up conversations with other parents.  Needless to say it was difficult with most of the other parents, but I did talk with a few.  I was the most aggressive one there, 'cause once I started to talk, more people came out of their shell.  After snack, I asked &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; to take their napkins to the garbage.  This was amazing to the others.  "Wow, did you see that??  How do you get them to help you??" I heard from some of them.  I figured almost all kids love to help, and throw things in the "bargage". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, on to circle time.  If you don't know, I'm always talking to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;.  I explain almost everything we are doing, or going to do.  So I prepared them.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;"Alright, we're having circle time!  Let's clean up the toys so we can sit in a circle on the carpet!"&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; started tossing toys in the toy box, and proceeded to sit on the colorful carpet. This again was strange to most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The teacher sat down and asked what we would like to sing.  Every parent sat wide eyed, and quiet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Are you asking us or the kids?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt; I thought to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;How about the wheels on the bus?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; The teacher suggested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking again.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;This should be amusing since more than half the people in this class speak polish.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The teacher started  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. All thought the town.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pause...  blank looks....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chime in &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;The Wipers on the bus go swish swish swish...and so on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, I'm leading the song.  WTF is the teacher for??  She asks us what song we'd like to sing next, and looks at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;The itsy bitsy spider?&lt;/span&gt;  I say&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing you know, I'm leading this song too.  Oh, and after every song, I clap and say "yeah!!!!!" to get the kids going a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I should be getting paid for this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I'm thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was now time to go.  The teacher was saying her good byes, but most of the parents just threw their kids jackets on and bolted out the door.  I made sure to show &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; to say good bye and Thank you to the teacher and to the new kids we had met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess for some, it's a place to bring your kid to play.  I see it as "school", and another opportunity to teach &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;V &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A &lt;/span&gt;manners, and expose them to a few hours of structured play.  I guess it's the preschool teacher in me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do look forward to going next week, and the weeks that follow.  It's fun to watch the kids enjoy new experiences, and branch off.  It makes me feel more comfortable that they look out for each other, and aren't necessarily looking for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-8364286132935864385?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/8364286132935864385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=8364286132935864385' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8364286132935864385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8364286132935864385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/01/first-day-of-school.html' title='The First Day of School'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-4783090103317772370</id><published>2008-01-21T14:33:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T14:41:44.272-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday TO YOU!!!!!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;Happy Birthday to my Mommy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;My Mom taught me how to be silly, creative, and use all kinds of strange words to describe almost anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;She taught me how to whip up a meal from whatever was left in the fridge.  These dishes usually turn out better than any recipe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;My Momma showed me how to be strong even when you feel you are at your weakest moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;Tip your glass to her today!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;"&gt;I love you very much and hope you are having a wonderful day!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-4783090103317772370?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/4783090103317772370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=4783090103317772370' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4783090103317772370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4783090103317772370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-birthday-to-you.html' title='Happy Birthday TO YOU!!!!!!!!!!'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-1096501339533210205</id><published>2008-01-16T19:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T19:58:30.805-06:00</updated><title type='text'>1,000 down the drain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R461boZ-fsI/AAAAAAAAADU/L0hgVgfAiH0/s1600-h/Bunion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R461boZ-fsI/AAAAAAAAADU/L0hgVgfAiH0/s320/Bunion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156258109693263554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Well, I ran &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;without&lt;/span&gt; my SPORTS orthotics today, and whata you know?  My knee didn't hurt.  Now that I'm home and have my neoprene wrap off, It's a little sore, but nothing like a few days ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did notice that my arch was a bit ...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tense&lt;/span&gt; on the left foot, but I'll take that.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I might just forget about them all together, because when I wear them on a day to day basis, my knee still hurts.  I guess I can take them back to the podiatrist and have them fix the orthotics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; They are supposed to slow down my inevitable bunions that I have inherited.  The bunions are not really even bunions yet, but do I save my feet, and spare the knee?  I don't think so.  Even if I wear the orthotics, I'll still eventually get the bulbous joints on my pretty little dogs anyhow.  Ya gotta love getting older. At least I didn't pay for the stupid things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-1096501339533210205?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/1096501339533210205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=1096501339533210205' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1096501339533210205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1096501339533210205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/01/1000-down-drain.html' title='1,000 down the drain'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R461boZ-fsI/AAAAAAAAADU/L0hgVgfAiH0/s72-c/Bunion.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-75326717340275519</id><published>2008-01-14T14:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T13:29:27.530-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Back In Action!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R4u3YoZ-frI/AAAAAAAAADM/qfsDWd9TD6o/s1600-h/lifefitness_97te.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R4u3YoZ-frI/AAAAAAAAADM/qfsDWd9TD6o/s320/lifefitness_97te.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155415832246779570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;Finally, we joined our community fitness center.  Rick and I took the kids for a "look-see" a while ago, but never got the motivation to just pay the membership fee, and GO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;What's nice is they have a babysitting room for parents who want to work out.  It's nicely equipped with toys, kitchen and T.V.  They also limit the number of children in the room, and you have to make an appointment, which controls any over crowding.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;Now, I have no excuse.  Only if the babies are sick.  They will turn you away if you attempt to bring in a sick child- that's nice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;After a stressful month (holiday's, cold weather, very sick babies) , I finally went.  I packed up my new hot pink Nike bag, compliments of my sister and UDA, and took the one minute drive over to the community center.  It is rather small, but it is clean and the staff is very friendly.  Unlike the gym we used to belong too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I fired up my &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;ipod&lt;/span&gt;, and hopped onto the treadmill.  I would have chosen the elliptical because of my knee, which has been acting up again, but they were all being used.  I trusted the neoprene wrap would help.  After the first mile and 1/2, I felt like it was time to slow down a bit and bring my heart rate down, so I dialed down the MPH, and started on a slow jog.  Interestingly enough, that is when my knee started to hurt.  Could it be that I put more pressure on my joints jogging, than running?  I did read that in runners magazine about three years ago.  I decided to speed back up again, and the discomfort lessened.  When I felt like my heart rate was beyond target again, I walked and jacked up the incline to make it more difficult.  Thankfully, this worked well.  I guess your body has a way of letting you know your limits.  It's funny, because my mind works in a similar fashion, run and walk, never can I just mentally jog anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-75326717340275519?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/75326717340275519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=75326717340275519' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/75326717340275519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/75326717340275519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2008/01/back-in-action.html' title='Back In Action!!!!'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/R4u3YoZ-frI/AAAAAAAAADM/qfsDWd9TD6o/s72-c/lifefitness_97te.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-4485081729321507106</id><published>2007-12-29T11:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T12:48:15.778-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Blues Justified</title><content type='html'>Thank GOD we're starting a New Year.  I hate to be negative and end the year like this, but it's hard to enjoy the Holiday Season when all your doing is disappointing people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this is possibly the worst thing I could be doing (posting), but at this point, I don't &lt;em&gt;EFFING &lt;/em&gt;care anymore!  I have had this feeling eating at me for a few days now, and I need to take my frustration out on my key board, 'cause the computer won't accuse me of being crazy. You see, If you voice your opinion out loud, you are crazy.  Or didn't everyone know that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is very hard to feel happy when you're being "strong armed" to conform.  Then, when you don't &lt;em&gt;comply&lt;/em&gt; with the majority, a wet blanket of guilt is thrown over you.  The last time I checked, I didn't join the military. This is a free country too right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter what, we are always made to feel as though we're a burden.  We're told that everything is for us, and we NEVER give enough back.  It hurts!  I grew up with that feeling my whole life.  Nothing was ever enough for my Dad, and he was very quick to let us know.  I always was the peace maker, and the people pleaser.  It used to make me feel better, when my actions were recognized.  After a while, if you always miss your target, you run out of arrows. YES, I do have issues with my childhood.  I'll be the first to admit it.  It's a good thing my mom was the buffer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made a promise to myself for the Holiday's (two posts ago), and until a few days ago, I lived up to it.  I know now I must make more promises to myself.  Let's call them my resolutions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be happy with who I am, not who I make happy.&lt;br /&gt;I will not ever fall victim to peer pressure again.&lt;br /&gt;I stand for my beliefs, no matter who or what tries to get in my way.