<?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-23490870</id><updated>2011-04-21T20:54:52.449-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reconciling dreams and mediocrity</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-4322008301218537902</id><published>2009-02-13T20:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T20:49:27.615-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today pretty much sucked. I had an employee tell me that I wasn't her boss and she didn't care if she was rude to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over a fucking radio station.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then MY boss tried to justify the other person speaking to me that way because she's going through a rough time right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Utter bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned that maturity is not AT ALL related to a person's real age.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-4322008301218537902?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/4322008301218537902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=4322008301218537902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/4322008301218537902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/4322008301218537902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2009/02/today-pretty-much-sucked.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-6760477844389162139</id><published>2009-02-10T18:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T18:43:26.178-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Day 2 of blog posting:&lt;br /&gt; I took the kids to the rainforest today with the APC mamas. Logan had a really good time. Reconfirmed to me though that I really must buy another sort of carrier before summer. Quinn in the hotsling is just killing my back. I realize that they're safe for up to 35 lbs buuuuuuut no one said anything about comfortable!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sideways glove project for Brady is coming along nicely. I expect to finish the 1st glove this evening. Well, I'll probably not finish the ribbed cuff tonight but the basic hand shape should be done. That is if Ben and Brady don't talk me into playing Magic, which they might.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully Quinn will sleep tonight instead of nursing all.fracking.night.long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It occurs to me that these blog posts would be a lot more interesting if there were pictures included in them all. I will attempt to take a picture tomorrow of something that happened in my day. Tomorrow isn't looking to be all that exciting though. I work all bloody day. Maybe I'll have a finished (or nearly finished) glove picture to share.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-6760477844389162139?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/6760477844389162139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=6760477844389162139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/6760477844389162139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/6760477844389162139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2009/02/day-2-of-blog-posting-i-took-kids-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-849740309842738031</id><published>2009-02-09T19:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T19:40:16.564-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am an unbelievably terrible blogger. I'm going to try harder OK? A blog post every day. Its not like it ought to be hard. I mean, do you realize how much time I spend online? Between Ravelry, APCleveland and FrunchyMama I think I ought to have some time to update this thing here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today: The major event was I gave up on Brady's gloves. There is this impossibly wonderful pattern, found here: &lt;a href="http://www.knitting-and.com/wiki/News_Item_Men%27s_Gloves_%28Vintage%29"&gt;http://www.knitting-and.com/wiki/News_Item_Men%27s_Gloves_%28Vintage%29&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beautiful gloves knit flat on 2 needles. Awesome!! I made 1 glove a while ago and it didn't fit. It was lovely, eventually I'll make it a mate for myself. Here is a picture:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/Craft%20Stuff/?action=view&amp;amp;current=IMG00103.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/Craft%20Stuff/IMG00103.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, uh, the glove was too small for Brady's large fingers. I guess I should have paid attention to the part that said "To fit an average man's hand" Brady is rather large and not really average...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm making these now: &lt;a href="http://www.craftster.org/forum/index.php?topic=30174.0"&gt;http://www.craftster.org/forum/index.php?topic=30174.0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They're not nearly as pretty but they'll be servicable, which I guess is what counts right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well there it is, the blog post of the day. I will make one tomorrow. Promise. I'm going to keep up with this darn it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-849740309842738031?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/849740309842738031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=849740309842738031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/849740309842738031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/849740309842738031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-am-unbelievably-terrible-blogger.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/Craft%20Stuff/th_IMG00103.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-1707758858095260185</id><published>2008-09-30T22:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T22:11:37.288-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>There are these things in my head&lt;br /&gt;And they beg me to be spoken&lt;br /&gt;Vague whispers that rattle&lt;br /&gt;In the vacant spaces of my brain&lt;br /&gt;Nothing so coherent&lt;br /&gt;As to really make an impression&lt;br /&gt;Just enough to force me&lt;br /&gt;To sit down and think&lt;br /&gt;And type&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are big thoughts&lt;br /&gt;In a way&lt;br /&gt;About the meaning of life&lt;br /&gt;And the definition of love&lt;br /&gt;But they are paper thin&lt;br /&gt;And vague&lt;br /&gt;So I can’t nail them to the page&lt;br /&gt;And I get distracted by the way&lt;br /&gt;The text swirls on the screen&lt;br /&gt;About the strange gracefulness&lt;br /&gt;That computer generated script creates&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the rational side of me begs&lt;br /&gt;Do you have a point?&lt;br /&gt;While the whispers insist&lt;br /&gt;That this is the point&lt;br /&gt;And my inner muse insists&lt;br /&gt;That there are too many cooks in my kitchen&lt;br /&gt;While my creative side asks me&lt;br /&gt;How I ever get any work done&lt;br /&gt;With so many guests&lt;br /&gt;In my head&lt;br /&gt;Begging me to put them into words&lt;br /&gt;And I realize&lt;br /&gt;I still don’t have a point&lt;br /&gt;Maybe that is the point&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That I don’t always need one&lt;br /&gt;And to take things as they come&lt;br /&gt;And that my thoughts are too contrived&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes it’s just better&lt;br /&gt;To watch the words materialize&lt;br /&gt;And just stop trying&lt;br /&gt;To say something profound&lt;br /&gt;And just to let it be&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-1707758858095260185?