tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146032542024-03-06T23:31:55.903-08:00Occidental TouristJust a small town girl, living in a lonely world, taking midnight trains places.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.comBlogger640125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-41853856869078490752013-03-08T12:27:00.000-08:002013-03-08T12:28:16.770-08:00Stan the Man in the Tan Van...a Sesame Street Literary Rhyme<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bad news: I finished a great book. How to follow up an engrossing read, especially before you're ready to turn out the light? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had this dilemma last night when I closed the back cover to Amy Tan's gripping memoir, The Opposite of Fate. It was 8:30 pm. Now what?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The process:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First, a palate-cleansing break. Rearrange the (5 or 6) pillows and get comfortable. Second, pick up the library book I have 3/4 finished, titled, The Spellman Files. Remind self that it contains an interesting mystery, despite trying-too-hard style, and prosaic writing. I still want to find out what happens. Third, get reading again. Break over.</span><br />
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It wasn't Amy Tan, but then again, very few books are.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-63902181783073850272012-10-19T12:10:00.000-07:002012-10-19T12:10:33.681-07:00Friday<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Howdy there. How are you? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So many changes with a baby are monumental, and then also kind of mundane. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Take today. It's Friday. We're upstairs in baby Evelyn's bedroom instead of downstairs in the kitchen, trying to work on our homeschool lessons for the older girl. I decided to grab my laptop and relax up here in this different space. We have the radio tuned to NPR, like usual, and Evelyn is enjoying a blanket-covered floor with the toys that stay upstairs. The older one is cleaning her room. At least, she is supposed to be cleaning her room but it's awfully quiet in there. It sounds more like she's reading books than cleaning. It's like a whole new thing, except for girlie's book-reading, but without all the effort of actually leaving the house.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This little house. It's small, but at around 1,600 sq. ft. it's not small at all. It is cozy, our house built for elves. In 1945, post-war, people must've been shorter? I don't know, but I love the low ceilings, the built-in shelves (WE NEED MOOOORE), and the steep stairs that were made, I can only assume, for the teeny little people that used to live here. They didn't bonk their heads on the doorframe that we do when we walk down the stairs. Or bonk their heads on the sloping ceilings on the second floor. But it's a <i>romantic</i> kind of ceiling, so the goose-egg that it leaves on our heads is <i>cute</i>. One of these days, we'll probably move. I just wish we could find a house with as much cuteness - some people call it character - as this one. But character in one built for not-elves, like us.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Evelyn is enjoying her room. She is much less screechy this morning than usual, even though her tummy has been giving her trouble. She's had several poops during the day, whereas her normal routine is to have just one... or two at the most. Aren't you glad you asked?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's just a normal Friday. My teeth are not yet brushed. Both children are clean and dressed. We will probably go to the library, if their mom can get it together enough to clean her teeth to a socially acceptable level, that is.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a good day.</span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-49322598785528043232012-10-08T15:47:00.000-07:002012-10-08T15:47:26.250-07:00The World is a Magical Place<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Remember the child from the box? Well, she's taking her afternoon nap. And this morning, she had a morning nap. And last night? Last night, she slept in her crib for the first time. Her father and I took turns sitting with her until she fell asleep. When she woke during the night, I was prepared to soothe her but not feed her. She mostly self-soothed before I could go in there and muck things up, except for that 2 - 3:30 am stretch where I went into her room LIKE A MORON. See: previous part about SELF-SOOTHING, dumdum.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is a reason why sleep deprivation is a torture device, people. Think about it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Holy sweet Baby Jesus, today is a marvelous day!!!! The world is a beautiful place!!!!!!!! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, there's the other one. The older one. She is running cross-country this fall for the first time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She's the blondie in black shoes. I screamed maniacally for her as she ran by. I think she loves that.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Kids. There's nothing like them. Sometimes you put them in boxes in a vain attempt to hang onto your mind and get through the next few minutes, and other times you shout out loud your support for all the world to hear. Much to their dismay. I'm not sure which is the truest indicator of a loving parent. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Probably both.</span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-9508208777715971502012-10-02T17:22:00.000-07:002012-10-02T17:22:39.464-07:00The Baby at Nine MonthsYesterday, I put my kid in a box. She was screaming and unhappy everywhere else I put here, might as well go for broke. It kept her happy for a surprising amount of time. I think I washed dishes.<br />
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She still won't crawl, eat solid foods, or allow any teeth to come through her gums. I'm trying not to panic, which means NOT going to the internet and googling "eight month old doesn't crawl". Because I did that and the results range from "crawling is normal at 9 to 10 months" to "it could be the result of central nervous system damage...". Good old internet.<br />
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Today Evelyn turns nine months old. To mark the occasion, she took a nap with the cat. The cat jumped in her bed as I was feeding her in preparation for her afternoon nap, when he pointedly looked at me before settling down as if to say, "you're stuck under the baby, so watch this."<br />
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I shook the bed and tried to get him out, but he just looked like he was enjoying his free massage. So, I put the baby in on top of/next to him. I think I made my point.<br />
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Who know what tomorrow will bring? Maybe crawling, and the minute she pulls out all the books from the bookshelf and gets into my purse to rip out all the checks, I know I will wonder why I wanted it to happen so badly in the first place. Immobility is not so bad.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-45356783847541791602012-08-31T10:35:00.003-07:002012-08-31T10:48:46.295-07:00The Day When My Daughter Insisted Upon Her Own Personality<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My oldest daughter is going to run cross country this fall. I want to start running again to get into shape, so we have been running together this week. The benefits: mother-daughter bonding time! Motivation to get outside! Other stuff!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It has been good. We have run intervals, done sprintwork at the track, and are supposed to go for a longer, easy jog today. (Meanwhile, I'm on my third cup of decaf and she's eating a late breakfast. It's also Friday, which means there's more than an incredibly precise chance that we'll do pretty much anything else than a longer, easy jog today. Like, not run at all.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One interesting thing has popped up over this past week's running. My 11-year old has decided it's time to start "growing up" and "separating herself as an individual" a bit. This has taken the form of questioning much of what I ask her to do during our run workouts. She questions me, and has a tiny attitude. Which is normal, I get it. But yo, you wouldn't do this when your DAD coaches you, would you? No. I guess it's just moms that get to see the full force of the fancy hormone-changing grump-tasticness?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which I guess, makes me special. With her mom, she feels like she can be herself, even if that self looks more like a cat getting a bath rather than the sweet kid we've raised from birth.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I tell myself that it's okay. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a phase. It's <i>supposed</i> to happen this way. And besides, that's why God invented wine, for when our progeny do their hardest growing* and we need something to prop us up for the process.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My husband tells me our daughter wants to do things her way, <i>just like me</i>. (We'll deal with THAT characterization later.......crap, it's true.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*<i> (And we're not even to the years that end it -teen...)</i></span></div>
Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-28709722455478665632012-08-19T18:06:00.003-07:002012-08-19T18:06:44.013-07:00Baby Food<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Found out that the cereal I've been feeding Evvie is giving her constipation. Turns out that cereal, commonly used as baby's first food, should be one of the last foods introduced to a breastfed baby for a number of reasons. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a processed food that has to be fortified. The iron it contains is not necessary for breastfed babies. The iron it contains is not as readily absorbed as that contained in human milk (10% vs. 40% absorption rate). The extra iron can cause constipation. The nutrition it delivers is substandard when compared to human milk...the list goes on. (Information courtesy <a href="http://www.breastfeedingbasics.com/">www.breastfeedingbasics.com</a>)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have two children. Why did I not know this?!?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Evvie's not too fond of solid foods yet. She liked her cereal room temperature. If her fruit was refrigerated, it had to be warmed up first. She hasn't loved anything in particular, except breastfeeding, God love her.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Forget the cereal. She's getting bananas and applesauce now. The only thing coming out of this butt will be pure fruit.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAg2YGoHGrmmIl2H1L3SkkgiuOrx2EpvcPyxslR9LuYXFCX26mStzkM15KneNI1ZiO69UXpJI7IipsunPGrHWufLhJfCL0trExN1usNmWGPSiAFVcTv6HnauRPE4GaaJE11NCC/s1600/ruffle_butt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAg2YGoHGrmmIl2H1L3SkkgiuOrx2EpvcPyxslR9LuYXFCX26mStzkM15KneNI1ZiO69UXpJI7IipsunPGrHWufLhJfCL0trExN1usNmWGPSiAFVcTv6HnauRPE4GaaJE11NCC/s320/ruffle_butt.jpg" width="275" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And maybe popsicles.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVJgLBm5NFG_V3HMf66LaXShRoNJDgH3fZTTELv00dtkPLzgGWZ5qkqdgtTJQgRdX6BPI_to_KuuwwSwwK6SWp-2IOHHG7lRmPyakttlCmL3FPOgjc9Q8nsNaZtLyLB0yyLvM/s1600/popsicle_baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVJgLBm5NFG_V3HMf66LaXShRoNJDgH3fZTTELv00dtkPLzgGWZ5qkqdgtTJQgRdX6BPI_to_KuuwwSwwK6SWp-2IOHHG7lRmPyakttlCmL3FPOgjc9Q8nsNaZtLyLB0yyLvM/s320/popsicle_baby.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Minus the stick.</span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-9118166204578117092012-08-10T11:35:00.000-07:002012-08-18T12:55:11.009-07:00Rant<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, there's this topic I've been immersed in for a few months. Most of us don't have a clue about the farming practices that go into our food, and let me tell you, it's a scary thing. But we've got to know, and we've got to find a way to fix it. Much like a hot dog factory, it's disgusting.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who reads the Congressional Record, unless forced to as a condition of release from hostage-takers? Not me. Government language is boring, full of "strike line 9 and amend line 13....". I've included a little bit from the latest farm bill which </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">addresses genetically modified foods, and consumers' right to know what we buy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a dirty job, trying to do the right thing. Highly-paid lobbyists are outside the doors, panting and clouding up the windows of Congress with their hot, nasty breath. Meanwhile, regular Americans are at work, at home, and busy taking care of children and doing dishes rather than paying attention to the details of all that legalspeak.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, there is a reason you should care about the farm bill recently under consideration in Congress. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why should we care? Isn't the FDA on top of things? Well, if by "on top of things" you mean on top of opening the door to hiring regulators directly from the biotech companies they are supposed to regulate? Then yes, they are on top of that.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's not the first time government and business are in bed together, but this is what we eat. This is what we feed our children, and it affects our health. There are no studies that consider genetically modified foods and their affects, but there is plenty of anecdotal evidence that it is harmful to children by causing severe allergic reactions, among other things. If you've read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Unhealthy-Truth-Shocking-Investigation/dp/0767930746/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344277342&sr=8-1&keywords=unhealthy+truth">"The Unhealthy Truth"</a> then you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't read that book yet, you should.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>BORING, YET CRITICALLY IMPORTANT TEXT FROM THE BILL:</b></span><br />
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<b> SA 2256. Mr. SANDERS (for himself and Mrs. BOXER) submitted an amendment intended to be proposed by him to the bill S. 3240, to reauthorize agricultural programs through 2017, and for other purposes;</b> which was ordered to lie on the table; as follows:<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></b></div>
<b> On page 1009, after line 11, add the following:</b><br />
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<b>SEC. 12207. CONSUMERS RIGHT TO KNOW ABOUT GENETICALLY ENGINEERED FOOD ACT.</b></div>
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(1) surveys of the American public consistently show that 90 percent or more of the people of the United States want genetically engineered or modified foods to be labeled as such;</div>
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(2) a landmark public health study in Canada found that--</div>
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<b> (A) 93 percent of pregnant women had detectable toxins from genetically engineered or modified foods in their blood;</b> and</div>
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<b> (B) 80 percent of the babies of those women had detectable toxins in their umbilical cords;</b></div>
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(3) the tenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States clearly reserves powers in the system of Federalism to the States or to the people; and</div>
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(4) States have the authority to <b>require the labeling of foods produced through genetic engineering</b> or derived from organisms that have been genetically engineered.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><b>(d) <em>Right to Know</em>.--Notwithstanding any other Federal law (including regulations), a State may require that any food, beverage, or other edible product offered for sale in that State have a label on the container or package of the food, beverage, or other edible product, indicating that the food, beverage, or other edible product contains a genetically engineered or genetically modified ingredient.</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>AND FINALLY, LANGUAGE TO PROTECT REGULAR FARMERS FROM MASSIVE COMPANIES WHO LIKE TO PICK ON PEOPLE, THE BASTARDS:</b></span><br />
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<b>SA 2257. Mr. SANDERS submitted an amendment intended to be proposed by him to the bill S. 3240, to reauthorize agricultural programs through 2017, and for other purposes; which was ordered to lie on the table; as follows:</b><br />
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On page 1009, after line 11, add the following:<br />
<b>SEC. 12207. AGRICULTURAL PRODUCER PROTECTION ACT.</b><br />
(1) <b>IN GENERAL</b>.--No agricultural producer shall be liable to a biotech company under any provision of Federal, State, or local law, including for injury, monetary damages, or patent infringement, resulting from the contamination of the seeds, crops, products, or plants of the agricultural producer by a genetically engineered product that is created, produced, or distributed by the biotech company.<br />
(d) <em>Private Right of Action by Agricultural Producers of Nongenetically Engineered Products</em>.--Any agricultural producer of nongenetically engineered products whose seeds, crops, plants, or products are contaminated by a genetically engineered product may, in a civil action in a court of competent jurisdiction, bring an action against a biotech company for monetary damages for injury to the agricultural producer caused by the genetically engineered product.<br />