&lt;br /&gt;I can't always change how people feel ,because, sometimes it's their problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's more like a High School peer group mission statement, then again, I guess some never evolve past grade 12.  Maybe I haven't either.  I think it's time to bury "Al Bundy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy New Year!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-4485081729321507106?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/4485081729321507106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=4485081729321507106' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4485081729321507106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4485081729321507106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/12/holiday-blues-justified.html' title='Holiday Blues Justified'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-6100821033621000675</id><published>2007-11-29T20:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T21:52:47.280-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Your Favorite Christmas Gift.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;my mom inspired this topic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;what is the most favorite gift you ever received for Christmas?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;over all the years, i have two that really stick out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;this first one was by far the best!  it was a &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;barbie&lt;/span&gt; make up case. i got it for christmas when i was 8. it was a pink (of course) oval case with three eye shadow colors: &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;powder blue&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);"&gt; bubble gum pink&lt;/span&gt;, and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;lavender&lt;/span&gt;.  then a creme&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; rouge&lt;/span&gt;, and a square bottle filled with "perfume", which was more like diluted soap.  i think i applied make up every day!  i looked more like a drag queen than barbie, but i thought i was beautiful. i remember having a dress up party with the red headed irish girl who lived down the block.  she always played with her mothers crazy make up, or was it her crazy mother's make up??... (she was an elvis freak!!!)  once i got my own make up kit, i knocked her socks off!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;the next one was an electric blanket.  i was 12.  it was the ugliest brown color, but was the coziest thing i ever snuggled with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;thanks mom, for buying those things for me!  i appreciate every late hour you stayed up wrapping all those gifts, and every minute you stood over watching us decorate those cookies.  i hope they were fun for you too!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-6100821033621000675?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/6100821033621000675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=6100821033621000675' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6100821033621000675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6100821033621000675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/11/your-favorite-christmas-gift.html' title='Your Favorite Christmas Gift.'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-8466500163869675083</id><published>2007-11-20T12:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T13:01:25.682-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;'Tis the season!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; I always get anxious this time of year.  My mind races and I have trouble getting to sleep some nights thinking about Christmas.  I can't quite put my finger on WHY I feel this way. No, I  know what it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; It's the pressure of purchasing gifts.  Trying to make sure that everyone is happy with them.  I think to myself,&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt; "Am I spending enough, too much? Did I buy enough for this person, or would money in an envelope be &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;O.K.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;? "&lt;/span&gt; Why should it have to come down to this?  I hate how Christmas is so corrupted by all the retailers.  Why can't it just be about family, and gathering around the table for a meal, and for crying out loud THE BIRTH OF OUR LORD!!!!!!  I miss singing &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;"silent night"&lt;/span&gt;, and &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;"Hark the herald angels"&lt;/span&gt;.  Most kids today think the holidays are about a Turkey and Santa bringing them gifts, how horrible!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; From this day forward, I am making a promise to myself. I will enjoy the holidays!  I won't worry about gifts, I won't worry about if someone is upset if we can't spend a holiday with them.  I have to think about starting our own family traditions of  going out to buy a &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;tree,&lt;/span&gt; and decorating it to Christmas songs by the fire. Enjoying Christmas breakfast with my husband and kids.  Going to church to celebrate, for it is a religious holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to relax, and take a deep breath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAPPY HOLIDAYS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-8466500163869675083?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/8466500163869675083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=8466500163869675083' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8466500163869675083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8466500163869675083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/11/holiday-blues.html' title='Holiday Blues'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-6399033715603972496</id><published>2007-10-05T13:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-05T14:01:53.221-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My 5K Foiled!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;In &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;preparation&lt;/span&gt; for running the Halloween 5k, I started to feel a twinge in my right knee.  The day it really bugged me was a fantastic running day.  The air was crisp, and the sun beamed.  I was getting on my 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; mile and it felt like a dull pop in my inside knee.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;crap, no way.  Just when I was feeling so great&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I decided to press on, and pretend nothing was wrong.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Mind over body, Mind over body&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I repeated over and over again, and then the little doctor in my head said&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;Stop!!!! You idiot, you are not making things any better!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I decided to lay off for a few days, and see if the knee would recover.  I took &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;advil&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;prophylacticly&lt;/span&gt;, and was easy on it.  After about 3 days, I set off again.  This time the knee began to shout at me after about a mile.  I walked the rest of the way, and rested my knee for a few more days, only to have it yell at me again after mile #1.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Arggghhh&lt;/span&gt;!!!!  It is so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;frustrating&lt;/span&gt;, because I was just getting back into running again.  I was supposed to do this 5k with the other &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;rizzi&lt;/span&gt; girls, and go for a post run party at the local bar.  this was supposed to be my "free"day.  My hubby was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;prepared&lt;/span&gt; to put in a days work with the kids, and let me have a full day of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;exercise&lt;/span&gt;, followed by drinking.  Stupid joint!!  I just hope I won't need another at some point.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Now, hubby and I are joining the park district center and will have the opportunity to work out closer to home.  We were members of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Bally's&lt;/span&gt; for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;years&lt;/span&gt;, but the local facility id HORRIBLE!  the park district has a great indoor, and outdoor track, and has plenty of fun classes all day.  they're babysitting facility is nice and clean &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;which&lt;/span&gt; is a super plus, because &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;bally's&lt;/span&gt; was sickening.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Maybe I can go and cheer the sisters on, and still &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;partake&lt;/span&gt; in some post run partying.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-6399033715603972496?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/6399033715603972496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=6399033715603972496' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6399033715603972496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6399033715603972496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/10/my-5k-foiled.html' title='My 5K Foiled!!'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-1465168423789554582</id><published>2007-09-21T12:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T13:30:35.872-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Seven is Heaven for All Mankind</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RvQKZs595nI/AAAAAAAAACU/kyho9uUG3EA/s1600-h/1342_thumb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RvQKZs595nI/AAAAAAAAACU/kyho9uUG3EA/s320/1342_thumb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112722913639655026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I remember the day I first slipped a pair of these jeans on to my body. Oh, was I convinced that designer jeans were the "shit!" I tried on a few coveted brands, Joe's Jeans, True Religion, but the &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Seven for All Mankind&lt;/span&gt; (not just 7, just to be clear) were perfect! This first pair were the only ones I payed full price for, the others were on the clearance rack at Nordstrom Rack, but were still higher priced for jeans. I had a few pair from Gap, Express, and Polo, which were nice and all. None of them compared to the &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Seven's&lt;/span&gt;. It's something about the way the pocket fits on the tush, and how the denim feels. I never had a pair of jeans feel and look so damn good!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I guess I felt better showing off the burgundy tag, and signature swoosh on the pockets. It's like getting a really nice bag, for some reason I felt like a better person. Sad but true, and true for a lot of you out there, so don't "poo poo" me! If I had tons of money, I'd spend it on purses and jeans, I just now realized that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;Yesterday, I went for a hair cut, and my stylist had on some awesome jeans. I couldn't stop looking at them. I needed to have some. After my appointment, I popped on over to Nordstrom Rack, and started my mad search. I grabbed the True Religions, the Paige, Luckies, Rock and Republic's, but couldn't find MY FAVORITE. This was terrible. After piling 7 pairs of jeans onto my arm, and taking my last look around...AHHH, there they were. Beams of light came from the ceiling and created a halo around the WHOLE rack of them. I purred like a kitten no, a tiger and attacked the rack.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;As I entered the dressing room, I set the &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Seven's&lt;/span&gt; apart from the rest. I tried on all the other ones just to see how they fit. I actually like the Paige Jeans a lot, and almost bought some, but as soon as the &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Seven's&lt;/span&gt; went on, It was like coming home after a long trip. These are home for my ass! I ended up purchasing a pair of the Dojo style. They have a wider leg, than a boot cut, but not really flared. They're SWEET!!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;I now have 4 pair in my closet, but the one pair I was the proudest of, I need to sell. I don't think I'll ever fit into them ever again. The day I put on, and actually fit into a size 24 jean was a fabulous one. I only wore them 3 times, and then I got pregnant. Figures. I thought about holding onto them, for inspiration, but maybe that's stupid. I'm sure someone else would enjoy them. And "NO" they are not out of style! If any of you know someone who wears a size 24 and wants to bye a pair of designer jeans, let me know, otherwise, I'll take them to a resale shop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later today, it's off to the tailor to have them hemed.  I need to were them as soon as possible!!