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/1707758858095260185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=1707758858095260185' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/1707758858095260185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/1707758858095260185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/09/there-are-these-things-in-my-head-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-2626083755579622371</id><published>2008-09-22T17:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T17:20:41.041-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A Story&lt;br /&gt;By: My Son Logan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time dey was uh ayplane and some ice keem!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me: And?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dey was ice keem!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me: Did people eat ice cream on the airplane?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh-uhh!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Me: What kind?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aypane ice keem!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Was there chocolate in it?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nooo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Nuts?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noooo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Strawberries?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh-huhhh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;So they ate strawberry ice cream on the airplane?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh-huh and dey, dey live happa-ee eva aftahh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The end?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh-huh!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have I mentioned that my kid is stinkin' cute?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-2626083755579622371?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/2626083755579622371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=2626083755579622371' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/2626083755579622371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/2626083755579622371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/09/story-by-my-son-logan-once-upon-time.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-1221998988804541442</id><published>2008-08-31T16:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T16:29:12.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I hate my life today. Neither child has stopped screaming. The credit bureau called because my payment is four freaking days late. My IL's are coming over and I just want to crawl in a hole and hide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-1221998988804541442?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/1221998988804541442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=1221998988804541442' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/1221998988804541442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/1221998988804541442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-hate-my-life-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-5217681977629909976</id><published>2008-08-18T07:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T07:59:19.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The only way to get anything done around here...&lt;br /&gt;is to think like a two year old. Not kidding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday - Logan pooped. I smelled it, it smelled gross. I wanted to change him, but he was wayyyy too busy being a dinosaur to sit still to be changed. Ran away from me when I tried to grab him to change him. So, I roared at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I'm a mommy dinosaur!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;You mommy dinosaur!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yup! Rooooaaaaaar!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Stomp like a dinosaur!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You're a stinky dinosaur though, can you stomp over there and get me a new diaper for you?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thennnnn I wanted him to get dressed. Once again too busy. He was playing with a toy bowl and spoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I'm making cheese!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You can't make cheese wearing that! Cheese-makers have to wear special uniforms. Do you think a cheese maker wears a T-shirt or a button up?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;T-shirt!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;What about pants? Would he wear jeans or shorts?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Jeans!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, just for future reference. If you ever decide to make cheese, the appropriate attire is a t-shirt and jeans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to finish knitting my bag, so I can start working on craftswap stuff. I think I'm off to do that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-5217681977629909976?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/5217681977629909976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=5217681977629909976' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/5217681977629909976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/5217681977629909976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/08/only-way-to-get-anything-done-around.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-7225757546485794308</id><published>2008-08-08T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T17:01:14.055-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2833.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2833.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am going to lose my gentle mommy calm in about 3 seconds. Seriously, soooooo not kidding.  What does that look like on the bed to you? Why, its trail mix of course! I know, that toddlers like to "graze" rather than eating large meals so, when my son got in the bottom cupboard, located the bag of trail mix and opened it I thought "Oh good, he's eating something!" He's been on this not wanting to eat anything kick lately. He took it, and his juice into the bedroom. He didn't nap today, I thought he might munch, drink and lay down and go to sleep. No, no no, he did this instead. &lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2831.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2831.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2832.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2832.