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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Did you see the part about pregnant women having toxins from genetically modified foods in their blood? How about 80 percent of those women's babies had detectable toxins in their cord blood? How would you like to give birth knowing your baby had toxins in his system? Thank Monsanto for that.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I know, I just had a baby seven months ago, and I read "The Unhealthy Truth" and I'm angry. Nevermind opinion, those are some nasty statistics. Just because I'm a mom doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There is good news. That part toward the end about "No agricultural producer shall be liable to a biotech company..." means that farmers cannot be sued when their fields are contaminated, from wind or insect, by a genetically modified seed from a neighboring field, which are patented and considered "stolen". Not only that, but a farmer whose fields DO get some crappy GM seed blown onto it CAN SUE.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And yes, CONTAMINATED is the right word for it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm no tree hugger. I grew up in rural Oregon with Republican parents who were by all accounts quite reasonable people who wanted nothing more than healthy, happy, and productive children. They disliked waste of any kind, and respected hard work and people with integrity.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Europe, Japan, and Russia - Russia, for godsakes! - won't allow these crops to be grown in their countries without further study. Why not America?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It should be harder in the U.S. to plant unstudied, genetically-modified crops than it is to farm in the old-fashioned, healthy way. Like it or not, oppressive, well-financed biotech and bioagricultural companies care most about money and selling its products than to bother studying them and selling an ethical product. What's worse is to NOT TELL CONSUMERS what they are purchasing. You want to grow GM crops? Fine. Make a label that reflects the ingredients, and Republicans and Democrats alike will tell you, LET THE MARKET DECIDE, MOTHERF&#%ERS.</span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-3526803856409842642012-08-06T11:13:00.001-07:002012-08-06T11:13:23.602-07:00Bonding over Bumbos<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At my high school reunion, there was a lot of catching up to do. After the initial How are yous and What have you been up tos, there's not much to say unless you find something in common.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There were people there that instantly bonded, even though they had never met. Four month old Jordan and seven month old Evelyn had a lot to <strike>say</strike> drool about.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey, I see you've got a Bumbo seat, too.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yeah. It's hard to poop in, but other than that, I like it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhBGVlP-tqJm_zoiOB50iURdboNDZp-TjhZ7b4Qd-qKQNze4qhudTpcvx4xWigav1yTB3s4E7Rds1EkP0AGfOAWryTa2Rzu4QKtEY1-cnEuv6gv2wGJz1XzlgWJccIoRk63Li/s1600/0728_reunion_babies_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhBGVlP-tqJm_zoiOB50iURdboNDZp-TjhZ7b4Qd-qKQNze4qhudTpcvx4xWigav1yTB3s4E7Rds1EkP0AGfOAWryTa2Rzu4QKtEY1-cnEuv6gv2wGJz1XzlgWJccIoRk63Li/s320/0728_reunion_babies_3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cool.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am not the only one having babies at this stage of the game. Besides Jordan, there was a six-month old boy, a 10-year old girl with a toddler sister, plus an expectant mom.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cool.</span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-22130579669093832132012-08-01T23:55:00.000-07:002012-08-02T00:01:52.953-07:00Seven Months<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tomorrow the baby turns 7 months old. Tonight she started scooting. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was washing dishes at the kitchen sink, so had my back to her. Evelyn was sitting on the floor with the pillow behind her in case she decided to recklessly throw herself backwards. Babies do the craziest things. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I turned around, she was sitting on the floor, but turned away from the pillow. She hadn't rolled, there wasn't enough space. As I exclaimed, "The baby has moved! She isn't where I left her!" husband came into the room.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How did she do that? We were both wondering, when she started scooting. She kicked her little chubby legs and she scooted backward.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today we went to the fair. We looked at all the animals except horses and cows. I ate an elephant ear, a burrito, and a cinnamon roll (good grief, why am I sharing all THAT?). Evvie watched it all. Who knew that all the while she was thinking, when I get home I'm going to scoot backwards and REALLY blow their minds!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-24479705101575533672012-06-19T23:08:00.003-07:002012-06-19T23:11:27.504-07:00A First of Sorts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Baby's first rice cereal. I was all excited to try a bit of solid food, to get more in baby's tummy so baby would feel full and baby wouldn't want to eat once per hour or some such nonsense.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not exactly doing attachment parenting, except I think that I am what with feeding on demand and all. Oh, sure, sometimes I distract the baby with other things, like brushing my teeth, just to buy another 10 minutes here and there. Now that she's five months old, she MUST want to EAT something SUBSTANTIAL, right??? When does the detachment process begin? I mean, not "rip off the band-aid and throw it away" harshness, just some subtle, you know, independent sitting for a few minutes and things.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evelyn isn't down with it. Instead of baby's first rice cereal = success! so that we could celebrate and move on to other such things as Sleeping More and Making Mommy's Coffee, n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">o. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I'm in ur high chair not eatin' ur food.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-AszzAn60sBQ5LWacO-QCrgAghpYrDdMldYym2Bq43UH43AxgySxYGUKJr7QjrSjBYfL24z8rFTmvrDiW3m0bbn5YoHQEQQCz3ULmt-h16s51ZFDYkIjXcchfcgnCGPl0gji/s1600/0607_first_cereal_ev.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-AszzAn60sBQ5LWacO-QCrgAghpYrDdMldYym2Bq43UH43AxgySxYGUKJr7QjrSjBYfL24z8rFTmvrDiW3m0bbn5YoHQEQQCz3ULmt-h16s51ZFDYkIjXcchfcgnCGPl0gji/s320/0607_first_cereal_ev.jpg" width="228" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evelyn Roísin prefers to drink her breakfast, just like the longshoremen. Evelyn's got it over the longshoremen with her smooth face that I would like to lick. And do, on occasion. Mostly I just eat her hands and feet, snacking on some cheek every now and again.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">STARDATE MONDAY, JUNE 18: RICE CEREAL ATTEMPT NO. 2</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our subject has gotten a whole 10 days older, with 10 days worth of growing and development under her belt. She's been practicing sitting up and watching the family eat with their utensils, though she is not mimicking us. Perhaps her fool mother thinks she is ready to try again with the cereal? Let's find out.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Hallo, what's this?</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8mbJhvdWTHSCeJbknk3x-JBieKefiX86IGvusIjRSdRZ1AbeSne68VjxqJ_WnvLG-K7aa0m_NlyLOQ_Q3RyBDnjrlQsQmzJWnd2fG_UyNPsFBGN7Kcg5Bll-UrBNLuMBYMkI/s1600/0618_more_cereal_approach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8mbJhvdWTHSCeJbknk3x-JBieKefiX86IGvusIjRSdRZ1AbeSne68VjxqJ_WnvLG-K7aa0m_NlyLOQ_Q3RyBDnjrlQsQmzJWnd2fG_UyNPsFBGN7Kcg5Bll-UrBNLuMBYMkI/s320/0618_more_cereal_approach.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>My nemesis, Spoon. I've seen you before, you of new-way-to-eat of doom. I've rejected more comforting alternate food delivery devices, I will reject you, too. If my icy stare doesn't freeze you in mid-delivery, then my steel-trap mouth will not let you in.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJ_ealPdr8C_OLY8FtRDShqS7TQsX_TA_nq4gYkRLyv67OehYSjFmnux8rqm4UYyddHhz-15hdtGZZDllwbH2f-q-UiuAdfSQ0Nlq7hNPt_bCtXBZlHEins_mZaC2AVK4Sjy-/s1600/0618_more_cereal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJ_ealPdr8C_OLY8FtRDShqS7TQsX_TA_nq4gYkRLyv67OehYSjFmnux8rqm4UYyddHhz-15hdtGZZDllwbH2f-q-UiuAdfSQ0Nlq7hNPt_bCtXBZlHEins_mZaC2AVK4Sjy-/s320/0618_more_cereal.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Do not enter. Wrong way. Do not pass go. Back up Jack. It ain't happenin'.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Noooooooooooooooooo. Ope.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgws3TMmrA3Dqpzcpfxh7YSnhpeEGLSDA_6xzEjsoy3Mr79KBQyUAl7t6aY7VRNihJVeTe2ecOmDQLAXRAAaQmdYGIPipS4gDHIqTjbSOZNCUr_iM3si0hPETtvcydrrLi6fFgm/s1600/0618_more_cereal_blocked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgws3TMmrA3Dqpzcpfxh7YSnhpeEGLSDA_6xzEjsoy3Mr79KBQyUAl7t6aY7VRNihJVeTe2ecOmDQLAXRAAaQmdYGIPipS4gDHIqTjbSOZNCUr_iM3si0hPETtvcydrrLi6fFgm/s320/0618_more_cereal_blocked.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Admit defeat, you coated-for-my-comfort scoundrel! Lay there like the useless instrument that you are. </i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCRtJYs476HX9Xv1V8Pg9BgbyTV-ifAH6ciSUazN3dxedNmML2cDMFwrDn2ZX_sSJMx3968qJOnUWWBRelUIM1y9nmcvmemvrlCZgUbS0Py3hSKA7_GE4tjCuxT6O-euy1mrR/s1600/0618_more_cereal_no_no.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCRtJYs476HX9Xv1V8Pg9BgbyTV-ifAH6ciSUazN3dxedNmML2cDMFwrDn2ZX_sSJMx3968qJOnUWWBRelUIM1y9nmcvmemvrlCZgUbS0Py3hSKA7_GE4tjCuxT6O-euy1mrR/s320/0618_more_cereal_no_no.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>That's right.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPzev0m9eNT0Z0ks6nkLQrNb_Pq1yv90lA1QzhwU_8miX2Yhx_jQ_fsTaAF52XNNeEYzAJA6jlrU1yNISjgaYfdcxWFWs2TrzlNj3GOVtgVAFg_Cs_mRM8XJpHoky98dRbCb-/s1600/0618_more_cereal_no.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPzev0m9eNT0Z0ks6nkLQrNb_Pq1yv90lA1QzhwU_8miX2Yhx_jQ_fsTaAF52XNNeEYzAJA6jlrU1yNISjgaYfdcxWFWs2TrzlNj3GOVtgVAFg_Cs_mRM8XJpHoky98dRbCb-/s320/0618_more_cereal_no.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Hmm, what is this delicious coating on my hand? Methinks I would like to lick it, just to spite the spoon.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtU6sKUo4smG0MF6Jiw5O6Wp3mIqb8KHp9MLCV-H8_Gy8kHNFPpM_8M8GP7vPrHJA9SZAMTj_-6-FEfKcc1lnJZNcu24cEyQ_cMnrntDlaDPJIPdOdWFdsoACBcf5j0BRqKCOO/s1600/0618_more_cereal_licking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtU6sKUo4smG0MF6Jiw5O6Wp3mIqb8KHp9MLCV-H8_Gy8kHNFPpM_8M8GP7vPrHJA9SZAMTj_-6-FEfKcc1lnJZNcu24cEyQ_cMnrntDlaDPJIPdOdWFdsoACBcf5j0BRqKCOO/s320/0618_more_cereal_licking.jpg" width="197" /></a>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Haha!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8rV0oZxjFbUMfMnUBF6_3Is_KKkYYQzBw3cUeyZh3XjnvB4A4oWeobEhLWZpbnkmnpuJQt2CX8_EZoWOfD-f0mP7CfxsbsXloxeTqSsLreF2TCbxDdakA3o2q121DseR9s2v/s1600/0618_more_cereal_smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8rV0oZxjFbUMfMnUBF6_3Is_KKkYYQzBw3cUeyZh3XjnvB4A4oWeobEhLWZpbnkmnpuJQt2CX8_EZoWOfD-f0mP7CfxsbsXloxeTqSsLreF2TCbxDdakA3o2q121DseR9s2v/s320/0618_more_cereal_smile.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evelyn won the first round, and the second. Stay tuned.........the spoon has more delicious weaponry in its arsenal. I don't want to give it away, but it rhymes with "bapplesauce".</span></div>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-206320683212361592012-06-02T15:47:00.000-07:002012-06-05T15:51:13.416-07:005 MonthsEvelyn is five months old today. I would like to be able to say that this advanced age means she is sleeping through the night, but no.<br />