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-1465168423789554582?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/1465168423789554582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=1465168423789554582' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1465168423789554582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/1465168423789554582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/09/seven-is-heaven-for-all-mankind.html' title='Seven is Heaven for All Mankind'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RvQKZs595nI/AAAAAAAAACU/kyho9uUG3EA/s72-c/1342_thumb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-7817700060123422774</id><published>2007-09-19T13:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-19T14:45:34.395-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My New " Official" Friend</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;About two months ago, I was at the park with &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A,&lt;/span&gt; swinging them on the swings.  I saw a young woman with a baby walking over. Instantly &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; started pointing and screaming&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Bahhh Bahhh Bahhh Bi!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; for baby.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"Yes, It's a baby"&lt;/span&gt; I replied, and the woman walked right over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I was surprised she wasn't Eastern European, like most woman at the park are.  She said hello, and asked the normal questions, &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;"how old are your kids? are they twins?" etc...&lt;/span&gt; so, back and fourth we went. I was happy to find out that she lives only a block and a half from us, and her son is about a year old. She just quit her job to stay home with her son, and was in need of some advise, or just needed to vent. In a matter of 1/2 hour we had hit it off. I told her that I come to the park every day, and I'd see her again soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Over that past few months, we'd see one another at the park,  sit with the kids and swap stories.  I referred to her as my &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"new friend"&lt;/span&gt;. She had grown up around us, and seemed pretty down to earth. We actually have a lot in common, and I was exited to see her at the park, 'cause I knew I'd have some adult conversation. About a week had passed, and I hadn't been to the park. I felt bad, so I decided to write her a note, and wrote my number down for her if she ever wanted to get together during the fall or winter. As I wrote it, I thought&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;" Is this too fast?  Am I being too forward? Will I scare her off?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I guess it's the feeling of having a new boyfriend or girlfriend. Are there rules here? I had made friends after high school and college, but they are people I worked with and saw on a daily basis. Eventually, I became social enough with these people to hang out with them, and, to this day, am very close to them. I never thought meeting someone off the street would be this ...awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;So, a few days ago I we ran into one another at the park. She came with an invitation to her sons 1st Birthday party, and we talked about the girl I use for a baby sitter. I had offered to share my baby sitter with her, because I really didn't need her on a weekly basis. I knew my friend had started to look for someone, an since the girl that watched &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; is so great, I thought I'd share the love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;After talking with the babysitter, and making sure she'd be o.k. with it, I called &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;my friend&lt;/span&gt; to give her the phone #.  The phone rang, and I was nervous.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;Wait, I'm Thirty Three (almost)and I can't call a person who lives down the street? I'm good at this! I'm pretty cool, I can make a new friend, who doesn't like... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;ME?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Feww, voice mail.  I leave a short message with the babysitters phone number.  About an hour later, my &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"friend"&lt;/span&gt; calls me back to let me know that she got my message, and she called the sitter and made arrangements. She then asked what I was doing later (!!!?) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Is this a date?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"Ummm, nothing, what do you want to do?  Do you want to go out, or stay around here?  Wanna come over?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;"sure"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;she replies, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"&gt;"I'll call you when the baby wakes up".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;At about 3:30, she calls me to let me know she's on her way. I got very exited! A play date, how fun. So we sat around for about two hours, and talked. She's pretty funny. We shared dysfunctional family stories, pregnancy stories, the whole bit. It was great!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;So, today&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; my friend&lt;/span&gt; calls me to thank me for referring her to the babysitter. It just so happens that the sharing situation is going to work out really well. We sat on the phone for a while and talked. She then she tells me how thankful she is to have met me, and how funny it is to make a new friend. She had mad the "dating" reference, and how long she thought she should she wait to call me, two or four days. It was really funny. I think it's great that she felt the same way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's official, we're friends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-7817700060123422774?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/7817700060123422774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=7817700060123422774' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7817700060123422774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7817700060123422774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/09/my-new-official-friend.html' title='My New &quot; Official&quot; Friend'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-6125562392808672650</id><published>2007-09-06T11:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T12:23:10.580-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Leashing your child</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RuAu2DKLyhI/AAAAAAAAACE/stpxDwIO_Cc/s1600-h/bear_harness_buddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RuAu2DKLyhI/AAAAAAAAACE/stpxDwIO_Cc/s320/bear_harness_buddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107133483533978130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;Last Sunday, Rick and I took the kids to the Zoo for the first time.  We had such a great time.  It was a little hot, but we managed.  I made sure &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; were napped and fed, to ensure their happiness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, and ours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids were so exited to see the animals, and we were exited for them.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; was screaming with joy when she saw the dolphins, and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;V &lt;/span&gt;started signing for elephant once we strolled upon them.  At the Children's Zoo, they were able to get up close to the farm animals, &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; even touched a goat.  There is this gated in area where the kids can follow goats around and brush them.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; was happy holding my husbands hand, and just admiring everything from afar, but our &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;darling daughter&lt;/span&gt; was like a caged animal herself.  She darted around just happy to be free from the stroller.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; is so fast now, and HATES it when we hold her hand.  She goes into a tantrum and throws herself on the ground and jumps on her butt.  At that point we have to scoop her up and carry on with the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;After the monkey house, we let her run down the path leading back to the stroller area.  She again took off, and started greeting other people.  At one point our&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; littler angel&lt;/span&gt;, stumbled upon a man with a baby.  She pointed and said &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"bahby, bahby!!"&lt;/span&gt; and approached the man (who seemed as though he enjoyed a few too many of the Zoo beers).  This man reached out to &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; saying in a thick accent, &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;"  Ahh, beautiful child!!, Come Come here"&lt;/span&gt;, and tried to pick her up.  My husband immediately, snatched &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt; up and walked toward me and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;V,&lt;/span&gt; and told our social butterfly to say goodbye. She kicked and screamed for a few seconds, wanting to be put down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A &lt;/span&gt;just started walking 6 weeks ago, and is already &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;little miss independent&lt;/span&gt;.  I fear she'll be one of those kids who will disappear in a second, when you're attention is taken off of her.  I have heard too many stories of kids vanishing, luckily found, but I don't want to experience the horror of losing a child.  If I am ever with them by myself, I know she'll take off on me. &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; V&lt;/span&gt;, on the other hand, will be hanging on to me with out a problem.  I have seen people who have these backpack harnesses for their kids.  Some adults think it is stupid to put your kid on a leash, but I think sometimes, you just have no other choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear sister-in-law picked one up for me at Wal-Mart, she was going there anyway, and saved me the trip.  I really think that is is a necessity, if you are in crowds, and can't put them in the stroller for some reason.  Safety first right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-6125562392808672650?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/6125562392808672650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=6125562392808672650' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6125562392808672650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6125562392808672650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/09/leashing-your-child.html' title='Leashing your child'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RuAu2DKLyhI/AAAAAAAAACE/stpxDwIO_Cc/s72-c/bear_harness_buddy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-7831879012837218334</id><published>2007-08-30T15:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T15:19:20.876-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dermatological Experience</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; I finally made my visit to the dermatologist.  I had two reasons for being there:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; #1: get checked for and suspicious lesions on my body&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;#2: yes, i had two warts (eewww!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I guess working in a medical/dental office, i see things that maybe the average person wouldn't. I'm not saying I had a bad experience, but my expectations were not met entirely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; I stood at the window, and watched a sea of people in scrubs standing around, laughing, and chit-chatting. Some people were sitting at a computer and working, but there seemed to be quite a few looking as though they were doing nothing, but what do I know. I try to make eye contact with anyone, to announce that I have arrived, and that I am late. Yes, Yes, &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; was late, and that may be the reason why they didn't roll out the red carpet for me. I tried to call, but my cell phone wouldn't pick up a signal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;You see, if this were to happen in the office I used to work in, we would have been lectured. In the past, If I was behind the desk, talking to another girl, and the front desk people were busy, I would have acknowledged the patient, and offer to help with checking her in. If any of us were unable to be of service to a new patient, we were forbidden to hang out at the front, because the doctors thought it looked like we were lazy. Now, being on the other side, I see what they mean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; I finally get a girl to look at me and say "hi there", she says hello back, and continues her story about the storm that blew through late last week. I am now starting to get impatient, as I'm about to crawl over the desk, and scream,&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; finally&lt;/span&gt;, a woman walks over. I tell her my name, and that I know I'm about 10 minutes late. I offered to re-schedule my appointment, but she says "no, your fine"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I fill out my paper work as fast as I can, and supply the woman with my ID and insurance info. A few minutes later, a nice nurse takes me back and has me sit down. She goes over my medical history, and quickly asks me some questions. She tosses a gown at me, and blurts something out as she exits the room. I never got her name.