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Oh, and did I mention that somehow whilst making this giant mess, the child pooped. Yeah. So I'm changing his diaper and telling him that next time he needs to poop he should tell mommy so I can take him to the potty. He tells me "Logan go sit on potty!" So, I figure, what the hell... he's already got his diaper off. So off he goes running to sit on the potty. I decide to document what a mess he's made with the trail mix because at this point, I stil&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2835.jpg" border="0" /&gt;l think its funny. Then I go in the bathroom after taking the pictures to find him doing this with his child's toilet seat. I'd like to tell you I wipe the surface off frequently with a lysol wipe or something. I do not. Ugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, yes, I failed to mention that &lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2836.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2836.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;originally, I had gone in the bedroom to get a new shirt because Quinn spit up on mine. So, all the time, trail mix clean up, toilet seat on head etc. I am running around topless. Priceless huh?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And now, the mini-child AKA Quinn is screaming bloody murder for no aparent reason. I think its time for us to get in the car and drive down the street to Nana's house for some back up. That, is what I think. Ugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2836.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2832.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2836.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2835.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2835.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n17/ImNotBarbie03/DSC_2835.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-7225757546485794308?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/7225757546485794308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=7225757546485794308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/7225757546485794308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/7225757546485794308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-am-going-to-lose-my-gentle-mommy-calm.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-8188659551546821730</id><published>2008-08-06T21:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T21:28:14.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ugh. I am so.tired. of editing my self. I am so tired of walking on eggshells to not piss anyone off, of having a thought and thinking of ways to rephrase it so as not to hurt anyones feelings. Its mentally exhausting. I just want to fucking say what I want to say and get it out. I want to just spit out what everyone is trying to politely hint at and just flippin' say it. I feel like when I'm not blunt, when I'm gentle that everyone tunes me out, that no one listens. I just want to stand up and scream sometimes instead of apologizing for having thoughts. I think, thats what bothers me the most about not saying the things I need to say - it requires me to apologize for saying the things I do manage to say. I'm just so unbelievably tired of being nice. I'm too damn nice and I'm so over it. I don't want to be nice anymore I want to fucking say what I want to say with out the god damn filter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-8188659551546821730?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/8188659551546821730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=8188659551546821730' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/8188659551546821730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/8188659551546821730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/08/ugh.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-6743266796545169332</id><published>2008-07-31T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T20:28:54.782-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So, today, actually turned out quite good. Cracker Barrel was totally delicious as always. Logan loooooooved the model train museum. It makes me want to buy him every train ever made when we go there. I think, if I were a millionare, I would find ways to spend it all on my kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and who knew that there were decent "beaches" at Lake Erie. I'm totally used to the Lorain county beaches which are utter crap. I actually got sick from getting water in my mouth at an Avon beach once. Anyway, the beach in Port Clinton called East Harbor...yeah its totally nice and Logan and I had a great time. The lady lifegaurd was a little psycho. Imagine someone saying in that sing-songy-right-before-you-go-on-an-amusement-park-ride voice "We will nowwww be taking our 15 minute saaafetey break. Everyone must exit the water at this tiiime. The timeeeer will not start until everrrryone exits the water"  I'm having a hard time typing out the tone, maybe you just had to be there. :shrug:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-6743266796545169332?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/6743266796545169332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=6743266796545169332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/6743266796545169332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/6743266796545169332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/07/so-today-actually-turned-out-quite-good.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-4558725515042952236</id><published>2008-07-31T05:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T05:41:28.472-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It's way to early to be awake. Seriously, I know "normal" people all over the world are awake and showered by 8:35 but I am not one of them. I haven't been since the second semester of college when I realized that if I didn't mind being in class til 4 (I don't mind) I didn't have to start til about noon. Ever since then I've been an afternoon/evening sort of person.&lt;br /&gt;I'm a manager now, and I *still* work second shift. Hallelujah! I just don't understand how people function before about 10am. Especially in winter. Like, the people that get up at 6am in order to be at work by 8. Yeah, seriously, shoot me now because I'd capital H-A-T-E that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I know. I'm whining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, why *am* I awake this early? Because my IL's want to spend a family day together.&lt;br /&gt;Yeah... don't say it. I know you're thinking it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, at least there are Cracker Barrel pancakes involved. I'm off to breakfast. And then the model train museum and then Lake Erie. Ew. Seriously, the lake is gross. I'm not so excited about that last one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-4558725515042952236?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/4558725515042952236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=4558725515042952236' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/4558725515042952236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/4558725515042952236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/07/its-way-to-early-to-be-awake.