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Let's remember back to January 6th, when she was four days old.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToFhhYK4dtcxkI976ZBTGBBgFStbMd1zHuWgriFLOc4R56fPlXWML7upRwHtfdanptnRjGBiMYYi0IH1M5Trp0r_8nZvrw1kw8wNPhabOVgznuchh4SXHdxz_6W_vAKHrmFPr/s1600/Ev-4-days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToFhhYK4dtcxkI976ZBTGBBgFStbMd1zHuWgriFLOc4R56fPlXWML7upRwHtfdanptnRjGBiMYYi0IH1M5Trp0r_8nZvrw1kw8wNPhabOVgznuchh4SXHdxz_6W_vAKHrmFPr/s320/Ev-4-days.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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And then four days later, she was eight days old.
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It wasn't long before she turned 10 days old.
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And, before we knew it, she was two weeks plus two days. Let's face it, that is way too young to fight the people who dress you up to look like a reindeer.<br />
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At three weeks, we put a bee on her butt and turned her over to immortalize the fanny-decoration.<br />
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All that brown hair, two blonde parents....hmmmm.....</div>
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Still three weeks old. This 11-year old child bears a striking resemblance to the girl who responded, when asked if she was excited about the arrival of her sibling, "NO." Look who is having a terrible time now.</div>
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Power to the proletariat babies!</div>
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One month old...still sleeps anytime, anywhere.</div>
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At five weeks, she began to make faces at alternate food-delivery devices. "No way, Jose," is the message baby Evelyn would like you to know.</div>
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Six weeks. Milo likes to look nonchalant, but he is wondering whether Evelyn would taste like chicken, or some kind of red meat?<br />
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Milo: That finger looks delicious!<br />
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Don't worry Evelyn, I won't leave you alone with him. He's not old enough to babysit yet.<br />
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It was during her sixth week that she perfected her Alfred Hitchcock impression.<br />
Spot on, I might add.<br />
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I don't know what kind of things babies laugh at, but Evelyn finds life, up to now, hysterical.<br />
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Life with Evelyn and Natalie is pretty sweet. The two of them get along. So far.<br />
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Being a mom to two kids is fun. I'm more relaxed this time around with baby care, but it's more hectic with our schedule. When one kid needs to get to softball practice, the other one needs to nurse. That can get tricky, but we figure it out.<br />
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Feet.<br />
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Hello, smiling at people and not just gas anymore! Although, we all smile for gas. Who doesn't smile for gas? Unless it's someone else's gas.<br />
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Meeting her aunt and cousin for the first time. They laughed and laughed.</div>
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A giggly baby is surprisingly entertaining.<br />
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Baby shower, where my oldest friends met my newest daughter.<br />
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Misty and Evelyn have decided to have a looking serious contest.</div>
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More people holding the baby...<br />
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Having a baby makes you forget your 20th high school reunion is this year. Holy cow.</div>
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McKenzie said she didn't know how to hold the baby, but she did just fine.<br />
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Bumbo seat! Whoever came up with this cushy seat that lets curious babies sit up before they can do so on their own deserves some kind of award. Like an Oscar, or a big, wet, slobbery kiss.</div>
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Evelyn and grandpa pass the time together. She couldn't stop looking at that red hat.</div>
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These girls don't know how happy they make me. When I saw this, my insides melted, just like the bad guy did in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when the angels escaped from the Ark. Except mine was a happy kind of melt.</div>
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Evelyn, thank you for bringing your happiness to our lives, for making us laugh along with you. <br />
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I don't know where we'd be without you, Evva-Zevva, Evelyns, Evvie-pie, angel buns, milk breath!</div>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-37351351207962248162012-05-05T17:12:00.005-07:002012-05-05T17:14:22.146-07:00May 2ndOne year ago on May 2nd, I took a pregnancy test. It was positive. I showed that test to my husband, hand shaking. We were going to have a baby! Well, duh. It wasn't a puppy.<br />
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<i>Note: test stick shown above was the one used to discern the existence of the baby, pictured. DOES NOT INDICATE ANOTHER PREGNANCY...CEASE UR PANICKING!</i></div>
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Four months ago, on January 2nd, Evelyn arrived. With her birth, two sisters were made.<br />
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I always wanted to have more than one child. I wanted them to have siblings, for many reasons. Mostly so that they'd have someone to talk to about their nutty childhoods, but also that they would hopefully grow up to like each other enough to be friends.<br />
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And, with more kids you've got a better shot at one of them growing up to make a good living and support their parents in their old age.<br />
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<i>Not after you put one-year old pee next to my innocent baby face. Think again, MOTHER.</i></div>
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Family: all because two people fell in love.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-83698152311293391862012-04-26T15:06:00.001-07:002012-04-26T15:06:35.919-07:00These Are the Days of Our Lives<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evelyn had her 4 month checkup today. We were early (SHOCKING) and so we went for coffee (decaf, one sugar). While waiting at the drive-through, this was going on in the backseat:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Adorable sister time that was captured with my phone camera. I lamented this at the time, but the results look almost better than my camera camera. Wow, technology these days.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hands! And, siblings looking at each other! Precious moments dolls and baby cupids are shouting out to choirs of angels in heaven over this.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I may be a touch hormonal, but good lord the sweetness!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only sister time in the car that I remember is that of fighting over who didn't have to sit on the hump in the middle. Cars these days, they don't even have a hump anymore. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What with camera phones and no-hump cars, I can't keep up.</span>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-21027257505686695762012-04-24T19:53:00.000-07:002012-04-24T19:53:46.113-07:00Way Back MachineA change from baby pictures for a moment. How about the 1980s?<br />
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Our family regularly vacationed in California to visit family. We frequented the Ponderosa Ranch for sarsaparilla, horseback rides, and Hoss Burgers. There was also Lake Tahoe and family in Reno.<br />
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This is me and my dad on horseback. That horse liked to scratch his butt on the shrubbery, which was located at the top of a steep precipice. My dad wasn't too comfortable with that, but he thought it was pretty funny.