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;The P.A. walks in, and asks me why I am there. I explain that my brother-in-law was diagnosed with stage 1 melinoma, and that I would like to be examined for anything funny looking, and of course...the warts!. I do show her one spot on my leg that has changed over the years. The P.A. has me sit back, and quickly looks at by body. She explained that I have TONS of freckles and other pigmentations (no shit!), and some swelling of may hair follicles, but nothing concerning (except for the one on my leg). I felt that glancing at someone in the sitting position was not a very comprehensive exam...but again, what do I know? All I know is that some people who have had a complete scan, get naked, and every spot on there body is examined, and charted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Anyhow, she offered to biopsy the one on my leg, and freeze off my warts right there. I opted for just the freezing of the warts, and I'll return for the biopsy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I sign a consent form for that procedure. The P.A. then takes a torch looking device filled with liquid nitrogen, and sprays the first one. HOLY CRAP!!! It felt like she was holding a lit cigarette on my finger. She then shoots the other one, thank god, the second was less painful then the first. She gave me some simple instructions for after care, and tells me to make an appointment in two weeks for the biopsy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Today, I have these nasty blisters surrounding my warts, but I guess it's like any burn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Don't get me wrong, everyone was really nice, once I got in, but it all felt a bit rushed. I wouldn't say I am a difficult patient, but if I'm paying for a service, I'd like to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;at least&lt;/span&gt; believe I'm being taken good care of. Maybe some offices take the "mole scan" to the extreme, and un-necessarily make the process last a long time. I thought it would take more then 2 minutes though. I will go back in two weeks, and comment if I'm rushed again (I'll make sure I'm on time). I usually bring baked goods to all my doctors, but if I am not satisfied after my next visit, they won't be worthy of any cookies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-7831879012837218334?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/7831879012837218334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=7831879012837218334' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7831879012837218334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7831879012837218334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/08/my-dermatological-experience.html' title='My Dermatological Experience'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-4386110655617019022</id><published>2007-08-12T19:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-12T22:05:41.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The East Side v.s.The West Side</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;every summer, the 900th block of my street( i live in the 800th) has a BASH of a block party.  my husband and I have always wondered why we were never invited.  silly us, we thought the whole street, which consists of three blocks, had one big block party which converged in the center (the 900th block).  we thought, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"well, we might be the weirdo's, the one's without kids.  the crazy italian guy and the anti-social wife.  the neighbors with the obnoxious dog who barks at &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that passes by".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; then, about two months ago, i was frantically digging in my yard, when i was disturbed by a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"hi there!"&lt;/span&gt;  it was a neighbor from down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;my &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;block inviting me to the block party and getting signatures for the permit.  she introduced herself, and her daughter.  i found it creepy that she seemed to know quite a few details about us, but i had never met her before.  i didn't really care tho', i was just so exited that we were included! i asked &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Mrs. So and So&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;, if there was anything i could do to help.  she said &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;" no, just be present".&lt;/span&gt;  and walked away with a smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; the next day i was chatting with the woman who lives across the street from me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; anne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;, but on the coveted 900th block.  i mentioned that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Mrs. So and So&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;, had stopped buy for the block party signatures.  she gave me a funny look and said,         &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; " but you're not part of our block party.  you're block must be having one on their own this year.  as a matter of fact we (meaning the other ladies on &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;her&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; block) were going to invite you to our block party."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; i thought this was silly, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"aren't we all on the same street?"&lt;/span&gt; i asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; "yes"&lt;/span&gt; she replied, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;" but in the past, the other blocks never wanted to participate, or help coordinate, so we just don't ask your block.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt;Mrs. So and So&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;,  who is putting together yours this year, will not cooperate with the girl who plans our block party. and they happen to fall on the same weekend".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; fast forward to this past monday: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; we received a piece of paper in our mailbox reading:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt; coming to the 800th block of %#*@#% avenue, the summer block party!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  come meet your neighbors!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  bring your favorite dish for a pot luck dinner at 4:30&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; if your family has a favorite game to play, bring it along.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; this sounded fun enough... right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; well, my husband took one look at it and said &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"what is this shit?, what are we going to do, stand around? who is bringing tables? what dish do we bring?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; he marched out to the neighbor &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;anne &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;to show her the weak invitation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;he came back about 10 minutes later saying,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt; "we aren't going to our own block party! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they (900) start planning theirs in february.  they all contribute money, and one family goes shopping for brats and burgers, half the block brings desert, and the other half brings side dishes.  they have a whole itinerary starting at 12pm, of games for every age.  the have a raffle for everything to a one month membership to the local gym to cubs tickets! and they hire a band!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; i said, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"look, we'll go to our own party, bring a dish, and then meander over to the east side because we were officially invited."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; so, yesterday morning, i set off to the grocery store for items to make a pasta salad.  on the way home, i pass through the 900th block and see the men rolling out kegs, setting up water misters, grills, tents, tables.  it was amazing! when i made it to my end of the block, and saw...nothing but the home schooled kids running barefoot through the streets. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic;"&gt; "keep an open mind deen, you don't know any of these people, they could be really nice"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; after the kids woke up from their afternoon nap, we set off to meet the neighbors.  as we rolled the kids in wagon down our walkway, we see a fire truck giving families rides on the latter lift thing.  i thought this was pretty cool.  the babies were exited to see the fire truck, and screamed with excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; we approach the 12 people standing in the street, and introduce ourselves. they had a little table in the street with lemon aid and cookies.  i started to get flash backs of the men with the kegs, and the tubs of pop, and bottled water i saw just a few hours ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; the not- so- fine ladies of the 800th block began to bash the 900th block, calling them &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"block party nazi's"&lt;/span&gt;, and saying they were too good to join forces with the rest of the avenue.  great, this is all i need, freekin' complainers!! soon after we arrived rick took our daughter to the real party down the street, leaving me there with the degenerates whipping water balloons at each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; i happened to strike up a conversation with a woman i see at the park from to time to time.  the lady was very nice, but she literally talked my ear off, because when i finally broke away to find my husband, they were ringing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;so, i roll our son down the street in the little red wagon, yelling promises of my mediterranean pasta to the others, to find my husband and daughter.  as i roll up, i see the other kids having their faces painted, grills blazing, and a children's bicycle parade. there had to be about 60 people out there.  it was suburban nirvana.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; i finally found my hubby sitting by the keg, whooping it up with the other men. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; "there's my wife!"&lt;/span&gt; he shouts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; he proceeds to introduce me to about twelve people, and tells me how i need to join forces with the women who create this day of family fun.  he then then shoves a nice, ice cold cup of keg beer in my hand. i smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; after the men's doughnut eating contest,  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;jamie,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; the master mind of the summer party approches me and says,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"dina, thank you for coming, your husband tells me we can count on you for some help next year!  did you get a beer yet?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; i finally felt like part of the community after almost 7 years.  later that evening, after we brought the kids home and put them to bed, i walked back down to join the other wives beside the keg.  we listened to to band, and watched the older kids run around with sparklers squeeling with delight.  it was almost like watching a movie. it was a good time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;needless to say, the pasta salad ment for the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not-so -fine party&lt;/span&gt; is still chilling in my fridge.  the girl from the west side, found her place with the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"party nazi's"&lt;/span&gt; on the east side. i look forward to many more summer time block parties with these people. who knows, we may even invite you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-4386110655617019022?