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-4135412151805859678</id><published>2008-07-28T12:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T12:17:33.269-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You know what's really annoying? When a store publishes a sale ad and then only has about 3 of the item adverstised. Thats shady and stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to Target today in search of a futon cover, because our screwton looks like it belongs in a back bedroom at a frat house. It does not look like a legitimate peice of furniture. Anyway, the Target ad said they would have tan microsuede futon covers for $24. Sweet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got there and they were all sold out. I asked if the next store over had them, Eyria is like 15 min away. Nope. They didn't either. Medina  or Fairview had them and thats it. I am not driving 45 minutes to get a futon cover. Grrr. I'm going to see if I can order it online.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did buy a wire shelving unit. Brady has huge sz. 15 feet and so his shoes won't fit in the regular shoe caddy, so they always look messy. Now, I have to assemble it. Joy. Please tell me how I'm supposed to assemble a shelving unit with a baby attatched to my boob. I'd love to know. If I ask Brady to do it, it will get done in about 3 months. So, I'll do it. Maybe I can move him off the boob without waking him up? I mean, I'm typing and its not disturbing him... hmmm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-4135412151805859678?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/4135412151805859678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=4135412151805859678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/4135412151805859678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/4135412151805859678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/07/you-know-whats-really-annoying-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23490870.post-8362196165688766999</id><published>2008-07-27T18:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-27T18:29:09.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The things that rattle around up there…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve had about 8 things bouncing around in my head lately that I’ve needed to put into sentence, rather than open ended thought form and just haven’t had the time, energy or motivation to do it.&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about is parenting. I expected being a mom to be time consuming, to require sacrifice, to require me getting rid of college age partying stuff, to mean less sleep at night, to mean watching seemingly endless hours of children’s television programming. I expected all that. What I did *not* expect was a redefinition of my values. I didn’t expect that parenting would require me to examine MYSELF so closely and decide who I want to be and who I want my children to be and how I want them to behave. I think though, that all good parents must examine these questions. I try (and frequently fail) to model behavior that I would prefer my children to have. Its oh-so-much easier to lead by example than to lead by orders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reminded of this today at a Bridal Shower. I took Logan. There were 2 other little girls there who were about 3 or 4-ish. I couldn’t believe how differently they all behaved. I knew the one little girl. She is my step sisters cousin (but not my cousin because it’s the wrong side of the marriage line – I hope that makes sense). Anyway, her mother, while being fairly main-stream is still a decent mom. Paid attention to where her kid was, that her daughter was playing nicely, you know, she was present without being overly involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I, on the other hand, am guilty of being over involved. I need to back off and let my child figure out how to handle conflict on his own but at the same time, every one in his life is always kind to him. He doesn’t know what to do if someone doesn’t say please, let alone is bossy or manipulative. So anyway, this other little girl; her mom was paying absolutely no attention to her. I mean, we were in the front yard of a house with tents set up and the kids were playing on the yard, this girl could have run into the yard and the mom likely wouldn’t have noticed!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annoyingly, I was the only mom who thought ahead and brought toys. By some stroke of genius though, I managed to bring 3 of everything. 3 little cars, 3 books, 3 small plastic animals, I even made 3 paper airplanes, one for each kid. The one little girl though, she just wanted all of them. One of the other moms did get a blanket out of her car for the kids to sit on and the mean little girl kept pushing Logan off the blanket. To the point where I had to go over and say “Do you like to be pushed?” “No? Then don’t push!” I hate getting involved; telling other people’s kids how to act, but Jesus, I’m not going to stand there while she shoves my kid around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, then when we went to leave I had to wrestle our toys out of her hands to take them home. Her mom was STILL oblivious. I would never have known which woman was her mother had I not asked my step sister. My step sister says its really not the little girl’s fault that she’s bossy and mean like that. Apparently its better if the mom ignores her because when she does talk to her, all she does is yell at her. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t understand why some people don’t get that little kids are people to and speaking to them with respect teaches them to speak with respect to their peers and other adults. Seriously, why is that a hard concept for people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so this blog has turned into a rant about other people’s kids and I didn’t really express my thoughts so much about how I behave in a manner I wouldn’t mind my kids copying but… oh well.  We just left the shower 30 minutes ago (early) because I wanted to smack the mom around. So, rather than being rude, I excused ourselves early by saying the kids were tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a happy note: My step sister’s Grandma is the nicest lady ever. She insisted on holding and playing with Quinn while I got a plate and ate AND THEN, she managed to get him to go to sleep so he slept in his little carseat thingie for about 45 min and let me talk and eat desert and everything. Wonderful woman&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23490870-8362196165688766999?l=reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/feeds/8362196165688766999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=23490870&amp;postID=8362196165688766999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/8362196165688766999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/23490870/posts/default/8362196165688766999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://reconcilingmediocrity.blogspot.com/2008/07/things-that-rattle-around-up-there-ive.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12792813892847040668</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xIJ4SDUmQWU/SZI8B8m4V9I/AAAAAAAAAAg/xfYCt_WiaRQ/S220/0017.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
