<?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-7779883864685457304</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:56:10.021-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet Baby J's Mommy</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>66</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6987986030461436372</id><published>2009-04-08T21:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T21:43:38.018-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a complainer</title><content type='html'>So, the kids are gone to my parents'.  They left yesterday morning and will be home tomorrow.  They were supposed to be gone til Friday, but my mom is just too exhausted to take care of them anymore.  Whatever.  I'm big time bummed.  Today I did major cleaning, but didn't get everything done that I wanted to because I thought I had another day to do it.  Oh well.  The downstairs is spic and span at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still in a down, down, down kind of mood.  I was up, up, up until I found out my kids are coming home tomorrow.  That makes me sound like a bitch, doesn't it?  They just wear me out.  I don't think I am cut out for this whole motherhood thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6987986030461436372?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6987986030461436372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6987986030461436372' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6987986030461436372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6987986030461436372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-complainer.html' title='I&apos;m a complainer'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7499765920077448296</id><published>2009-03-24T23:52:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T00:08:58.038-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rain Rain Go Away</title><content type='html'>I hate rain.  I hate mud.  I hate all that comes from the rain and the mud.  I have given up on cleaning my kitchen floor until the rain stops.  My dogs are determined to track in as much mud as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want Kensie to walk.  I am sick of watching her crawl on the floor.  It's so gross. Oh, and for the record, she isn't allowed in the kitchen, so she isn't crawling through the doggy prints.   Plus,  I am tired of carrying her everywhere.  Walk, kid.  Just don't take as long as your brother did.  J was 18 months before he finally decided to walk.  I want Kensie to walk before summer.  No crawling at the park, thank you very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel blah these days.  Very blah.  I need a friend.  I have friends, but I don't have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;friends&lt;/span&gt;.  I have no one to confide in and I have so much bubbling inside me.  I feel like I am going to break very, very soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need opinions.  Does Kensie need bangs?  I think she has a big forehead and needs them, but I don't want to cut her hair and I don't want to deal with the hassle of bangs.  So, does she need them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not a great shot, but this is Kensie with hair on her forehead:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Scm7M0XF-QI/AAAAAAAAAKU/_JgV5x_bS-Q/s1600-h/IMG_2426.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Scm7M0XF-QI/AAAAAAAAAKU/_JgV5x_bS-Q/s320/IMG_2426.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316986663975909634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensie with no bangs:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Scm7weob7YI/AAAAAAAAAKc/uvO5BwSuUu4/s1600-h/IMG_2441.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Scm7weob7YI/AAAAAAAAAKc/uvO5BwSuUu4/s320/IMG_2441.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316987276618362242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7499765920077448296?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7499765920077448296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7499765920077448296' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7499765920077448296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7499765920077448296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/03/rain-rain-go-away.html' title='Rain Rain Go Away'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Scm7M0XF-QI/AAAAAAAAAKU/_JgV5x_bS-Q/s72-c/IMG_2426.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-5218182757690019187</id><published>2009-03-04T13:51:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T13:56:07.720-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Strike</title><content type='html'>So, J is on a nap strike again.  He went through this in December, but has consistently napped daily for at least 6 weeks.  Two days in a row have been no nap days.  I need him to take naps.  J needs his naps.  I need the break.  He needs the sleep.  The only good to come of the nap strike is that he goes to bed earlier at night and he sleeps a bit (not much, but a bit) longer in the morning.  However, he is such a bear without his naps.  Short of knocking him out, though, there is nothing I can do about it.  Kids are so dumb.  I would love to be able to take a nap every single day.  I did when I was pregnant and it was heavenly.  Naps are awesome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-5218182757690019187?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/5218182757690019187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=5218182757690019187' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5218182757690019187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5218182757690019187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/03/strike.html' title='Strike'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1554757794918089126</id><published>2009-02-27T23:49:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T23:58:00.289-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Mean Seriously</title><content type='html'>Do kids have no sense of time?  Every school day, I have to drag J's butt out of bed at 7:30.  I have to deal with his crabbiness, his, "I don't wanna go ghoul", and his snail's pace.  However, the other five days of the week that the child doesn't have school?  He is in my bed before 8.  Every.  Single.  Day.  "Mommy, wake up.  Mommy, I hungry.  Mommy, I wanna go outside.  Mommy, I gotta go pee.  Mommy.  Mommy.  Mommy."  I just want to strangle him!  Way back before he was in school, J was on a much later schedule.  He went to bed around 10 and woke up between 9 and 10ish.  Now he is always up before 8.  I would love one of those sleeping in kind of days again.  It seems that along with going to bed a bit earlier he also doesn't need as much sleep as he did when he was littler.  I guess that is to be expected, but still.  I shouldn't complain, though, because I have a nephew who is up at 4 every morning.  And another one who considers 5:30 to be sleeping in.  What is with these kids?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensie is getting closer and closer to walking.  She stands alone a lot now.  She doesn't even realize it most of the time.  Now she just needs some confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We just got done watching "The Secret Life of Bees".  If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it.  It was fabulous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it is off to bed with a book and then some sleep before my alarm...er, three-year-old greets me in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1554757794918089126?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1554757794918089126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1554757794918089126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1554757794918089126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1554757794918089126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-mean-seriously.html' title='I Mean Seriously'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3278931952820893499</id><published>2009-02-09T14:00:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T14:15:32.705-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Princess</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCOgaMYodI/AAAAAAAAAKE/x41HTzV9Zvo/s1600-h/IMG_1061.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCOgaMYodI/AAAAAAAAAKE/x41HTzV9Zvo/s320/IMG_1061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300893448853299666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Yesterday was Kensie's first birthday.  I can hardly believe it has been a year already.  How is that possible?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had her party at a local pizza place.  It's hard to plan a party in February.  Once she gets older, we can do more things, but at this age, it's limited.  We just had family there.  She was indifferent about the gifts, but loved, loved, loved the cake.  We learned today, though, that when a baby eats pink frosting, her poop also turns pink.  That was quite the surprise!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't call her a toddler yet.  Kensie is so tiny.  She is only 19 pounds.  She doesn't walk yet.  She just doesn't seem like a toddler to me.  So, she's still my baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some pictures from the party:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCNCWKtGtI/AAAAAAAAAJs/EmEGveCUv3A/s1600-h/IMG_2372.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCNCWKtGtI/AAAAAAAAAJs/EmEGveCUv3A/s320/IMG_2372.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300891832864807634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCNZWDP7lI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/6XvsiOsxKko/s1600-h/IMG_2375.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCNZWDP7lI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/6XvsiOsxKko/s320/IMG_2375.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300892227970526802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCN0n5coBI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_LoDhXWLujM/s1600-h/IMG_2389.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCN0n5coBI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_LoDhXWLujM/s320/IMG_2389.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300892696617721874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Happy Birthday, my Kensie Leigh.  You are my precious baby girl and I love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3278931952820893499?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3278931952820893499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3278931952820893499' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3278931952820893499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3278931952820893499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/02/birthday-princess.html' title='Birthday Princess'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SZCOgaMYodI/AAAAAAAAAKE/x41HTzV9Zvo/s72-c/IMG_1061.