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/4386110655617019022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=4386110655617019022' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4386110655617019022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/4386110655617019022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/08/east-side-vsthe-west-side.html' title='The East Side v.s.The West Side'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-3285787905546199639</id><published>2007-08-02T19:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T20:28:50.448-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Havoc On The Dock</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RrJ_ZqMVKrI/AAAAAAAAAB8/9IAvngz_Gus/s1600-h/IMG_0439.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RrJ_ZqMVKrI/AAAAAAAAAB8/9IAvngz_Gus/s320/IMG_0439.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094274207308917426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Yet another year of family fun!!  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;The Ukrainian Havoc Squad&lt;/span&gt; returns to the dock at Lake Lanier in Gainesville, Georgia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; For those of you who do not know, my mothers side of the family has a reunion weekend. This ever growing brood, manages to pack into my cousin's gorgeous, and spacious home. It's practically a mini resort, with a theater, plenty of bedrooms and bathrooms. There is a workout room, and a bar in the basement. The dock is where the day fun is. A pontoon, and speed boat, two wave runners, and plenty of floatation devices are at our disposal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; This year was so different, but just as fun. Our family had expanded by five. Madison, Vaughn, Avery, Otto and Arden were all new to the scene, and made the daytime fun a bit tricky, but we all were in the same boat. I think most of us were just genuinely happy to be spending time together. The highlight for me and Rick, was spending a whole day out, while the Grandmothers and Great Aunts watched the babies. We went to an old gold mining town, shopped at the outlet mall, and finished the day off swimming, drinking, and racing on the wave runners. Paula, Casey, Rick and I floated around in the lake, reminiscing, and having some good old belly laughs.  Rick and I also had the chance for some much needed reconnecting. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As always, I left with tears in my eyes, and a lump in my throat.  This family I am so lucky to be a part of, is so much fun and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;FULL&lt;/span&gt; of &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;POSITIVE VIBES!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; When things get messy, these people always seem to find clarity.  I don't think any of them complained about a single thing.  Every time i think of the crazy Ukrainians, I get a warm fuzzy feeling inside, and wish we could see each other more often. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;I can't wait until next year.  It may not be any easier traveling with two 2 year olds, but it is worth it!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-3285787905546199639?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/3285787905546199639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=3285787905546199639' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3285787905546199639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3285787905546199639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/08/havoc-on-dock.html' title='Havoc On The Dock'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RrJ_ZqMVKrI/AAAAAAAAAB8/9IAvngz_Gus/s72-c/IMG_0439.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-3991495829825665202</id><published>2007-08-01T13:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T13:24:25.986-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday Richie!!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RrDPVKMVKqI/AAAAAAAAAB0/xBIDDdDUnds/s1600-h/july+2007+010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RrDPVKMVKqI/AAAAAAAAAB0/xBIDDdDUnds/s320/july+2007+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093799140976306850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:courier new;" &gt;Happy Birthday to my ONE and ONLY!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:courier new;" &gt;A MAN who gives so much, but never gives himself enough credit. A GUY who can talk to anyone, and make them laugh. A DAD who tries to give the world to his wife and kids.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:courier new;" &gt;I love you, even if you get grouchy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Happy Happy Birthday to you!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-3991495829825665202?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/3991495829825665202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=3991495829825665202' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3991495829825665202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3991495829825665202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/08/happy-birthday-richie.html' title='Happy Birthday Richie!!!!!'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RrDPVKMVKqI/AAAAAAAAAB0/xBIDDdDUnds/s72-c/july+2007+010.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-2338839252787399539</id><published>2007-07-20T08:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-20T08:39:27.622-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ta Dah!!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RqC6C6RsHgI/AAAAAAAAABs/vL9mUqOyqnE/s1600-h/july+2007+046.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 118px; height: 158px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RqC6C6RsHgI/AAAAAAAAABs/vL9mUqOyqnE/s320/july+2007+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089272138094616066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RqC5MKRsHfI/AAAAAAAAABk/ARduiVYZf8w/s1600-h/july+2007+047.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 171px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RqC5MKRsHfI/AAAAAAAAABk/ARduiVYZf8w/s320/july+2007+047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089271197496778226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Here it is!&lt;/span&gt;    &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bit the bullet, and chopped my hair. It is shorter that we originally planned, but I really like it. It will take some getting used to, but it's fun and I always wore it in a ponytail anyway. Now, I can have my dear husband massage my head like I massage his. I can run without having to worry if I have a rubberband, and not use as much shampoo. I will have to visit my stylist more often tho'... who cares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-2338839252787399539?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/2338839252787399539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=2338839252787399539' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/2338839252787399539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/2338839252787399539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/07/ta-dah.html' title='Ta Dah!!!!!!!'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RqC6C6RsHgI/AAAAAAAAABs/vL9mUqOyqnE/s72-c/july+2007+046.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-7398211647479088376</id><published>2007-07-17T10:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-17T10:41:11.879-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I think I can...???</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rpzf3qRsHcI/AAAAAAAAABM/GdFi6VVFAZk/s1600-h/vic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rpzf3qRsHcI/AAAAAAAAABM/GdFi6VVFAZk/s320/vic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088187826356100546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:verdana;" &gt;Yes, so this poll is an idea i stole from my sister (what are big sisters for, right?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:verdana;" &gt;I have an appointment for a hair cut in 2 days, and everyone ,including rick, says i should get the "Victoria Beckham" cut. Is it like the "Rachel" cut from friends? Like Samson, will I lose all my strength if i lose my hair? My hair hasn't been really short since i was 10 years old. I'm so afraid that I'll hate it, have nothing to do with it, maintain it, etc... I feel like my body won't match the hair. If I had Vickie's body, I'd shave my head. Hell, who needs hair if you look like that!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:verdana;" &gt; So, what do you all think?  Ye or Ne ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I am not going blonde.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-7398211647479088376?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/7398211647479088376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=7398211647479088376' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7398211647479088376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7398211647479088376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-think-i-can.html' title='I think I can...???'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rpzf3qRsHcI/AAAAAAAAABM/GdFi6VVFAZk/s72-c/vic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-763649859254904628</id><published>2007-07-07T21:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-07T22:22:00.008-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What's Yer Poison???</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RpBXv7hq8LI/AAAAAAAAABE/yaQNFaQLvNg/s1600-h/Poison%2BControl%2BCenters%2B%26%2BInformation.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RpBXv7hq8LI/AAAAAAAAABE/yaQNFaQLvNg/s320/Poison%2BControl%2BCenters%2B%26%2BInformation.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084660460245676210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I have determined that I have some strange reaction to Tequila. These past few times I have enjoyed a fine frozen Margarita, I end up having vivid nightmares that wake me in a frenzy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a month ago, I joined a bunch of lovely ladies for Mexican food, and had a couple of Margaritas.  That night I had &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;multiple&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; dreams involving insects in my bed. I woke up at least three times slapping myself, and swiping the covers to get them out. My husband we furious with me, and the next morning told me, he would rather sleep on the couch, than endure another night of insanity. I attributed these strange happenings to the prevalence of the cicadas, and forgot about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Last night, we took the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;twinkies&lt;/span&gt; out to dinner to our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;neighborhood&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Mexican&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;restaurant&lt;/span&gt;.  Of course, I ordered a Margarita.  We had a wonderful time.  The kids were great as always, and having a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Margarita&lt;/span&gt; makes everything fun.  We came home, put the kids to bed and watched a little T.V.  I had my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;prophylactic&lt;/span&gt; 2 Advil, with a glass of water (I'll never take a chance of even a mild hangover) and went to bed.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Early this morning, I awoke scratching and slapping my head. I wasn't sure why, so I went back to bed. A few hours later, I had a dream that the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;twinkies&lt;/span&gt; had tiny bugs crawling on them.  I looked in the mirror and saw them coming out of my hair.  I ran to the sink and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;tousled&lt;/span&gt; my hair to find LICE!!!!  It was HORRIBLE.  &lt;/span&gt;    &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never had anything like this happen to me with other cocktails.  I love &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;any kind&lt;/span&gt; of Martini, and sleep like a baby at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;Strange- isn't it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-763649859254904628?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/763649859254904628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=763649859254904628' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/763649859254904628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/763649859254904628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/07/whats-yer-poison.html' title='What&apos;s Yer Poison???'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RpBXv7hq8LI/AAAAAAAAABE/yaQNFaQLvNg/s72-c/Poison%2BControl%2BCenters%2B%26%2BInformation.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-5202444123709974590</id><published>2007-06-28T19:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T21:34:54.392-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lioness Roars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RoRtKLhq8KI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Yl7JBNHakIs/s1600-h/Lion13408.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RoRtKLhq8KI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Yl7JBNHakIs/s320/Lion13408.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081306301240897698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;here we go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; i am, again, struggling with SOCIETY!   