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Here we are again. This time it's my sister (in blue), me, and Uncle Lee (the family we visited). No itchy-butt horses here. <br />
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I remember the cars didn't have air conditioning, and we didn't acquire personal music devices for many years. Once we did, it was GREAT. Lots of Depeche Mode and Joy Division was played on my Walkman.<br />
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My sister and I, trying not to look like to kids from small-town Oregon, and looking very much like kids from small-town Oregon.
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Usually we spent some time in and around Reno, then we'd drive to Southern California to visit Grandma. The side trip to Reno broke up the monotony of I5. I can't believe we did all that traveling, in our little cars with all our stuff in two weeks.<br />
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I still like to take road trips, but nowadays there is more likely to be a book on cd playing over the air conditioning fan. All fodder for my daughters' blog entries, I'm sure.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com1Lake Tahoe, United States39.1100901 -120.031691638.9129621 -120.3475486 39.3072181 -119.71583460000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-76559808987534747422012-04-17T15:56:00.003-07:002012-04-17T15:58:24.709-07:00A DayIt's a frog-footed pajama kind of day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTYzjbbn7oZKcLymyd-LYSDgpTUlEWc1SvRYHp20uAuTOrIcypo-FRQ8Q1yBdBIRQ5Aw7EL9KcD6wX2RMOMUgXCsC8JlXR4_u6EFoA63MCMqDjoF2PWZBrhUO9ECByek_eoHz/s1600/0322_frogfeet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTYzjbbn7oZKcLymyd-LYSDgpTUlEWc1SvRYHp20uAuTOrIcypo-FRQ8Q1yBdBIRQ5Aw7EL9KcD6wX2RMOMUgXCsC8JlXR4_u6EFoA63MCMqDjoF2PWZBrhUO9ECByek_eoHz/s400/0322_frogfeet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732507541160191218" /></a><br /><br />I have no idea what THAT means. Or why my pictures have been so blurry lately. But anyway, frog feet!Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-43570520377721692292012-04-03T08:00:00.008-07:002012-04-03T08:43:50.991-07:00What the FussAs a breastfeeding mom, I have a long list of foods to avoid eating or else they will upset the baby. As the mother of an infant, I have very little time to invest in creating new menus to replace those I have automatically enjoyed for years. Take breakfast, with the restriction of no eggs, peanuts, or dairy. I can replace the milk on my cereal with rice milk, but that leaves my bagel painfully dry, without peanut butter, cream cheese or butter.<br /><br />Breakfast is annoying but the worst meal of the day by far is dinner, where I must make something amenable to my baby and the rest of the family. Sometimes, I have cereal for dinner. That doesn't cut it for the rest of them, though, who don't like to eat like they're still in college. A dish as simple as pasta becomes inordinately difficult. No marinara, and no alfredo either.<br /><br />There are websites that list meal plans and recipes for people like me, but often they are for omitting one item or maybe two, not the entire list that is applicable to me. A dairy-free site will tell me to avoid dairy if baby is fussy, but suggest cabbage or broccoli as an alternate calcium source, which also makes my baby fussy. A breastfeeding guide to nutrition cautions me to get plenty of calories, and then merrily suggests getting plenty of calcium from sources like yogurt or broccoli, which we've already established are out of the question.<br /><br />Restrictions + no time + need for calories = mealtime freak out. <br /><br />That formula could be the case, but I've decided to remain calm. I've eaten my (cereal with rice milk) breakfast, now it's time to plan for lunch. Yesterday's lettuce sandwich was all right, but isn't enough. I can't keep improvising. I need a plan. I also need a calcium supplement.<br /><br />No:<br /> <br />eggs <br />dairy <br />tomatoes <br />citrus<br />peanuts<br />soy<br />corn<br />vegetables like cabbage and broccoli <br />shellfish <br />caffeine<br />carbonated drinks<br /><br /><br />Evelyn is calm for now.....to the internets!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAj7DeRti3keS5FjYivRYGQovreYFsO99ao-L36vMSXPsNhqTUNooFFYzYQc2FYj8GwDs61EFdas0Bm8Kkh3h3T_upC_sp82VhZ1PgBk_3uxck0WQuYpkV1TLaF3VSsilkPiXN/s1600/0317_tongue+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAj7DeRti3keS5FjYivRYGQovreYFsO99ao-L36vMSXPsNhqTUNooFFYzYQc2FYj8GwDs61EFdas0Bm8Kkh3h3T_upC_sp82VhZ1PgBk_3uxck0WQuYpkV1TLaF3VSsilkPiXN/s400/0317_tongue+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727199505343228178" /></a>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-53113198354612976452012-03-29T08:53:00.002-07:002012-03-29T08:57:33.615-07:00Wise ThingsToday I learned how to make homemade granola and to let the dust bunnies go nuts because babies don't keep!<br /><br />Granola from Orangette, <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-am-here-to-tell-you.html">Olive Oil and Maple Granola</a>; babies don't keep sentiment from the <a href="http://theleakysippy.blogspot.com/2012/03/this-is-baby-p-when-she-was-6-weeks-old.html">Leaky Sippy</a>.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-61492970514396328822012-03-18T15:20:00.007-07:002012-03-18T16:20:37.949-07:00Sunday, Poopy SundayAhhhh..........Sunday. The day of rest. The Sabbath. A day for lounging, reading the paper, drinking endless cups of coffee, and not doing much of anything one normally does during the week.<br /><br />None of that describes this day. This day was precisely the opposite, and with a lot more bodily fluids involved. Specifically, hers:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCqGh-n-D40mdIj-eZFsX32DS8Uglqp-1V9fSn7dBhf4ZtVNi6itVdQcAqFBPDFv73YGJGXR06aOqFTObdZ_2Jee0Zue9SOYNm2oVq_vbQ3maJ0yT_a1nyV6ZV_XkvIFlrHxT/s1600/announce_3_snowflake.