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-984217283474902487</id><published>2009-01-28T22:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T22:21:49.908-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sorry for the absence</title><content type='html'>I have been horrible about blogging.  I don't think anyone actually reads or cares, but I just thought I would apologize anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J is good.  He is a three-year-old and that's about all I have to say about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensie will be one in ten days!  Where did this year go?  Gad, she will be a toddler.  However, Kensie is teeny-tiny.  She looks more like an eight or nine-month-old than an almost one-year-old.  So, that makes her a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know nothing else.  It is damn cold here in NE Wisconsin.  I am sick of cold.  I am sick of winter.  Just three or so more months til spring!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-984217283474902487?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/984217283474902487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=984217283474902487' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/984217283474902487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/984217283474902487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/01/sorry-for-absence.html' title='Sorry for the absence'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7158084163833584790</id><published>2009-01-04T22:02:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T22:15:30.820-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas is done, it's the New Year, and now what?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;We had an awesome Christmas this year.  J was so into it.  He ripped into his gifts, anxiously awaited Santa's arrival, left a sandwich and milk out for the big guy, and was so excited about the whole thing.  Yes, there were meltdowns, but those are expected.  J got the three things he wanted the most:  Helmet Heroes, Candy Land Castle, and GeoTrax Grand Central Station.  Kensie liked the boxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris and I dealt with the stomach flu that plagued both J and Kensie.  We ended up missing out on Christmas with the in-laws (boo). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am ready for things to return to normal. I have lost track of the days.  I need pre-school and other regular events to break up the week for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also had the pleasure of meeting our new nephew on New Year's Day.  Chris' sister and her husband have been trying to adopt for years.  After a failed adoption, they finally got their baby.  &lt;a href="http://itbringsmegreatjoy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Micah &lt;/a&gt;is from Ethiopia.  He is beautiful, sweet, and a wonderful addition to our family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7158084163833584790?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7158084163833584790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7158084163833584790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7158084163833584790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7158084163833584790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2009/01/christmas-is-done-its-new-year-and-now.html' title='Christmas is done, it&apos;s the New Year, and now what?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-915538344681154983</id><published>2008-12-22T21:25:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T21:40:21.024-06:00</updated><title type='text'>December is like September</title><content type='html'>We are having one of those months.  September was full of sickness and a broken bone.  December is full of sickness as well.  Luckily, no broken bones thus far.  (Knock on wood.)  Poor J has had the pukies twice this month.  He was so sick over the weekend that he had to get IV fluids at the hospital.  It was horrible to see him poked.  J has my veins and I have my mom's veins.  They don't branch out where they are supposed to and they are hard to find.  J had to be poked ten times and he blew one vein.  It got to the point where he didn't even fight and struggle anymore.  I don't know if he gave up or if he was just too exhausted.  He fell asleep as the nurse was flushing the IV once she finally got it in.  He slept with people talking and the bright ER lights shining on him.  It was traumatic to see him hooked up to an IV.  I thank God that my kids are healthy.  He was rewarded with &lt;a href="http://www.fisher-price.com/fp.aspx?st=7080&amp;amp;e=product&amp;amp;pid=45295"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; toy from Gramma and Pop-Pop.  Spoiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally uploaded pictures from Kensie's baptism.  She wore the dress that I wore when I was baptized and that J wore when he was baptized.  Here we are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBbn_mxjjI/AAAAAAAAAJM/gopkajRZVi0/s1600-h/IMG_2267.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBbn_mxjjI/AAAAAAAAAJM/gopkajRZVi0/s320/IMG_2267.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282823105552682546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is J with our tree.  Yes, my boy is only in underwear. Since his favorite outfit is his birthday suit, I feel happy that he is in his undies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBcPUCSpNI/AAAAAAAAAJU/KwPIGw-k36A/s1600-h/IMG_2292.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBcPUCSpNI/AAAAAAAAAJU/KwPIGw-k36A/s320/IMG_2292.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282823781051704530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is J and me (photgraphed by me):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBc2C2ppHI/AAAAAAAAAJc/pCr_QrHHNug/s1600-h/IMG_2290.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBc2C2ppHI/AAAAAAAAAJc/pCr_QrHHNug/s320/IMG_2290.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282824446454375538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-915538344681154983?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/915538344681154983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=915538344681154983' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/915538344681154983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/915538344681154983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/12/december-is-like-september.html' title='December is like September'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SVBbn_mxjjI/AAAAAAAAAJM/gopkajRZVi0/s72-c/IMG_2267.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6550230183139431709</id><published>2008-12-16T22:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-16T22:46:03.154-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Guy</title><content type='html'>We took the kids to visit Santa last week.  Just so you know; we have &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; Santa at our mall.  He is the real deal, all the way from the North Pole.  I had no idea what to expect.  Kensie has such stranger anxiety and three-year-olds are a wee bit unpredictable.  I decided I wanted a picture no matter what.  We got up to the front of the line, I plopped Kensie on one knee and J on the other.  Kensie turned to see who was holding her and I expected a breakdown.  But guess what?  Nothing.  I was so surprised.  Here is the picture that we got:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v253/mydogteaser/Santa2008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 533px; height: 800px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v253/mydogteaser/Santa2008.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensie was baptized on Sunday.  It went well.  J had his school Christmas concert on Sunday as well.  I was so bummed. The would not allow flash photography and our video camera wasn't working.  However, the school videotaped the concert, so I will have to purchase a copy.  J did really well and looked so handsome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6550230183139431709?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6550230183139431709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6550230183139431709' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6550230183139431709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6550230183139431709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/12/big-guy.html' title='The Big Guy'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4114335677872722140</id><published>2008-12-11T09:22:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T09:27:08.784-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Look Mom!</title><content type='html'>My kid cracks me up.  He always comes up with the most random stuff.  He had pre-school this morning.  When I got him out of the van, he noticed something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tangent here for those that live in warm climates.  In case you didn't know, Wisconsin gets snow.  A lot of it.  So far this year we have had over a foot.  Snow gets caught in the wheel wells of vehicles and dirt and road debris gets caught up in it.  Most people kick the stuff off in parking lots because it can make turning difficult if it gets too thick.  Or it just falls off eventually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I got J out of the van and he exclaimed, "Look Mom!  Poop!" and pointed at a big clump of brown snow.  I had to explain to him that no, that is not poop.  We have had talks about not eating yellow or brown snow and I went over that with him again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once he was in his classroom, he ran over to his teacher.  He said, "You not have poop outside.  It just brown snow."  She didn't know what to think.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4114335677872722140?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4114335677872722140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4114335677872722140' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4114335677872722140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4114335677872722140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/12/look-mom.html' title='Look Mom!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4917738641249723831</id><published>2008-12-09T10:38:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:41:25.853-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Having an inner struggle</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I have been down and crabby the last couple of days.  I made a major life decision about a year ago and now am second guessing myself.  I wish life were more black and white.  I wish that I had a crystal ball so I could see my future.  I wish that I knew for certain if I did the right thing.  I hate this feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4917738641249723831?