actually, i think my husband is the one struggling with&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; them&lt;/span&gt; and i'm the one counter- acting against him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; here is the story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; my precious little babies are not walking yet.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;BIG EFFING DEAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;/span&gt; they are going to be 14 months old, and they have been (according to the stupid books) hitting their physical milestones late by two months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;i have closed my books A LONG time ago, but it's the PEOPLE out there who REMIND us that they might be "behind". two people last week couldn't get over the fact that they are so "tiny". three people this week have referred to my children as "lazy".&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;we&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;were also told&lt;/span&gt; that our daughter is smarter than her brother because she is more driven to walk.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;lastly,  i'm sick of the condescending, "oh, it's o.k. they&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; were &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;early right?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt; first of all, my books are not the problem.   i read as much as i can and take what i want from them.  the&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; right&lt;/span&gt; books give a range of milestones, and are sure to tell you that every child is different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;what baby is lazy??? babies are always busy. my kids never stop moving, talking, playing. no, my son is not the most agile 14 month old, but neither was i. i think i was about 16 months old when i finally started walking, and i'm not horribly challenged (alright, maybe mathematically). why would a girl walking before a boy mean he is not smart, or that she is smarter than he is??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:georgia;" &gt;oh, and for the record, 36 1/2 weeks gestation is not really early for a twin pregnancy, or for a singleton pregnancy for that matter. my children are fine!!! neither the pediatrician or i, are concerned about their development. i think daddy is the one who is really worried that his kids are...slow, or a wussy, or heaven forbid, turn out like him (his words).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; when people call my kids "bad", or "lazy" the claws come out! look, i'm not the type of mom who won't own up to her kids bad behavior, don't get me wrong. i encourage you people to call my kids out on the wrong things they might do. i don't want V and A to go around thinking they can do or say whatever they want and only mom or dad will reprimand them. i do , however, think the correction has to be warranted. dropping food on the floor doesn't make a 14 month old a "bad girl", and not walking doesn't make a 14 month old "lazy".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;unfortunately, we live in a world of percentiles, labels and over achievers. the little league dads and soccer moms cursing from the sidelines when their child's team loses. or, grounding their son because he didn't get straight A's on his spelling tests. what the hell are we teaching them?? that, if they are not &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:georgia;" &gt;up to par&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;, they're "lazy". we wonder why so many kids get depressed, have anxiety, and pull out their own eyelashes. we do it to them! so, i have to protect my kids. i want them to feel good about who they are, and concentrate on the things they do well. it's harder to forget a negative than remember a positive. the old "sticks and stones" saying, is not true. words can crush a delicate self esteem, and name calling definitely does hurt. i'm not going to be polite anymore. the next time i feel my children are subject to name calling, i will attack!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;i have been called names, we all have. i once had a teacher tell me, in anger, that i would never make it to the next grade. to a 9 year old, it means "your stupid". my husband calls himself stupid almost everyday, and it breaks my heart to know why he thinks so.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;i'm sure one of you can remember something someone has said to you as a child that will be with you forever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-5202444123709974590?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/5202444123709974590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=5202444123709974590' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/5202444123709974590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/5202444123709974590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/06/lioness-roars.html' title='The Lioness Roars'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RoRtKLhq8KI/AAAAAAAAAA8/Yl7JBNHakIs/s72-c/Lion13408.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-3135614403194936169</id><published>2007-06-22T12:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T10:15:40.327-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cleanliness is Godliness</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rnvlio_jcII/AAAAAAAAAA0/y9XMZFmQIYI/s1600-h/3681340722.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rnvlio_jcII/AAAAAAAAAA0/y9XMZFmQIYI/s320/3681340722.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078905388072661122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;i do not consider myself to be a clean freak by any sense of the word (trust me, i know of people who are psychotic about cleaning), but upon discussion with my friends a while back, i realized my idiosyncrasies are not uncommon. in fact, many others share the VERY same quirks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;everyone has a way of functioning in they're own home, or even at the work place.  here is a list of my O.C.D. tendencies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;TOTAL MELT DOWN:&lt;/span&gt; when my dishwasher is loaded the wrong way, or towels folded incorrectly. yes, this is a big deal to me!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div face="georgia"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div face="georgia"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Cooking:&lt;/span&gt; i need to clean as i cook. i put everything away as i am preparing food. i can not have a counter top cluttered with culinary paraphernalia. this makes post dinnertime cleanup much easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;Put IT Away!!!&lt;/span&gt; : if your finished with the news paper, fold it back up and bring it to the recycling bin, do not leave it scattered on the dining room table, counter top, or around the toilet. no one will take interest in it and decide to read it. when you're finished making PB&amp;J, but the bread in the pantry, screw the lids back onto the jars and place back into the fridge or lazy suzan. for god's sake, clean off the knife before throwing it into the sink...lead to next topic.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:georgia;" &gt;Clean it off:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; i need to wipe off all excess spreads off my knife either onto the bread or paper towel before i use it for something else ( PB&amp;J, i don't like crumbs, or jelly floating around in the peanut butter jar...Gaggging) i have the need to clean my plate. it's not that i over eat, i serve myself a small helping, but need to scrape or sop up everything. it kills me to see hunks of tomato, or that last few grains of rice on rick's plate. he has the opposite philosophy, and needs to leave &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;something&lt;/span&gt; on his plate.  when i feed my kids,  i use that rubber spoon to remove all bits of anything from that bowl.&lt;br /&gt;my kitchen sink needs be clean all the time. i hate, hate, HATE food left spattered on the sides, coffee stains, even soap bubbles on the bottom. i even have a special rotating tooth brush i use to buzz off an kind of build up on the faucet. my sink also has a "clean side" and a dirty side". i know not everyone knows this, but it really bothers me when people put dirty stuff in the "clean side". &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; well, that's really it. I could go into other habits and rituals, but the 4 highlighted, are the most important. i am a bit un-organized, or less tidy in other areas. maybe if i put less energy into these 4, and more into others, my desk wouldn't be as cluttered, my closet wouldn't have piles of shoes in them...the light just went off in my head. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; what the hell am i doing???  i gotta go organize my closets.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-3135614403194936169?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/3135614403194936169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=3135614403194936169' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3135614403194936169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3135614403194936169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/05/cleanliness-is-godliness.html' title='Cleanliness is Godliness'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rnvlio_jcII/AAAAAAAAAA0/y9XMZFmQIYI/s72-c/3681340722.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-3204230324601610698</id><published>2007-06-02T14:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-02T14:51:12.272-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My 1st 5k</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;did it!!! I am so proud of myself. I have never run in a race, well, since I was a kid anyway. I just wish I had participated in some 2 years ago when I was running 15 miles a week and 115 lbs. I would have been awesome. I figure that today I ran really well, and I'll only get better. I really didn't prepare much, and I think this will give me good motivation to kick my own ass again. I really loved the competition aspect of it. Here you are, passing other people, and it makes you feel good. When those &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;you've passed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; come up on your heals, it pushes you to move more.  I was smart about it tho'. I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;think I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; paced myself well, and as I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;approached&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; the finish line, I just bit the bullet, and sprinted with hopes I wouldn't trip and get some serious road rash. So, my time was 30:51. YEAH!!! I don't remember running 3.1 miles that fast...well in high school ( yes, here comes Al &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Bundy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;), when i did a 1/2 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;triathlon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;. The 5 mile run was at the end, and after biking 10 miles, swimming 1 mile, I still ran  under 10 minute mile. All in 90 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;degrees&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;.  Ah yes, my glory days.  To be 16 again.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;  Anyhow, I plan to run &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;at least&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; 2 more, and better my time.  Until then, I have to get back in the groove.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-3204230324601610698?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/3204230324601610698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=3204230324601610698' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3204230324601610698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3204230324601610698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/06/1st-5k.html' title='My 1st 5k'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-6625352092537068649</id><published>2007-05-29T09:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T10:03:11.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Losing ground</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;i hate to admit it, but i came unglued this weekend.  despite all my efforts, and the hard work of my husband i just couldn't keep it together.  i think i saw it coming for a few days, but yesterday, i just broke down and needed to flee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; you see, my children are becoming toddlers. not yet walking, but have gained independence, and then have realized they are dependant on us.  avery especially. putting her down for naps and bed was NEVER a problem.  she was my "good sleeper". you could set a clock to her sleep routine, and when she woke from her ever- so- peaceful slumber she was happy to play and talk to herself in her crib.  now, putting her down for anything is a struggle.  