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCqGh-n-D40mdIj-eZFsX32DS8Uglqp-1V9fSn7dBhf4ZtVNi6itVdQcAqFBPDFv73YGJGXR06aOqFTObdZ_2Jee0Zue9SOYNm2oVq_vbQ3maJ0yT_a1nyV6ZV_XkvIFlrHxT/s400/announce_3_snowflake.jpg" border="20" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721368892981253858" /></a><br /><br />The rest portion of the day was wiped out when I was up twice to feed and diaper Baby Evvie. That's not bad, because it means she slept longer rather than shorter. My addled brain thanks you, baby. I am slightly less addled today and I appree-she-ate that. In my most sleep-deprived delirium, I think about some pretty wacky things. Sometimes I think babies know we're tired and are engaged in a plot to see how long they can keep us up until they fall asleep. I tried to take a nap with her earlier and she was all, THAT IS NOT HAPPENING ON MY WATCH. The other babies might hear about how she let her mother nap during the day, and she would be, what? Fired? I don't know. Must get some sleep and put brain to useful purposes instead of this nonsense.<br /><br />The coffee-drinking is not something I can indulge in while breastfeeding, for the most part I do avoid massive infusions of caffeine. Instead, I drink black tea for my first cup of the day and then herbal after that. Well, today I went nuts and had a cup of coffee. Not more than 8 ounces, mind you. It wasn't a Girls Gone Wild kind of binge, but that was a little bit different.<br /><br />What's next, reading the paper? Oh, well, I got to read an article or two before the crying got to me and I had to pay attention to the baby.<br /><br /><i>KIDDING. </i><br /><br /><i>It was three articles. *</i><br /><br /><i>* NOT REALLY.</i><br /><br />I was under time pressure to eat my lunch and so just read whatever section was in front of me. It was the front page, about a man who shot his son in alleged self-defense. Sad. I don't remember the others (what with all the crying I was trying to ignore).<br /><br />As for not doing much of anything that I normally do during the week, let's inventory. Today I did:<br /><br />➜ laundry<br /><br />➜ cooked, or reheated food<br /><br />➜ washed dishes<br /><br />➜ swept laundry room<br /><br />➜ fed baby<br /><br />➜ changed baby<br /><br />➜ gave baby a bath after massive blowout involving immersing baby fully clothed in warm sink bath because the poop, she was everywhere<br /><br />➜ changed baby's outfit after unlawful peeing incident**<br /><br />➜ drank 8 ounces of fully-caffeinated coffee, with a little sugar<br /><br />Those are just a few of the things I have done this restful Sunday. So different!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIQ-7QXZWhkvu9krzmLGfiSosakJeZ2BXmUi2O_JKfNeCE-z7-43pA929Nv5gGlEaCikTRnaijrLg6c0G_c0dMca597ZmEYuhQHS0_KtKGtVfUbxYOMgyOS3ZQSl26BBXGkit/s1600/0317_tongue+copy.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIQ-7QXZWhkvu9krzmLGfiSosakJeZ2BXmUi2O_JKfNeCE-z7-43pA929Nv5gGlEaCikTRnaijrLg6c0G_c0dMca597ZmEYuhQHS0_KtKGtVfUbxYOMgyOS3ZQSl26BBXGkit/s400/0317_tongue+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721375325705009346" /></a><br /><i>Neener!</i><br /><br />Baby Evvie has fallen asleep. Now is when the ancient conundrum rears its head, because I have to decide whether to sleep, eat, read, or some compact version of all three. My husband and oldest daughter are out doing softball things, and I wonder whether I want to go somewhere? That would require packing diaper bag, hefting baby around in car seat, in other words <i>work</i>. I'm not averse to work, but again, I'm trying to make this day look different than the other six.<br /><br />Uhhh.....no dice.<br /><br />In the end I chose to blog about it, to give it all meaning. I type for you. WIth Milo looking on and concerned that maybe the cursor ought to be attacked.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwggso1eIv6_qkYwqaI31lAVz4ad2WQ1rlBjeyxbGkrjKsKVXs9H68Duqd6QNR-m9Ujbs44HbkmG1mgDtseLotMX1bIkOw21j5DmRo-P48EgZMIyPuNvfqG79VvsatXM-ifUew/s1600/0317_evvie_jacket+copy.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwggso1eIv6_qkYwqaI31lAVz4ad2WQ1rlBjeyxbGkrjKsKVXs9H68Duqd6QNR-m9Ujbs44HbkmG1mgDtseLotMX1bIkOw21j5DmRo-P48EgZMIyPuNvfqG79VvsatXM-ifUew/s400/0317_evvie_jacket+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721375331098605122" /></a><br /><i>This is what Evvie looks like right now, except with eyes closed.</i><br /><br />He thinks that would be too much work and has laid his head on the computer to sleep instead. A noble endeavor, which I will now pursue because my addled brain is all empty and such.<br /><br /><br /><i>** Peeing while one's diaper is removed.</i>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-17564910904782479892012-03-17T20:20:00.008-07:002012-03-17T20:41:01.970-07:00A Conversation With EvelynI have something to say.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvsW5GCClu_1d4NHWd8LM3hjOiExa66Z8IVob-_955epSxyMmUZCimtl1aeRgnjY0SJWJDU-wkMb-DbUsfHOyr9mClXtU5P2KgXXHVsVp85tvbYRGFgBz4K1y_eozq_e-arPy/s1600/0317_Evvie_side+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvsW5GCClu_1d4NHWd8LM3hjOiExa66Z8IVob-_955epSxyMmUZCimtl1aeRgnjY0SJWJDU-wkMb-DbUsfHOyr9mClXtU5P2KgXXHVsVp85tvbYRGFgBz4K1y_eozq_e-arPy/s400/0317_Evvie_side+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721072633047309810" /></a><br />Happy St. Paddy's Day! My mom's drinking a Guinness for you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmEUAziVJWZ18WyRNQ5TOkBSbrg7PrL_7DxNT6eWpxSF-O4amni7Onck7QDobaFBw4ak4R3lyHCwL9hkcN2rNSrFARJcQj4LagesHgDVIrh5pxcOdivn8eHT_oRVOVgs5u8-P/s1600/0317_angles+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmEUAziVJWZ18WyRNQ5TOkBSbrg7PrL_7DxNT6eWpxSF-O4amni7Onck7QDobaFBw4ak4R3lyHCwL9hkcN2rNSrFARJcQj4LagesHgDVIrh5pxcOdivn8eHT_oRVOVgs5u8-P/s400/0317_angles+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721072638091257810" /></a><br />Just kidding.<br /><br />She doesn't have any Guinness. But if she did, she would totally drink one.<br /><br /><br />So, here's the thing...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsz1cfVCZc-F6JtTVQG5yQWRMr5HzVl3-Hn1kQxLFquLdbUaev8e1Az6akSN7oFnZHY31Ccpsjo6Zk4urs9j6Txfn1p_F-l14IrbmG_98XI0zgWFQSR6AwxEhauyci9FGiwkoA/s1600/0313_smile_1+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsz1cfVCZc-F6JtTVQG5yQWRMr5HzVl3-Hn1kQxLFquLdbUaev8e1Az6akSN7oFnZHY31Ccpsjo6Zk4urs9j6Txfn1p_F-l14IrbmG_98XI0zgWFQSR6AwxEhauyci9FGiwkoA/s400/0313_smile_1+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721072203362505026" /></a><br /><br />...I've been smiling, and now I'm old enough that it's not due to gas. See?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNBhCGzBjnEmbBDUiOv0vsod7o6QBMrcbhqdMXWGq-X-XP15KTXt2frHtfK9rAL0tdmyLq4w6yeBxPVm3eXGMx4PPYxa_Fu-B96bXNif6zPMan0oRgc8X_s6_854QimeLn8kS/s1600/0313_smile_2+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNBhCGzBjnEmbBDUiOv0vsod7o6QBMrcbhqdMXWGq-X-XP15KTXt2frHtfK9rAL0tdmyLq4w6yeBxPVm3eXGMx4PPYxa_Fu-B96bXNif6zPMan0oRgc8X_s6_854QimeLn8kS/s400/0313_smile_2+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721072209429006114" /></a><i>This baby is not tooting.