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4917738641249723831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4917738641249723831' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4917738641249723831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4917738641249723831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/12/having-inner-struggle.html' title='Having an inner struggle'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7180196564190229970</id><published>2008-12-05T12:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T12:21:08.332-06:00</updated><title type='text'>We have the sickies....again</title><content type='html'>J is puking today.  Gah.  This is the THIRD time since school started.  He is miserable.  I am miserable.  I am worried.  Six pukes in less than three hours.  No pee since 9:00 last night.  I want to call the ped, but Chris says to wait.  For what? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish for some Xanax.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7180196564190229970?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7180196564190229970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7180196564190229970' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7180196564190229970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7180196564190229970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/12/we-have-sickiesagain.html' title='We have the sickies....again'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3915107827253937332</id><published>2008-12-02T22:37:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T22:45:06.422-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Need Help</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Seriously.  J is making me nuts these days.  He is SO naughty.  He talks back.  He's defiant.  He gets into things.  He hits.  He bites.  I thought these were behaviors that I could expect out of a one-year-old.  But at three?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the past week, he has sprayed half of a can of Lysol all over the bathroom, dumped all of the CD's onto the living room floor, gotten into the changing table and emptied two boxes of Q-tips all over his floor, pushed his sister, hit his sister, hit me, hit Chris, pulled the dogs' tails, squirted Desitin on his arms, bitten everyone in the family, thrown more tantrums than I thought humanly possible....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's never-ending.  I am exhausted.  I am over-whelmed.  I don't know what to do with him anymore.  I can honestly understand why people beat their children.  I have self-control and will not beat him, but I can see why some people lose it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus the child has decided that he doesn't need an afternoon nap anymore.  He is a kid that NEEDS a nap.  He is such a bear without it.  But he has only taken one in the past couple of weeks.  I still make him go in his room, but he's in and out a million times.  I cannot fully relax because I am still dealing with him.  I need my break during the day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am at the end of my rope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3915107827253937332?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3915107827253937332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3915107827253937332' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3915107827253937332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3915107827253937332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-need-help.html' title='I Need Help'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1863736301260740166</id><published>2008-11-20T15:02:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T15:07:37.460-06:00</updated><title type='text'>You let him do what?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J has a crush on a girl in his class.  He proposed and she turned him down.  :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, J likes to play with this little girl.  Her mom and I were talking the other day before the school day ended.  She was telling me that her daughter said that she and J play in the Home Living Area.  Apparently, they like to play with the kitchen and to play dress-up.  Another mom (of a boy) overheard our conversation.  She said to me, "You let him play dress-up?!"  I told her yes and that J even has a baby doll.  She replied that her husband would never go for that.  Who cares?  They're three.  J is currently also sporting pink toenails.  I guess that if my son plays with dolls, gets dressed up as a princess, and likes to hang with the girls that he is going to catch the gay.  Oh, J also told me the other night that he wants to take ballet.  I should have told that to that other mom.  Some people are just so close-minded.  It's sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1863736301260740166?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1863736301260740166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1863736301260740166' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1863736301260740166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1863736301260740166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/you-let-him-do-what.html' title='You let him do what?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7919697153769245246</id><published>2008-11-16T21:43:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T21:58:07.154-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Want a challenge?</title><content type='html'>Have you ever tried to take a picture of three kids?  Yeah, I have.  All my mom wants for Christmas is a picture of her three grandkids.  J and Kensie's cousin is five and his name is Ryan.  On Friday night, my sister and I picked out matching Christmas pajamas for the three kids.  Then on Saturday we tried the photo shoot.  Unfortunately, Kensie is at the height of her separation anxiety and stranger anxiety.  Another unfortunate thing is that my sister hasn't spent much time with her niece.  So, Kensie is quite leery of her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We tried.  We really did.  But we could not accomplish all three kids looking and all three kids smiling at the same time.  In fact, Kensie did not break a smile at any point.  All she wanted was for Mommy to hold her and for her auntie to stop looking at her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some of the outtakes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDpw4GRRCI/AAAAAAAAAIs/LsJc7HlARwk/s1600-h/IMG_2254.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDpw4GRRCI/AAAAAAAAAIs/LsJc7HlARwk/s320/IMG_2254.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269468589925155874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDqLJEWojI/AAAAAAAAAI0/3RAGZurEt_s/s1600-h/IMG_2257.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDqLJEWojI/AAAAAAAAAI0/3RAGZurEt_s/s320/IMG_2257.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269469041157120562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDq3mqFjpI/AAAAAAAAAI8/RkDHLAh_H7k/s1600-h/IMG_2261.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDq3mqFjpI/AAAAAAAAAI8/RkDHLAh_H7k/s320/IMG_2261.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269469805014257298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this one is our keeper:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDrgUUSDrI/AAAAAAAAAJE/ob_U9_4ppb4/s1600-h/IMG_2250.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDrgUUSDrI/AAAAAAAAAJE/ob_U9_4ppb4/s320/IMG_2250.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269470504465600178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Professional quality?  Nah.  But Gramma will love it, none the less.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7919697153769245246?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7919697153769245246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7919697153769245246' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7919697153769245246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7919697153769245246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/want-challenge.html' title='Want a challenge?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SSDpw4GRRCI/AAAAAAAAAIs/LsJc7HlARwk/s72-c/IMG_2254.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-5747027835404866844</id><published>2008-11-11T18:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T19:09:00.378-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What is God?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;That is the question my son asked me today.  I was stumped.  I have never been stumped by a question of his.  I had no idea how to reply.  I told him we would go to Barnes and Noble and find some books about God.  How do you explain the concept of God to a three-year-old when I don't even truly grasp it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-5747027835404866844?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/5747027835404866844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=5747027835404866844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5747027835404866844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5747027835404866844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/what-is-god.html' title='What is God?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1883503862188049474</id><published>2008-11-11T14:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T14:31:52.968-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dentist</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J had his first dentist appointment yesterday.  He did as well as could be expected.  I had no idea what to expect as three-year-olds are a little unpredictable.  It went as follows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually speaking to the hygienist:  Check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting into the big chair:  Check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allowing the hygienist to count his teeth:  Check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Examining the instruments and holding Mr. Thirsty (the spit sucker thing):  Check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually allowing the hygienist to clean his teeth:  Check, check!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fluoride treatment:  No go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;X-rays:  Absolutely a no go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking to the dentist:  Negative&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting back into the big chair:  No way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Letting the dentist take a look inside his mouth:  Absolutely no.   (Well,  in J-speak, "Ever, never, ever."  This was said with the arms crossed across his chest and a very defiant look on his face.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We pinned him down and she took a look in his mouth while J screamed like a crazy person.  She saw no visible cavities.  Yay!  But she said the nooch needs to go.  It's affecting his palate.  I know it needs to go and it comes to no surprise to me that she said so, but I was already feeling pressure about it.  