she flips over and stands in her crib screaming and biting the wood.  we have gone back to sleepless nights, waking about every two hours to screams to find her sitting up and pulling her hair out of frustration because she hasn't figured out how to lay back down.  we'll find her asleep sitting up with her head against the bumper of the crib and try to decide whether or not to lay her down, for fear of waking her. my little egg time has become a ticking time bomb.&lt;br /&gt; the time i had to myself is staring to dwindle away again. i know nothing is easy, and they are people, not robots, but it so much easier to say it when your babies &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;comply.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; i feel like i have a newborn again, and it sucks!!!! i'm back to having anxiety for the nap times i had all to myself, and for the 12 hour sleep filled nights, because these are no more.  i'm afraid vaughn will follow in avery's tiny foot steps, his history is so. vaughn was a terribly restless sleeper the first 8 months, and the past 4 have been bliss. but it will change, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; so, yesterday i snapped.  i screamed and cried, and stomped my feet like a 5 year old.  i wanted to hit someone, throw something and stomp on it until it was broken into a thousand pieces. thankfully, rick gave me the go ahead to get out. i put on my running shoes, and pounded the shit out of the pavement.  i ran and imagined the concrete breaking under my feet. i ran, and ran faster and faster until my chest hurt, and tears streamed down my face.  i didn't care how sore i'd be the next day, it just felt so good to feel free. i feel helpless, and afraid to take the days on by myself for the rest of the week.  i feel resentment for the people who have nannies, and mothers, and mother-in-laws to bail them out so they can just decompress. i hate when they talk about how hard it is, and go to work the next day or drop their kids off for the night at the grandparents house.  i hate that i &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; to do the laundry, i &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; to balance the check book, vacuum the dog hair, make appointments for other people, and try to take a shower in one god damn day.  not to mention, wrangle two kids.  i want someone to pick up the pieces for me. i don't want to hear "i told you so!", or any stupid anecdotal phrase. i just want it to stop. i want to do something unplanned, because everything i do, i have on that stupid calender.  i hate it right now!!! i have always been so selfless, and now i have nothing left for me. i, for the first time see how mothers can get depressed.  and i hate myself for understanding that. i don't want to be one of those women who get lost. i don't want to have resentment. i want to enjoy &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;the now, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;not wish my babies would grow up, so i can get through this, and get some sleep. i know this is only a rough patch, and it will pass. for know it is just that, rough!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-6625352092537068649?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/6625352092537068649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=6625352092537068649' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6625352092537068649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6625352092537068649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/05/losing-ground.html' title='Losing ground'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-8591750955990032796</id><published>2007-05-23T10:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T10:45:23.743-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The sound of music</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;t&lt;/span&gt;he cicadas are emerging, and i'm obsessed.  every night, i check the lawn and my trees for the lil' buggers.  this morning i stepped outside to their lovely sound.  i know  this is strange to  most people, but the sound i so regularly imitate, is the sound of summer (to me anyway). i'm afraid that they will consume my yard tho' (figuratively speaking).  having the babies, and being outside as much as possible, these friends of mine may be the summer party crashers, until they die off in july. anyone inundated with them??  some areas will be worse than others, and knowing some treas on my block are 100 years old, i thought i'd have more. so far, i'm not finding any in my yard...yet.  don't worry, i'm not planning on making any cicada cookies or muffins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-8591750955990032796?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/8591750955990032796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=8591750955990032796' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8591750955990032796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/8591750955990032796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/05/sound-of-music.html' title='The sound of music'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-6626560345666559155</id><published>2007-05-16T13:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T10:30:42.793-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hair Removal :  Ist session</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RkxzuZZvpWI/AAAAAAAAAAs/tEzAQFadBX8/s1600-h/ts.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RkxzuZZvpWI/AAAAAAAAAAs/tEzAQFadBX8/s320/ts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065550921815008610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;so, i had my first light hair removal session. it is not a laser, but a pulsed light handpiece. the light flash seeks the pigment in your hair, and disables the follicle from producing hair. i have to go back 9 times for total hair loss in the areas. what is nice is, if any hair grows after treatment, they will see you free for a whole year to guarantee the hair will not grow back.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;during the consultation, the woman had asked me if i wanted to have a full bikini treatment&lt;br /&gt;( brazilian, in other words). now after having children, modesty kind of disappears, but i couldn't imagine having a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pulsed light handpiece &lt;/span&gt;pointed in some of those areas. do i really want to be 70 years old with a "telly savalis"?? i don't think so. anyhow, i purchased the regular bikini treatment, and got underarm treatment for free (yeah). i am looking forward to not having to shave, or wax these areas ever again. WHHHOOO WHOOOOO!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;i arrived to the suite, and was greeted by a very nice girl, who offered me a glass of water and a breath mint. " does my breath stink?" i think to myself. i take one anyway. and sit down. luckily, they took me in right away. needless to say i was a bit anxious, because i had no idea what to expect. the esthetition (we'll call her "E") who would be treating my areas, was really sweet and kinda quiet, so i started my nervous talking thing. which would eventually get me to my ultimate question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"so E, are you busy this time of year?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;"how long have you been here?"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;"are you married?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;"do you have any children?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;" E, how much is this going to hurt???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;i know they described it as a snap from a rubber band, but how big is the rubber band and how far is the rubber band being pulled? E honestly explained, that she really can't tell me what to expect, because everyone reacts differently. she also told me to stop her if i was in terrible discomfort, but if i had ever had endured being waxed in these areas, that this would be a "piece of cake". now, the one time i had my under arms waxed was THE PITS!!!!! pardon the pun. so , if it was easier than that, i knew i'd be o.k. besides, i had twins, what could be worse than the last few weeks of pregnancy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt;so, E fires up the handpiece, gives me a pair of glasses for protection, and begins to blow &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;ICE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; cold air onto my arm pit. she places the hand piece onto my skin, and i immediately tense up. she fires...i jump "oooh, that wasn't so bad" i say. it was like a hard rubber band snap followed by a burning sensation. she fires again, and then blows the ice cold air onto the area, "ahhh". &lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:verdana;" &gt; as she treated the bikini area, i probably jumped every time she fired the handpiece and i don't really know why. it wasn't really that uncomfortable, i guess it was just a reflex, but all in all it wasn't terrible. i just felt like an idiot, because i apologized 37 times, and couldn't stop that either. i still couldn't imagine having a full bikini treatment done. wow!! that would hurt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-6626560345666559155?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/6626560345666559155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=6626560345666559155' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6626560345666559155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6626560345666559155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/05/hair-removal-ist-session.html' title='Hair Removal :  Ist session'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RkxzuZZvpWI/AAAAAAAAAAs/tEzAQFadBX8/s72-c/ts.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-6952265133306356332</id><published>2007-04-23T15:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T15:07:04.307-05:00</updated><title type='text'>reminiscing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RifKd20AV_I/AAAAAAAAAAk/YBVrD-zHqEo/s1600-h/twins+birth.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RifKd20AV_I/AAAAAAAAAAk/YBVrD-zHqEo/s320/twins+birth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055231721025329138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;i was skimming through my pictures and came across this one. what a beaut! at least i'm smiling (because i have such a great sense of humor). it just so happened to have been taken a year ago to the day. i try to remember how it felt to have two bodies inside me. sometimes, when i have horrible gas pain, i can close my eyes, and it kinda feels the same way. if i could do anything, i would love to go back in time and experience the feeling of both babies churning around. some nights were so uncomfortable, i would cry out in pain. it would feel like vaughn was trying to break my ribs with his legs, and avery would ball up against my liver, but i'll never have that feeling again. how precious. (ha ha)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;this time last year, i slept on the couch, bobbled around from chair to couch, to chair again. i was so miserable!!! this picture was taken when the worst was setting in and gaining a pound a day in water. my legs were so swollen it felt like my skin would tear, and i couldn't put my feet together anymore. i begged god (and my doctor) for these babies to arrive, and was so relieved when my water finally broke. the torture would end...and then started a new beginning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;it is so amazing how fast a year goes by. it seams like yesterday. now i look at these babies, soon to be toddlers, and i am in such disbelief these kids came out of me! now that they are on the move, and can feed themselves, it shows how independant they are becoming. now i know what my parents meant when we were growing up. the older we get, the faster time passes. so my friends, savor every moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-6952265133306356332?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/6952265133306356332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=6952265133306356332' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6952265133306356332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/6952265133306356332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/04/reminiscing.html' title='reminiscing'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/RifKd20AV_I/AAAAAAAAAAk/YBVrD-zHqEo/s72-c/twins+birth.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-236402067090603442</id><published>2007-04-09T16:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-09T14:57:54.142-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Double, double, toil and trouble.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rhb34YeXEtI/AAAAAAAAAAU/pROdCnwJ1fQ/s1600-h/witches.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rhb34YeXEtI/AAAAAAAAAAU/pROdCnwJ1fQ/s320/witches.