</i><br /><br />Here's another one. My mom's talking to me all funny, and it makes me laugh.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9GD7otMtgzpxpyeMozQXfvjwUEuDoGyLH7l9ceySzOoWynvpwvWQJYO-BnxnkDHZnFk-4YU4NZpMNEkEJrPNkNLdXYhWEc8y3_YhF1dGO_11LbvLhuEHMywoXvQiUMlO6-A4/s1600/0313_smile_3+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9GD7otMtgzpxpyeMozQXfvjwUEuDoGyLH7l9ceySzOoWynvpwvWQJYO-BnxnkDHZnFk-4YU4NZpMNEkEJrPNkNLdXYhWEc8y3_YhF1dGO_11LbvLhuEHMywoXvQiUMlO6-A4/s400/0313_smile_3+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721073844378067874" /></a><i>Still not tooting...</i><br /><br />Sometimes I worry about the grownups in this house. The way they act in order to get me to do things? It's embarrassing. It makes me laugh.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJOBO9pTKNLxsoaQlk5qNv3QapRCxv7lA0ISuIlZ068HrWLAx0iBSQssBVHg27EizxwV-7TACgusgDYXnsel7DP6TXojAbuBqXW1J3ostUHOqyzCZcYPFeXC79ICC-RTMROQu/s1600/0313_smile_4+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJOBO9pTKNLxsoaQlk5qNv3QapRCxv7lA0ISuIlZ068HrWLAx0iBSQssBVHg27EizxwV-7TACgusgDYXnsel7DP6TXojAbuBqXW1J3ostUHOqyzCZcYPFeXC79ICC-RTMROQu/s400/0313_smile_4+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721073847061847986" /></a><br /><i>Note the blurry baby? It is not Gaussian Blur, that is Baby Blur. Also, this chair rocks so that could also be why.</i><br /><br />That could be a Photoshop filter.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyT8U7DnFEucOpTB-FE_qpy_GW1aU5QtCIRfGgcdKaAe-mvUZugXIo4DL2Pz47O1eP5gEsNbNmd39C7PGK2fQQbEVpbZODANCtZ33tf5GBS_mrvfK347JArggmfnnS0FAJmnXr/s1600/0313_smile_5+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyT8U7DnFEucOpTB-FE_qpy_GW1aU5QtCIRfGgcdKaAe-mvUZugXIo4DL2Pz47O1eP5gEsNbNmd39C7PGK2fQQbEVpbZODANCtZ33tf5GBS_mrvfK347JArggmfnnS0FAJmnXr/s400/0313_smile_5+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721073848318159490" /></a><br /><i>Baby Blurrrrrr...</i><br /><br />Go ahead and look. I'm adorable!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4EEV0sQXVV1m9nvd9TCrhNWFge0RRXmKlJnFFOgGIH2plyNFyLCY6dWxUPfnykvbMH34ELu9zWOzmKKrnDbnQlEXpvEIwTa06mAKMRFX-Fl7WaN-XvOyBfy0h5UdlAP0ZRmJ/s1600/0313_smile_6+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4EEV0sQXVV1m9nvd9TCrhNWFge0RRXmKlJnFFOgGIH2plyNFyLCY6dWxUPfnykvbMH34ELu9zWOzmKKrnDbnQlEXpvEIwTa06mAKMRFX-Fl7WaN-XvOyBfy0h5UdlAP0ZRmJ/s400/0313_smile_6+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721074238116132418" /></a><br /><br />I move so fast, you can't get a good picture. But the smile makes you want to eat me up, doesn't it?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFM8AJSr90aPkY7xkVrJV0J-s55t_T4KtnAXCBncXncRQJAsCx4_MyIGNnARJ45zowlWW167TyIjQ-PsSUmYoseAegiJvUM-NPAG5_b47iiHqtEcaOne41NoR8rzLGbYZHd6s2/s1600/0313_smile_7+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFM8AJSr90aPkY7xkVrJV0J-s55t_T4KtnAXCBncXncRQJAsCx4_MyIGNnARJ45zowlWW167TyIjQ-PsSUmYoseAegiJvUM-NPAG5_b47iiHqtEcaOne41NoR8rzLGbYZHd6s2/s400/0313_smile_7+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721074241987669090" /></a><br /><br />That's what mom says. I can't say that doesn't make me nervous.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-46770651325197104302012-03-12T13:58:00.006-07:002012-03-13T18:11:53.420-07:00Motherhood is Losing One's Mind One Sleepless Night at a TimeThe baby teased me with a couple of five-hour nights before she decided she didn't need that much sleep all in a row.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVuTbi178__xz1ASRR99oowjC0ahV3R-81D-36O32qnpe7tq98QEeCH6Bx4YYmnY97_4d9rJeJKLRnNXwGxDtelOfhyg3dS1wgjYFDpvgI7Gm3MOT3H-yP96xsa1FZ34o4i3Zu/s1600/0225_evvie_smiles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVuTbi178__xz1ASRR99oowjC0ahV3R-81D-36O32qnpe7tq98QEeCH6Bx4YYmnY97_4d9rJeJKLRnNXwGxDtelOfhyg3dS1wgjYFDpvgI7Gm3MOT3H-yP96xsa1FZ34o4i3Zu/s400/0225_evvie_smiles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719552644323492434" /></a><br /><br />Commented to husband the other night: I don't want to only be able to converse about sleep schedules and the intricacies of diaper changes, and yet, here I am.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbwVgJeMVeeqIUMxWvUBE-sr2RyRa-x_fryUACYu_pARXcTRlCA6MrEvnIghp1bZ8nZN_cG0f60qDjbDJgluTndDWEB0JR3lWXeD_aWAEC0R7QimKuXYC2UaQj-Dg6DFMt_Cq/s1600/0306_kissme.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbwVgJeMVeeqIUMxWvUBE-sr2RyRa-x_fryUACYu_pARXcTRlCA6MrEvnIghp1bZ8nZN_cG0f60qDjbDJgluTndDWEB0JR3lWXeD_aWAEC0R7QimKuXYC2UaQj-Dg6DFMt_Cq/s400/0306_kissme.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719553060288840066" /></a><br /><br />This is what it is for now, it seems. Things will change and flow into the next stage in time. I will read the paper everyday again soon, and drink caffeinated coffee without counting ounces...one day.<br /><br />On the other hand, who wouldn't want to spend the wee hours with this one?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaLN33ZqOY-akGeKCGIO_7z57vHp25ro0Gq8MqKFwujBDFOD8bik_222GaOf9gEX-77Qoy2Ko3KOxny0zNfY2ukf4Qkl6Ixh9eKuhN9N9Qk56ruzfdktEGj-EMYCCFJ92ZkpH/s1600/evves_smile+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaLN33ZqOY-akGeKCGIO_7z57vHp25ro0Gq8MqKFwujBDFOD8bik_222GaOf9gEX-77Qoy2Ko3KOxny0zNfY2ukf4Qkl6Ixh9eKuhN9N9Qk56ruzfdktEGj-EMYCCFJ92ZkpH/s400/evves_smile+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719553527886918610" /></a>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-19907959265341957882012-02-20T10:44:00.000-08:002012-02-20T10:45:34.123-08:00Sisters<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVE_pBx7H3zxRItdJGK0b79yXeZoXxbjk67l9LNM7ukd_9HKg44t2CdZvHxCPocLU4MTJubPymdtEkD4cUM2TdPIh9FJSeAp_6h8Uzu0yeJcY7ObR0J3ztw8LKkUG2e6I0T0xW/s1600/sisters_0108+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVE_pBx7H3zxRItdJGK0b79yXeZoXxbjk67l9LNM7ukd_9HKg44t2CdZvHxCPocLU4MTJubPymdtEkD4cUM2TdPIh9FJSeAp_6h8Uzu0yeJcY7ObR0J3ztw8LKkUG2e6I0T0xW/s400/sisters_0108+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711290815681560850" /></a>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-55673138688364829582012-02-20T10:16:00.001-08:002012-02-20T10:16:09.778-08:00Photo Card<div class="sflyProductPreviewWidget" style="width:425px; height:494px;"><div class="sflyProductPreviewWidgetTop" style="height:6px; background-image:url(http://cdn.staticsfly.com/img_/share/preview/msc/widget/top.gif);"></div><div