Now I feel intense pressure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the visit went better that I expected.  J needs to go back in six months.  I am so happy to have that behind me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1883503862188049474?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1883503862188049474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1883503862188049474' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1883503862188049474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1883503862188049474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/dentist.html' title='The Dentist'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8810502688706253372</id><published>2008-11-08T15:58:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-08T16:02:19.107-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Epilogue</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, J and Kensie finally fell asleep last night around 11:30ish.  It was great!  Chris and I went to bed at about 2.  Yup, we're night owls.  While we were getting ready for bed, J came walking into our room.  He's never done that before.  He said he couldn't sleep, but I just steered him right back to his bed.  I rubbed his back for a bit and left.  Both kids slept til 8:45!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris and I were both, like, this is so weird to have our room to ourselves now.  We could turn on the bathroom light and talk in normal voices rather than whispering.  Now, we both fell asleep as soon as we hit the pillows, but maybe we'll celebrate our new freedom tonight.  ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8810502688706253372?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8810502688706253372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8810502688706253372' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8810502688706253372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8810502688706253372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/epilogue.html' title='The Epilogue'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1481100842775422481</id><published>2008-11-07T23:13:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T23:21:26.689-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Go to Sleep Little Babies</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, Kensie has been sleeping in our room since birth.  Chris and I are sick of her being in there.  However, she and J have to share a room since we have no extra bedroom.   I have been quite hesitant about moving Kensie to J's room as J is sometimes a PITA about going to bed at night, plus I worry about them waking each other up.  Chris decided out of the blue tonight to move Kensie to J's room....I mean, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I put her down in the crib in their room.  Kensie is fine for a few minutes and then begins screaming.  She does her morning nap in the crib and does her afternoon nap in there as well if J is skipping, so she is familiar with the crib.  For the record, Kensie never cries when she goes to bed.  She fusses sometimes a bit, but never screams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go back upstairs, settle her in again, and then leave.  Within 15 seconds, she's crying again.  I go back in and pick her up.  Chris tells me to just leave her alone as she needs to get used to it.  I cannot hear my kids cry, so I turn off the monitor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris rocked her for a bit and then put her back to bed.  She has been crying off and on since then.  It's 11:18.  Kensie has &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; been awake this late before.  J is also not sleeping. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew this was going to be a transition and that it was going to be challenging, but I feel so frustrated.  I don't know how she'll do tonight, if they will wake each other up, or if anyone is going to get any rest.  And this mommy needs her sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1481100842775422481?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1481100842775422481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1481100842775422481' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1481100842775422481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1481100842775422481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/go-to-sleep-little-babies.html' title='Go to Sleep Little Babies'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1179548598510920164</id><published>2008-11-03T21:56:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T22:16:47.400-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween</title><content type='html'>Clever title, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Halloween was so much fun this year.  J actually understood it and the concept of Trick or Treating.  Our city's TOT hours were 4-8 that night and I like to go out the earlier the better.  I don't like being out after dark with my kids.  After much deliberation in the Halloween store, J had decided on Dracula.  Kensie was Scooby Doo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got J and Kensie into their costumes, loaded Kensie into the stroller, and off we went.  At every house, J would tell Chris and me to "wait right here on sidewalk" and then he would march up to the door all by himself.  At most of the houses, the people were waiting either by their door or on their porches.  J would announce, "Trick or Treat!" and hold out his pumpkin basket.  We usually had to remind him to say thank you as he was so overwhelmed with joy of getting candy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One can tell which houses are giving out candy as they are the ones with porch lights on.  No porch light means no candy.  After explaining this to J several times, he became the light lookout.  He would announce either "That house not giving out candy." or "That house has light on!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went for a few blocks before J began dragging his basket on the ground and his steps became sluggish.  He was happy to go back home so he could dig into his candy and hand out goodies to the other kids.  Unfortunately, we only had three trick-or-treaters!  We have so much candy to eat now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now for the pictures...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_LZPNrYSI/AAAAAAAAAIU/421W7OWwvaM/s1600-h/IMG_2224.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_LZPNrYSI/AAAAAAAAAIU/421W7OWwvaM/s320/IMG_2224.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264650123860468002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_L51-uehI/AAAAAAAAAIc/LybMNhwlwUw/s1600-h/IMG_2226.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_L51-uehI/AAAAAAAAAIc/LybMNhwlwUw/s320/IMG_2226.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264650684022553106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_MT9DvvvI/AAAAAAAAAIk/ap87jJrtQfw/s1600-h/IMG_2227.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_MT9DvvvI/AAAAAAAAAIk/ap87jJrtQfw/s320/IMG_2227.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264651132599254770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1179548598510920164?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1179548598510920164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1179548598510920164' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1179548598510920164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1179548598510920164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/11/halloween.html' title='Halloween'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SQ_LZPNrYSI/AAAAAAAAAIU/421W7OWwvaM/s72-c/IMG_2224.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-5759263089941366016</id><published>2008-10-22T21:08:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T21:15:36.313-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sweetest Sound</title><content type='html'>Kensie is just so wonderful in her cuteness.  One of her favorite things is when Daddy rubs his furry chin across her belly.  Oh, the laughter.  The neatest thing that Mommy does is taking her pacifier, popping it in my mouth, making her laugh, and her swiping it back.  The best thing that J does is...well, when he's just himself.  That boy can make his sister laugh like no one else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love the sound of a baby's laugh.  I read somewhere that toddlers laugh around 400 times per day, while adults laugh less than 20.  I think that's sad.  I know I laugh more than 20 simply because my kids crack me up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the first smile caught on a camera.  She's about two months old here.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SP_eMDM8KvI/AAAAAAAAAIM/rhXQCq8yFzE/s1600-h/IMG_1266.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SP_eMDM8KvI/AAAAAAAAAIM/rhXQCq8yFzE/s320/IMG_1266.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260167188391406322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-5759263089941366016?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/5759263089941366016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=5759263089941366016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5759263089941366016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5759263089941366016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/10/sweetest-sound.html' title='The Sweetest Sound'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SP_eMDM8KvI/AAAAAAAAAIM/rhXQCq8yFzE/s72-c/IMG_1266.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1837642139971474046</id><published>2008-10-10T15:32:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T15:40:40.230-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's picture time!</title><content type='html'>I got some great pictures of my kiddos today.  Here are the two of them:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-8cezuHkI/AAAAAAAAAH0/EMvLlEEbquE/s1600-h/IMG_2213.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-8cezuHkI/AAAAAAAAAH0/EMvLlEEbquE/s320/IMG_2213.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255626487657012802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan wearing some goofy teeth that he won at Octoberfest:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-8-_ll16I/AAAAAAAAAH8/bdAS_fp79ZI/s1600-h/IMG_2178.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-8-_ll16I/AAAAAAAAAH8/bdAS_fp79ZI/s320/IMG_2178.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255627080571672482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the Little Princess:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-9iTOXvFI/AAAAAAAAAIE/UGdT2tQL6RQ/s1600-h/IMG_2207.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-9iTOXvFI/AAAAAAAAAIE/UGdT2tQL6RQ/s320/IMG_2207.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255627687138409554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1837642139971474046?