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050496580157117138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;i was watching my favorite morning show, and they had a witch visiting. she was explaining her practices to the audience. she had prefaced her explanation by saying she &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;did not&lt;/span&gt; practice black magic or worship satan, and that witches are often misunderstood. this woman was beautiful, and soft spoken. she even did a love spell with the female host (only to strengthen the love she &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;already&lt;/span&gt; shares with her partner). she used, like all other spells, natural elements; salt, flowers, fire, earth, and water. i thought it was lovely.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;i got to thinking. what is the difference between wicca and other religions? all have ceremonies with symbolic chanting or prayer, lighting candles, worshiping a higher power, icons, statues, amulets and charms. christians, jews, muslims, and buddists all use and do these things right? each religion has it's own beautiful traditions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;why do people think a witch practicing wicca is different? is it because she doesn't celebrate one god? why would wicca be less divine then other religions? or even evil. i know education plays a big roll in it all. even though i took world religions in high school, i didn't really appreciate the class as i would today. i never absorbed all of the information, so i can't say i know very much, even about my own religion. i guess if you are narrow minded, and unwilling to understand the way someone else worships their highest power, or powers, the "weird one" would be considered evil.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-236402067090603442?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/236402067090603442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=236402067090603442' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/236402067090603442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/236402067090603442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/04/double-double-toil-and-trouble.html' title='Double, double, toil and trouble.'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rhb34YeXEtI/AAAAAAAAAAU/pROdCnwJ1fQ/s72-c/witches.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-7319911039432504845</id><published>2007-03-31T13:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T13:49:52.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No Soliciters</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;s&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;o many of us have been subjected to unsolicited advice, and i know i share my frustrations quite often. but, i have a hard time saying " thank you for your advice, i appreciate your input." when i really want to say " you know asshole, i didn't ask you in the first place. besides, i would NEVER take advice from you!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;why in the world do people need to put in their two cents? i admit, i have been guilty of dropping in pennies, but there are some people out there who really need the direction, and in certain instances, biting my tongue is hard to do. as a rule i try not to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;the other morning i was shopping at out neighborhood market. this lady was looking for hamburger buns, taking up the whole isle with her cart and her...ass. all i wanted was to quickly grab my item, and continue shopping. i politely said "excuse me ma'am" and squeezed past her. i caught her attention, so she decided to watch me like a hawk. i happened to be looking for some organic soy nut butter (same isle as all the bread products), so i squatted down to take a gander at the selection. i hear her breathing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;" ohhh, (huffing and puffing) what the hell is wrong with skippy, don'tcha like peanuts, or are you one of those natural freaks? you should eat peanut butter, it's better for you. my kids lived off skippy peanut butter."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;i just pretend to not hear her, so she talks louder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;"what? you could buy 2 of those jumbo jars for the same price as that little thing!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;trying to contain the rage, i slowly turned around in the squatting position, stood up, threw the jar into my cart, and said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;"ma'am, i don't think i asked for your opinion, did i"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;who does that??? i get enough from the people who know me, but from a stranger?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; you see, the two things i &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;KNOW&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;i am good at are #1: my previous job. i kicked ass, and it's OK for me to say so. it was the one job i was happy doing. i tried to educate myself in that field to make the job as easy as possible. i think i earned a great deal of respect in that practice, and in turn respected the others around me. #2: my current profession (on paper), parenting. well, i do the same as i did 2 years ago. i just help people and organize the day in a different way. i run my household as i would a daycare center. i know i'm good at it, i'm happy, i am educated in early childhood development, but always read to gain as much knowledge as possible. i know i'm no expert, but it is difficult for me to become accustomed to people questioning me about my kids nutrition, development, nap routine, bed time. when i was working in oral surgery, everyone assumed i had things under control. so for someone to tell me i might be doing something wrong with my kids, infuriates me and i take it very personally. everyone is a doctor, or didn't you know that? it's not like my name is joan crawford, making my kids stare at the same plate of food for 2 days until they eat it, or strapping them into bed at night. i just refuse to allow them to live off cheetos and cookies. they're not anorexic, they won't &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;choose&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; to starve. i will only provide food that contains nutrition. if they are really hungry, they'll eat it. and yes they are starting to develop the selective toddler palate, and certain things they would eat with great gusto, are now spit out or thrown onto the floor. so, i give them another&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; healthy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; choice. if they don't eat it, i assume they aren't hungry, and mealtime is over. in regards to they're sleeping routine, my kids love it. i don't put them there at strange non-sleeping times for torture so i can relax. i've set their little internal clocks to go to sleep at appropriate times for their age. what is wrong with that? why do people care anyway?? i'm not hurting anyone. in fact, we ( the people under this roof) all find comfort in knowing what comes next. i'm not saying they won't give me a fight at bed time when they get older, i'm prepared if they do, but i won't "fight" back. i'll just simply demand it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;i think people comment 'cause they just don't do it the same way. it's like folding laundry. i have a very specific way i fold towels, and i fold them this way because they fit inside my closet better. i once spent way too much time re-folding towels and putting them back into the linen closet then it would have taken just to fold them in the first place. you are all saying, "whoooa, is she anal", no, well yes, but my closet wouldn't close because the towels were hanging off the edge and pushing on the door. i remember going to my sisters house after my nephew was born, and asking how she likes her towels folded. i assume she likes them folded a certain way, but i wouldn't say to her,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;"you know i fold my towels like this because they fit in my closet perfectly, you should try it."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt;what if her linen closet is configured in a different manner?  better yet, why would i care?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; i can be hard on people sometimes, i guess there are individuals who are really exited to share they're " tips of the trade". look people, don't get me wrong, it's not like i won't accept advice along the way, but don't expect me to be "oh so gracious" when i'm not looking for it. i know i am doing a pretty damn good job considering i have a over flowing plate. i almost never complain about the difficulty of having twins. there is a reason god blessed me and rick with vaughn and avery. rick and i are a good team, and we have an understanding that most couples don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"&gt; anyhow, now that this is all off my chest, i feel much better.  nothin' like some good old venting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-7319911039432504845?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/7319911039432504845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=7319911039432504845' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7319911039432504845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/7319911039432504845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/03/no-soliciters.html' title='No Soliciters'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-5381920123790053304</id><published>2007-03-30T19:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T19:56:39.731-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why The Mimic</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rg2wRo12hzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/t6Mqhc_MaIQ/s1600-h/ts.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rg2wRo12hzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/t6Mqhc_MaIQ/s320/ts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047884574419748658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;O.K., just to clarify. My sister did do a good job describing why, but &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;for those of you who know me WELL, you know I do have an uncontrolable urge to mimic noise (as said). I don't know why I do it, I just do. My friends at work once said they wanted to make a "Dina Soundtrack", of all my sound effects.  My favorites are the cicadas and the sirens. I also do this kind of club music beat box thing. Holly, you remember right??&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;What's funny is, my children, although the don't speak, mimic noises too. Avery barks like a dog. Both make this clucking noise to eachother. It's the kind of clucking equestrians use to make their horses move faster. The funniest is the farting noise they make by pushing air through their sinuses, and out through their noses. How do they learn these things?? When I say "momma" they cluck at me in unison, and laugh. So, it's a house of pure mimicry. I hope they don't start to mimic the other adult in the house. The one who seems to lack the "edit" button sometimes. For those of you who know my husband well, we all know what things can come out of his mouth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-family:lucida grande;" &gt;In closing, when late July falls upon us, and the sounds of summer are at their best, think of me in my backyard chirping along in harmony with the beloved cicadas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-5381920123790053304?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/5381920123790053304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=5381920123790053304' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/5381920123790053304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/5381920123790053304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/03/why-mimic.html' title='Why The Mimic'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_0Q-MwjBYASc/Rg2wRo12hzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/t6Mqhc_MaIQ/s72-c/ts.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83195978133030489.post-3278044166271287548</id><published>2007-03-30T15:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T15:42:21.289-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yikes, The First Post!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;Well, here I am. Vulnerable to everyone out there. I thought I'd jump on the blogging bandwagon, it seems as though everyone is doing everyday. Peer pressure at it's finest.&lt;br /&gt;I hope this serves it's purpose for me, a little therapy, we could all use some.&lt;br /&gt;I'm warning all of you from the start. If I offend you in anyway...then do not come here again! If you want to grade me on my writing skills, bad use of punctuation...get out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/83195978133030489-3278044166271287548?l=themimic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/feeds/3278044166271287548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=83195978133030489&amp;postID=3278044166271287548' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3278044166271287548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/83195978133030489/posts/default/3278044166271287548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themimic.blogspot.com/2007/03/yikes-first-post.html' title='Yikes, The First Post!'/><author><name>Dina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03893335519003546727</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