class="sflyProductPreviewWidgetCenter" style="height:482px; padding: 0 6px 0 6px; background-image:url(http://cdn.staticsfly.com/img_/share/preview/msc/widget/bg.gif); background-repeat:repeat-y;"><div class="sflyProductPreviewLogo" style="width: 105px; height: 34px; padding: 14px 0 0 14px;"><img src="http://cdn.staticsfly.com/img_/share/preview/msc/widget/logo.gif" style="padding: 0; background: #ffffff; border: none; box-shadow: none;"></div><div class="sflyProductPreviewContainer" style="height:350px; text-align:center; padding: 0;"><a href="http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AatHLZkzaOGjjg&cid=SFLYOCWIDGET&eid=115"><img src="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/prs/v1/0AatHLZkzaOGlA/0AatHLZkzaOGlOLA/p/67b0de21b3127d902548/JPEG/1329760986000/0/" style="padding: 0; background: #ffffff; border: none; box-shadow: none;"></a></div><div class="sflyProductPreviewMessageContainer" style="height:55px; background-color:#f4f4e9; text-align:center; padding: 15px 0 15px 0; line-height: 19px;"><div class="sflyProductPreviewTitle" style="font-family: arial, sans-seris; font-size: 15px; color: #333333; font-weight: bold;"><span>Little Birdie Baby Announcements</span></div><div class="sflyProductPreviewSEOText" style="font-family: arial, sans-seris; font-size: 13px; color: #333333;"><span>Announcements for all occasions: <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/announcements/graduation-announcements" style="color: #6666cc;">graduation</a>, a new baby, or wedding.</span></div><div class="sflyProductPreviewViewCollection" style="font-family: arial, sans-seris; font-size: 13px; color: #333333;"><span>View the entire <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery" style="color: #6666cc;">collection</a> of cards.</span></div><img width="1" height="1" border="0" style="padding: 0; background: #ffffff; border: none; box-shadow: none;" src="https://os.shutterfly.com/b/ss/sflyshareprod/1/H.15/111?pageName=sharekey&c1=msc&c2=blogger" /></div></div><div class="sflyProductPreviewWidgetBottom" style="height:6px; background-image:url(http://cdn.staticsfly.com/img_/share/preview/msc/widget/bottom.gif);"></div></div>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-49404898583397379152011-08-06T11:27:00.000-07:002011-08-06T11:39:42.639-07:00Girl and CatNatalie and Dewey in a poorly edited, strangely color casted photo...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNUooYjGeLyvJYgLhxiSYBENwNkA1MefToRYdmYIkjioegjfXAaiqPJCTlua6cmhwcR7MUqiLF09OguK_703erLdbRnlxn2pyGGyoeEJduew97rHdNsZw7DZqtrNxOG35kQWT/s1600/Nat_Dew.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNUooYjGeLyvJYgLhxiSYBENwNkA1MefToRYdmYIkjioegjfXAaiqPJCTlua6cmhwcR7MUqiLF09OguK_703erLdbRnlxn2pyGGyoeEJduew97rHdNsZw7DZqtrNxOG35kQWT/s400/Nat_Dew.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637811774448485138" /></a>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-40478445641793363222011-05-26T05:57:00.000-07:002011-05-26T05:57:00.125-07:00MilesWhen Milo is ready to play he gets this certain look in his eyes that is hard to describe. If you remember the snake from The Jungle Book movie, the swirly, hypnotizing eyes. That is what I see in Milo's eyes.<br /><br />Here, he is too sleepy to have full-on swirly eyes. This is more his, "I just woke up, give me a few minutes to catch up and then I'll kill you" face.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSzeu9US5gmZxfvU2VOv7RErvzd5cLahKsy0PGG5UJXFMcpTPjdCw6gZbHYkhhg88tkYWmHz5CZh9hbnBuFeodhth_-oNv4LFAJuhY27VMRydAe7ysHQCJBwVu1mQkPp4_rX8r/s1600/0525_milo_swirly-eyes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSzeu9US5gmZxfvU2VOv7RErvzd5cLahKsy0PGG5UJXFMcpTPjdCw6gZbHYkhhg88tkYWmHz5CZh9hbnBuFeodhth_-oNv4LFAJuhY27VMRydAe7ysHQCJBwVu1mQkPp4_rX8r/s400/0525_milo_swirly-eyes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610062810656536274" /></a><br /><br />This is how he looks when he's about to attack my head. Why I let a cat who attacks my head also sleep on my pillow is called SUCKER.<br /><br />This is typical of how Milo looks in action. This particular action is yawning, but the gaping mouth is impressive nonetheless.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTAm7e8YwuiI9apO4pJskaW7K0Zw3HXpE8uf1UfmKp3ihLV-c7eWIEoso4Eq9P1Ilg3umgDTcEisaqBV5bJR2EtNXDh-5SNTROa9UsZHtPx6T8bATMMG6Y2UAkzMDfjvnfP2c/s1600/0525_milo_bitey-face.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 346px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTAm7e8YwuiI9apO4pJskaW7K0Zw3HXpE8uf1UfmKp3ihLV-c7eWIEoso4Eq9P1Ilg3umgDTcEisaqBV5bJR2EtNXDh-5SNTROa9UsZHtPx6T8bATMMG6Y2UAkzMDfjvnfP2c/s400/0525_milo_bitey-face.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610062817081947922" /></a><br /><br />The mice in the neighborhood don't stand a chance against The Predator. Except when he sleeps. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAU_EYpA0vBfOZO2XvWlEkWZbAsK2GwL0wxmgMnjNihG-FCFalYYF1j1Szp7Rqv_U1QXyMZaYMH_hWzDmbxyVsEiEi0kSJsggpGq3dbfyaVUWluxufbZPqjowM4r_BfIltDjGw/s1600/0525_milo_sleep.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAU_EYpA0vBfOZO2XvWlEkWZbAsK2GwL0wxmgMnjNihG-FCFalYYF1j1Szp7Rqv_U1QXyMZaYMH_hWzDmbxyVsEiEi0kSJsggpGq3dbfyaVUWluxufbZPqjowM4r_BfIltDjGw/s400/0525_milo_sleep.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610062821045236930" /></a><br /><br /><i>Mama sez ai iz so gud when ai sleep! Wut do u think that meenz?</i>Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14603254.post-82935983353787330182011-05-23T17:43:00.000-07:002011-05-23T17:43:00.161-07:00Law of the JungleThe wild animal stalks her prey with stealth, often waiting hours for just the right moment.<br /><br />The prey, meanwhile, is unaware of the danger that is about to befall him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbXpvQldn-sQIT76M_BQfwZvf0LtprzzveUysn1m6quRyQ_m7vSJ-OJUEQ5jeqTlOFVzL1CeiLrXDC4kE9tSUlSzTa8sn5mkDzs6cP5rrRTtsJVtbdHRBsa5JxqEo4k6rlukO/s1600/052311_dewey_before-attack.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbXpvQldn-sQIT76M_BQfwZvf0LtprzzveUysn1m6quRyQ_m7vSJ-OJUEQ5jeqTlOFVzL1CeiLrXDC4kE9tSUlSzTa8sn5mkDzs6cP5rrRTtsJVtbdHRBsa5JxqEo4k6rlukO/s400/052311_dewey_before-attack.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610061690651565730" /></a><br /><br />The wild animal in question wears orange sweatpants and no socks when stalking...<br /><br />Dewey should know better by now.Occidental Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08462196172327033327noreply@blogger.com0