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1837642139971474046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1837642139971474046' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1837642139971474046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1837642139971474046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/10/its-picture-time.html' title='It&apos;s picture time!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SO-8cezuHkI/AAAAAAAAAH0/EMvLlEEbquE/s72-c/IMG_2213.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8216673768405382874</id><published>2008-10-09T22:36:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T22:38:25.305-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sorta sad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, does anyone actually read this thing?  I see my traffic feed and there are supposedly visitors to my blog, but no one ever leaves comments.  Ok, one person regularly does (Thanks, Holly), but no one else ever does.  I read other people's blogs and they get lots of comments.  How come none of my readers ever leave me anything?  It makes me feel like a loser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8216673768405382874?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8216673768405382874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8216673768405382874' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8216673768405382874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8216673768405382874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/10/sorta-sad.html' title='Sorta sad'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3219196451975530128</id><published>2008-09-29T21:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T22:07:58.934-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Keep Those Fingers Crossed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J had his collarbone x-rayed again today.  We didn't get to see the actual doctor; just the x-ray lady, so I have no idea what the results are.  The tech said the doctor would call in "a day or two", but I know better.  This means by the end of the week.  If the break still looks bad, they will do surgery.  I am hopeful that it's healing as J can now lift his arm above his shoulder again and doesn't complain about it anymore.  But he did fall out of bed for the first time on Saturday night and complained of it hurting after that, so I really don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dork of a husband is reading a "G.I. Joe" comic book right now.  I knew I was marrying a geek.  But he takes geekdom to a whole new level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3219196451975530128?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3219196451975530128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3219196451975530128' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3219196451975530128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3219196451975530128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/keep-those-fingers-crossed.html' title='Keep Those Fingers Crossed'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-9188137301591890581</id><published>2008-09-24T10:43:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T10:47:56.746-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dammit....Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, J woke in the middle of the night and begged to come sleep with me.  Chris got kicked to the couch and J slept in my bed.  He tossed and turned for a long time, but finally fell back asleep.  I woke at 6:48 to see him staring at me.  I talked to him, but didn't get any response, so I don't think he was really awake.  He slept until 9:20ish.  J felt hot, so I took his temp.  102.4.  Sigh.  He complained that he felt yucky.  I gave Kensie a bottle while J laid on my bed and watched "Playhouse Disney".  We came downstairs and J began crying. I kept asking him what was wrong and he suddenly threw up again.  I cleaned him up and settled him on the couch. I gave him a suppository to try to get the fever down since he won't be able to keep Tylenol or Motrin down.  I'm just so sick of this.  September has been a solid month of illness.  I want it to end!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-9188137301591890581?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/9188137301591890581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=9188137301591890581' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/9188137301591890581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/9188137301591890581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/dammitpart-2.html' title='Dammit....Part 2'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-2537265370074273052</id><published>2008-09-23T21:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T21:31:48.799-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dammit</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J threw up again tonight and is running a fever.  I swear I am going to scream.  Chris currently has a sinus infection, I have strep, and now J is sick again.  September has been a never-ending cycle of illness and injury.  I knew that with J going to school that he would be exposed to more illness, but I never thought it would be one right after the other like it has been.  It seems excessive to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a Valium. Too bad I don't have any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-2537265370074273052?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/2537265370074273052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=2537265370074273052' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2537265370074273052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2537265370074273052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/dammit.html' title='Dammit'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6745845387019622684</id><published>2008-09-23T15:50:00.013-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T16:26:42.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Party On!</title><content type='html'>We had Jonathan's birthday party on Saturday.  It was at &lt;a href="http://www.mulberrylanefarmwi.com/"&gt;Mulberry Lane Farm&lt;/a&gt;.  We had a blast!  Both sets of grandparents were there, a couple of aunts/uncles/cousins, and J's best buddies.  We had the tour first and then did cake and presents in the hay mow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the partiers:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlX9ZQhwWI/AAAAAAAAAF0/f8f-wy4u1D0/s1600-h/IMG_2087.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlX9ZQhwWI/AAAAAAAAAF0/f8f-wy4u1D0/s320/IMG_2087.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249323552940867938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Checking out the chicks:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlYtzBmIvI/AAAAAAAAAF8/Upv8BRdwg0U/s1600-h/IMG_2091.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlYtzBmIvI/AAAAAAAAAF8/Upv8BRdwg0U/s320/IMG_2091.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249324384491283186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Farmer J:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlZODx8G0I/AAAAAAAAAGE/2o-v9R6YjAg/s1600-h/IMG_2097.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlZODx8G0I/AAAAAAAAAGE/2o-v9R6YjAg/s320/IMG_2097.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249324938744830786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Riding Thunder the Pony:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlZ9-mIVcI/AAAAAAAAAGM/pMT7OHyMvDk/s1600-h/IMG_2104.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlZ9-mIVcI/AAAAAAAAAGM/pMT7OHyMvDk/s320/IMG_2104.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249325761986844098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milking Elsie:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlazllaYPI/AAAAAAAAAGU/pIAv6qvaI5o/s1600-h/IMG_2116.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlazllaYPI/AAAAAAAAAGU/pIAv6qvaI5o/s320/IMG_2116.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249326682985881842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tractor ride (J's favorite part):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlbd_kxAqI/AAAAAAAAAGc/fhcIm8aRfWQ/s1600-h/IMG_2119.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlbd_kxAqI/AAAAAAAAAGc/fhcIm8aRfWQ/s320/IMG_2119.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249327411516998306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Presents!:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlcUcisruI/AAAAAAAAAGk/9loRN1naorM/s1600-h/IMG_2130.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlcUcisruI/AAAAAAAAAGk/9loRN1naorM/s320/IMG_2130.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249328347005890274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cake:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlc4iqy9AI/AAAAAAAAAGs/Z3waTDPCA3I/s1600-h/IMG_2157.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlc4iqy9AI/AAAAAAAAAGs/Z3waTDPCA3I/s320/IMG_2157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249328967125758978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love this picture of my hot and sweaty boy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNldeRNtbfI/AAAAAAAAAG0/BCjnZHlXCag/s1600-h/IMG_2162.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNldeRNtbfI/AAAAAAAAAG0/BCjnZHlXCag/s320/IMG_2162.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249329615275388402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a wedding to go to on Saturday evening.  Jonathan had a BLAST dancing.  He sure can boogie down!  Look at my babies all dolled up before we left:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNleW-jIAOI/AAAAAAAAAG8/MVpdJR2MQss/s1600-h/IMG_2168.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNleW-jIAOI/AAAAAAAAAG8/MVpdJR2MQss/s320/IMG_2168.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249330589517480162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a very good weekend!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6745845387019622684?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6745845387019622684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6745845387019622684' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6745845387019622684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6745845387019622684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/party-on.html' title='Party On!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNlX9ZQhwWI/AAAAAAAAAF0/f8f-wy4u1D0/s72-c/IMG_2087.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8342102205417128917</id><published>2008-09-19T14:37:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T14:50:33.476-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Honor of Jasper Joseph</title><content type='html'>My sister is putting her dog, Jasper, to sleep this afternoon.  This is hard for me.  Jazzy has been battling cancer for a few months now and it's gotten to the point that his quality of life is poor.  He is suffering and his suffering needs to end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard for me because Jasper and Montana, one of my dogs, are siblings.  My parents had their mom until she passed away earlier this year.  The mother, Belle, had been hit by a car and found on the side of the road.  She was a stray and was seriously injured. After many surgeries, she healed, and my parents adopted her.  We found out she was pregnant shortly before Christmas of 1997.  Belle had been pregnant before she was hit.  The vet warned us that the puppies may be stillborn or they may have severe birth defects given the numerous surgeries and all of the meds Belle had been on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Belle gave birth on January 2, 1998 to seven healthy puppies.  An eighth was stillborn.  As soon as Montana was born, I chose her as my dog.  It is hard for me to accept that Jasper is going to pass.  He is Montana's brother and it makes me face reality that Montana, too, is ten years old.  I will also be faced with the same decision that my sister is facing.  That makes my heart hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jasper has lived a good life.  He loves camping, fetch, the water, and car rides.  He is patient and unbelievably kind.  This is a picture of Jazzy. It's not the best, but it's the only digital image of him on this computer:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNQCIwIzhVI/AAAAAAAAAFs/8QQpKuGj_eQ/s1600-h/IMG_1353.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNQCIwIzhVI/AAAAAAAAAFs/8QQpKuGj_eQ/s320/IMG_1353.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247821815177512274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you Jazzy Joe.  You will be missed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8342102205417128917?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8342102205417128917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8342102205417128917' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8342102205417128917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8342102205417128917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/in-honor-of-jasper-joseph.html' title='In Honor of Jasper Joseph'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SNQCIwIzhVI/AAAAAAAAAFs/8QQpKuGj_eQ/s72-c/IMG_1353.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3530200497023802609</id><published>2008-09-17T14:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T14:57:35.408-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Terrible Three's</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I thought two-year-olds were challenging.  Tantrums, screaming, etc.  But three-year-olds?  OMG.  It was like a switch went off on the day that J turned three.  My sweet little man turned into a psychopath.  He hits.  He talks back.  He is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SO &lt;/span&gt;sassy.  He has been hurting Kensie the last few days.  That pisses me off the most.  I try talking to him in a stern voice and he just repeats back what I am saying.  For example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Jonathan, it's 5 minutes until bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J:  No, it's not.  I not go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me (sterner):  You are going to bed.  You are going to bed in five minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J (points finger at me and matches my tone):  No, I not go to bed.  You.  Go.  To.  Bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Jonathan, that is sassy talk.  The sassiness needs to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J (looks up at ceiling and GROWLS)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arrrggghhhh!  I just want to smack him.  I don't know what to do.  I know I need to regain control.  I put him in timeouts and it doesn't faze him.  I try to use my SuperNanny voice.  He doesn't care.  I have even smacked him on the butt.  He cries and then tells me something like, "You not do that!". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lord, give me a strength.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3530200497023802609?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3530200497023802609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3530200497023802609' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3530200497023802609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3530200497023802609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/terrible-threes.html' title='Terrible Three&apos;s'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1500365067001426576</id><published>2008-09-14T15:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T15:25:29.521-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm sick of sickness</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Illness has been rampant in my house the last few weeks.  This is what I have been dealing wth:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensie had a cold about two weeks ago.  It turned into an ear infection.  I then caught her cold.  It was horrid.  It was worse than the typical cold.  My body ached, I had a fever, my nose was stuffy and runny, and I sneezed like crazy.  J got the sniffles a bit.  Well, then Chris came down with the cold last week.  You know how men are when they're sick.  He is acting like he's dying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night the kids took baths.  I got J out of the tub and he started shaking.  He is never like that, even though he plays til his water is icy.  I dried him off, put on his jammies, and got him under a blanket.  He then went downstairs to watch a show before bed.  At one point, he climbed onto my lap and he was hot.  I took his temperature and it was 101.3.  I gave J some Tylenol and he went to bed.  At 4:30 he woke up and was hot.  I gave him some Motrin and he came to bed with me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning he was fine, so he and Chris went to Chris' brother's house to watch the Packer game.  Well, J apparently threw up and is running a fever again, so they are on their way home.  I don't want a kid with a stomach bug. That is the worst. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am preparing for this bug to make it through our household.  J's birthday party is on Saturday, so we had all better be healthy for that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1500365067001426576?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1500365067001426576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1500365067001426576' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1500365067001426576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1500365067001426576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/im-sick-of-sickness.html' title='I&apos;m sick of sickness'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3591485594936092758</id><published>2008-09-08T22:18:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T22:42:29.897-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Boy!</title><content type='html'>Today was the big day!  We woke Jonathan up this morning with a hearty round of "Happy Birthday".  He thought that was silly.  We also gave him his balloons...that's an annual tradition.  We got ready and headed for Noodles and Company.  J ate all of his noodles and at least 1/3 of mine.  Piggy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then drove up to Green Bay and did the&lt;a href="http://www.newzoo.org/"&gt; zoo&lt;/a&gt;.  One of the highlights was the penguin exhibit:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXsBpaG0BI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Zcm2XKztMgU/s1600-h/IMG_2060.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXsBpaG0BI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Zcm2XKztMgU/s320/IMG_2060.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243856854182187026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another hit was feeding the goats:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXttfCq0mI/AAAAAAAAAEg/evteHdUtp6k/s1600-h/IMG_2070.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXttfCq0mI/AAAAAAAAAEg/evteHdUtp6k/s320/IMG_2070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243858706825400930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They also have two super cool playground at the zoo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXufyba4NI/AAAAAAAAAEo/uyG_IS3SdK0/s1600-h/IMG_2054.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXufyba4NI/AAAAAAAAAEo/uyG_IS3SdK0/s320/IMG_2054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243859571022946514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We visited all of the animals and had a snack in the cafe.  We then headed for Toys R Us.  Since J is a member of the birthday club, he got a crown, a balloon, and a t-shirt there.  They wished him a happy birthday over the intercom.  Being a member of the birthday club, he received a $3 gift card in the mail last week.  Along with his money from Great-Grandma Kuester, J bought a set of Scooby Doo Matchbox cars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had dinner at Fazoli's (another one of J's faves) and headed home.  Kensie and J took baths and went to bed, exhausted.  I am currently baking cupcakes for J to take to school tomorrow.  The original plan had been for J to help me bake them, but we got home too late tonight.  I think he'll be okay with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still can't believe that I am the mom of a three-year-old.  I think J had a great birthday.  I know I sure enjoyed the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3591485594936092758?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3591485594936092758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3591485594936092758' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3591485594936092758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3591485594936092758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/birthday-boy.html' title='Birthday Boy!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMXsBpaG0BI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Zcm2XKztMgU/s72-c/IMG_2060.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7836211079212409524</id><published>2008-09-07T22:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T22:40:24.976-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bittersweet</title><content type='html'>Tomorrow is Jonathan's birthday.  He will be three.  I have mixed feelings about this.  That means that J will no longer be a toddler.  He will officially be a pre-schooler.  I can't believe that it's been three years since I became a mommy.  Three years.  How can that be?  These years have just flown by.  I can remember the day he was born like it was yesterday.  I remember being so scared and excited.  When J was born, he had health problems.  He had a lot of difficulties breathing.  I didn't get to see him until he was about ten hours old.  The NICU nurses took a photo of him and had Chris bring it to me.  This is the photo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMScU0KD3mI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/qkWJ_lXMrNY/s1600-h/jon.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMScU0KD3mI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/qkWJ_lXMrNY/s320/jon.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243487747578256994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was later intubated.  He looked so pathetic when I met him.  Tubes and wires were everywhere.  But all I saw was beauty.  He was here.  The baby I had wished for, dreamed of, and planned for was finally here.  I fell head over heels in love.  J had been pretty unresponsive since he'd been born.  But when I got down to the NICU, I leaned over his isolette and said, "Hello, baby boy.  This is your mommy.  I love you."  And J turned his head and opened his eyes.  He knew my voice and he found comfort in that.  He opened his mouth and tried to make a noise, but couldn't because of the tube down his throat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was pregnant, I nicknamed him my Sweet Baby J and the name has stuck.  He gets so angry when I call him my baby, but he so totally is.  I put him to bed tonight.  (We always let J choose who he wants and he chose Mommy tonight.)  As we were snuggling, I told him the story of the day he was born. He liked that. I have told him the story before and he especially likes the part about Heidi wishing, praying, and hoping for a baby and then the doctor tells her she has a baby boy growing in her tummy.  Heidi didn't become a mommy until Jonathan was born.  That makes him pretty special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are taking J to Noodles and Company, his favorite restaurant, and to the Green Bay Zoo for his birthday. His party isn't until the 20th.  He is so excited and I guess I am, too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7836211079212409524?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7836211079212409524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7836211079212409524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7836211079212409524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7836211079212409524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/bittersweet.html' title='Bittersweet'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SMScU0KD3mI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/qkWJ_lXMrNY/s72-c/jon.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8823553053063644632</id><published>2008-09-03T13:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T13:19:00.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'>When it rains, it pours</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;On top of J having a broken bone, Kensie now has an ear infection and the cold from hell.  She is beyond crabby, not sleeping, not eating, and fussy.  Gah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And our garage door broke.  I have been dealing with garage guys all day and getting estimates. It sounds like it is gonna be about 500 bucks to replace the damn thing.  500 bucks that we did not plan for and that we don't really have. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sick of being an adult. Responsibility sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8823553053063644632?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8823553053063644632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8823553053063644632' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8823553053063644632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8823553053063644632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/when-it-rains-it-pours.html' title='When it rains, it pours'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7267342381833704464</id><published>2008-09-02T09:01:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T09:51:24.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend from hell...and other things</title><content type='html'>Man, what a weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday morning, J came up to wake me up.  (I always get to sleep in on Saturdays.)  He snuggled with me for a bit and then decided to head back downstairs.  I got up and suddenly heard J crying and Chris yelling at me to get downstairs.  Apparently, Chance....the spastic dog....had knocked J down the stairs.  J was screaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran downstairs and scooped him up.  J kept saying his head and his shoulder hurt.  Chris told me to go get dressed because he thought J needed to go to the hospital.  I took Kensie upstairs, threw my hair into a ponytail, and got a pair of shorts and a t-shirt on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I came back down, J was sitting with Chris on the couch.  Chris had ice on J's shoulder.  While Chris got dressed, I called my mom to ask her to meet us at the hospital so that she could take the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to the hospital and they took us right back.  A nurse took the necessary info and we waited for the doctor.  Once he came in, he examined J.  The doctor was awesome!  He talked to J about Thomas the Tank Engine, his dogs, all kinds of things to keep his mind off what he was doing. It worked beautifully.  The doctor didn't feel anything but ordered x-rays to be sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J was pretty upset during the x-ray, but he was good about lying still.  We went back to the room and waited some more.  The doctor came back and yes, J definitely broke his clavicle.  It's a nice clean break and should heal nicely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A nurse came in and fitted J with a sling.  Except for baths, J has to wear the sling all the time.  They told us to alternate Tylenol and Motrin for pain and sent us on our way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After figuring out how to strap J into his car seat, we took him to Noodles and Company for a late lunch.  That's his favorite spot.  He ate like a pig.  We then went to Wal-mart so J could get a new toy.  He picked out a Matchbox playset and a "Scooby Doo" DVD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We came home and J spent the rest of the afternoon/evening camped out on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SL1J95OSd0I/AAAAAAAAAEA/Blh7jhQtjfs/s1600-h/IMG_2043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SL1J95OSd0I/AAAAAAAAAEA/Blh7jhQtjfs/s320/IMG_2043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241426869010724674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday night was rough.  J couldn't get comfortable.  He is a side or tummy sleeper, so being on his back just wasn't working for him.  He finally joined me in my bed at 5:30.  Sunday night was the same.  We did get him a prescription for Tylenol with Codeine for night time. It made him loopy, but I think it helped with the pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J is whiney and that's understandable.  He's grumpy.  He has gotten quite adept at getting around with just one arm.  But he's in a lot of pain and that breaks my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was J's first day of school.  We had a very rough night again last night, so we were all tired this morning.  He wasn't that cooperative about getting his picture taken.  Here he is before we left:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SL1SFvdAiUI/AAAAAAAAAEI/TpW3DFglOOE/s1600-h/IMG_2047.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SL1SFvdAiUI/AAAAAAAAAEI/TpW3DFglOOE/s320/IMG_2047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241435799920085314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drop-off went great.  I didn't cry and neither did J!  I miss him, though.  It's eerily quiet here.  Kensie is napping and I should be taking advantage of that, but I am feeling lazy.  Three nights of little sleep is getting to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7267342381833704464?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7267342381833704464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7267342381833704464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7267342381833704464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7267342381833704464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/09/weekend-from-helland-other-things.html' title='Weekend from hell...and other things'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SL1J95OSd0I/AAAAAAAAAEA/Blh7jhQtjfs/s72-c/IMG_2043.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-5201554802492201480</id><published>2008-08-28T13:33:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T13:55:52.479-05:00</updated><title type='text'>As Dora would say...we did it!</title><content type='html'>We did it!  J had his orientation at pre-school this morning.  He did pretty well.  He got to pick out his shirt this morning. Of course, he chose a Thomas shirt.  We had an argument over his shoes, but I won!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since it was only orientation today, I stayed with him.  We were only there for a little over an hour.  The teacher let the children play while she talked to the parents.  She then asked the children to clean up.  J was one of the only ones to clean up the toys.  It's like pulling teeth to get the boy to clean up at home, but at school, he just jumped right in.  Arrrggghhh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the teacher then did a short Circle Time.  J had a hard time sitting.  He had to have me sit by him (I was the only parent on the floor with her kid).  He kept popping up.  The teacher then pulled out a book to read to the class.  J threw a fit because he wanted her to read a book he had been looking at earlier.  I was so embarrassed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids then did an art project and had a snack.  J had a good time and I can tell that he is going to like school a lot.  I hope he does well there.  I have this fear that he will be "That Kid".  As a former pre-school teacher, I can attest that all teachers have "That Kid" in their class.  "That Kid" is the kid she dreads coming every day and the one she hopes will be absent.  Not that she wishes ill-will on the child.  She just doesn't want him/her at school.  My mom (a retired pre-school teacher) assures me that J will not be "That Kid", but Gramma is biased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the best picture I could get of him this morning:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLby6j2dqJI/AAAAAAAAADw/1n1AJXbiUa8/s1600-h/IMG_2004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLby6j2dqJI/AAAAAAAAADw/1n1AJXbiUa8/s320/IMG_2004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239642304362162322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I can't have a picture of J without including one of my sweet baby girl:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLbz4VXwBoI/AAAAAAAAAD4/DVz2US1n-5Q/s1600-h/IMG_2001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLbz4VXwBoI/AAAAAAAAAD4/DVz2US1n-5Q/s320/IMG_2001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239643365627135618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is Chris and my 5th wedding anniversary!  Yay!  We got married on a Thursday, the Packers were playing, and it was raining.  Today is Thursday, the Packers are playing,  and it's raining!  My parents are going to watch the kids while Chris and I go out for dinner.  I'm looking forward to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-5201554802492201480?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/5201554802492201480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=5201554802492201480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5201554802492201480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5201554802492201480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/as-dora-would-saywe-did-it.html' title='As Dora would say...we did it!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLby6j2dqJI/AAAAAAAAADw/1n1AJXbiUa8/s72-c/IMG_2004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4804820769359139264</id><published>2008-08-27T16:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T16:39:36.868-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tomorrow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J starts school tomorrow.  I am sad today because of that.  I want him to go to school, but I want him to stay a baby!  Here is he at two weeks old:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLXJcZMnhqI/AAAAAAAAADo/OgoT18WjDsY/s1600-h/5980250-R1-047-22.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLXJcZMnhqI/AAAAAAAAADo/OgoT18WjDsY/s320/5980250-R1-047-22.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239315231152768674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Wasn't he gorgeous?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4804820769359139264?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4804820769359139264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4804820769359139264' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4804820769359139264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4804820769359139264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/tomorrow.html' title='Tomorrow'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SLXJcZMnhqI/AAAAAAAAADo/OgoT18WjDsY/s72-c/5980250-R1-047-22.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-2922728314375863335</id><published>2008-08-24T20:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T20:23:46.572-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A night away</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, my parents took the kids for the night last night.  Kensie had never spent the night away from me before.  J hasn't since I was in the hospital having Kensie.  It was nice having them away.  Not nearly long enough of a break, but nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess what Chris and I did on our night off?  We went grocery shopping and to Sam's Club.  It's so much easier without the kids and we just wanted to get it done.  He did, however, take me out to Red Lobster for dinner. That was yummy!  We had planned on watching a movie, but only watched a little before getting too sleepy.  I now wish we hadn't done the shopping and just relaxed.  Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's good to have my kids home, but I want a break again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-2922728314375863335?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/2922728314375863335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=2922728314375863335' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2922728314375863335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2922728314375863335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/night-away.html' title='A night away'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3565274662362971167</id><published>2008-08-21T21:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T22:00:21.895-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So furious</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I am so furious with Chris right now that it's not even funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J did not nap today.  We had to leave to early to go to his thing at school.  When he doesn't nap, he goes to bed at 8.  I had to run my mom home after we got home (she watched Kensie for us).  I told Chris to get J going on his bedtime routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home and J was still up, in his regular clothes, and playing.  I told him he needed to start getting ready for bed and Chris fucking undermined me, telling him he could play for a while.  J is still up and it's 9:49.  Chris and I just had a huge fight.  It started with me being pissed that J was still up.  J likes Daddy to put him to bed.  I would think after being gone all day that Chris would want to put him to bed.  Chris can only put him to bed after he has looked at all of his fucking GI Joe message boards.  If I want J to go to bed earlier, it's suddenly based on my schedule.  Not what's best for J.  Chris apparently couldn't get J going earlier because he was feeding Kensie.  Huh.  Somehow I manage to feed her, feed him, get them down for naps, play, clean, do laundry, do the dishes.  Etc, etc, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have worked so hard to get my kids on decent schedules and he fucks it all up all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, then the fight turned into how he has to do everything with the kids when he gets home from work (not), how I don't appreciate him, how he doesn't appreciate me, how I don't work anymore, blah, blah, blah.  I'm just so angry.  Chris has since stomped off upstairs.  I called him a fucking loser before he left.  I feel bad about that.  I don't mean it.  I'm just pissed.  I do so fucking much around here and he has zero appreciation for that.  He has NO clue what it's like to take care of the kids and the house all day long.  None.  Christ, if he did it, I can't even imagine what the house would look like and what kind of spastic schedule the kids would be on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An example would be this:  Kensie needs a nap.  Chris wants to be on the computer.  So, he holds Kensie. She naps in his arms for, like, 20 minutes.  She is then a bear because she didn't get a decent nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired of him.  I'm tired of his stupid GI Joe crap.  I'm tired of us having zero relationship.  We are headed for a total disaster. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post probably makes no sense.  It is just a rant.  I'm still so mad.  I am thinking of just dumping J upstairs and going out for a drive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3565274662362971167?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3565274662362971167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3565274662362971167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3565274662362971167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3565274662362971167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/so-furious.html' title='So furious'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4029440382879344584</id><published>2008-08-21T14:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T14:49:49.839-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to School Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Tonight is Back to School Night at J's &lt;a href="http://www.celebrationlutheran.net/"&gt;school&lt;/a&gt;.  I am excited.  I am excited for him to see his classroom, meet his teacher, locate the bathroom, visit the playground, etc.  I've been working very hard on manners with him lately.  I am trying to coach him to say, "Hi.  My name is Jonathan Meyer." when he meets his teacher, but he is being a typical almost three-year-old.  He won't do it.  Hey, maybe he'll surprise me when the time comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J has his first day on the 28th (Chris and my 5th anniversary!).  It is only orientation, though.  I will attend with him.  He officially starts on the 2nd of September.  I am so nervous and so excited for him.  He might cry.  I most likely will cry.  It's hard that my baby boy is growing up.  Don't let him hear me call him a baby, though!  Whenever I do, he tells me, "I not baby.  I big boy."  Yes, my love.  You are a big, big boy, but you will always be my baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4029440382879344584?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4029440382879344584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4029440382879344584' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4029440382879344584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4029440382879344584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/back-to-school-night.html' title='Back to School Night'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4952399814231954724</id><published>2008-08-20T14:00:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T15:25:35.820-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Killer</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Last night was pretty eventful.  I let the dogs out before going to bed.  I headed upstairs and Chris stayed behind to shut off the lights and make sure the doors were all locked.  As I was brushing my teeth, Chris called up to me and told me to get downstairs right away.  I hurried down and turned the corner.  Laying in the middle of the living room floor was a possum.  Apparently, Montana had brought it in with her and I had failed to notice.  After I went upstairs, she brought it over to Chris and dropped it by him.  He thought it was one of their toys.  He was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An actual photo of the killer dog:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SKxrBbvfqSI/AAAAAAAAADg/a95DpdXPsiM/s1600-h/IMG_0002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SKxrBbvfqSI/AAAAAAAAADg/a95DpdXPsiM/s320/IMG_0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236678139096049954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vicious, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it was still alive.  It was breathing and "playing possum".  Chris and I discussed what we should do.  The dogs all circled the poor animal, like hyenas circling their prey.  Chris decided to get a shovel from the basement, scoop it up, and take it back outside. My job was to hold the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then vacuumed everywhere Montana had been, just in case the thing had fleas.  I noticed a few drops of blood, cleaned those up with Clorox wipes, and sprayed Lysol over the whole carpet.  I put Montana's bed in the washer since she had taken it there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris left for work this morning and called to report it was gone.  I was pleased.  J had a playdate at the park today, so I went out to load up the van with all the junk required to take two kids to the park for a few hours.  That's when I saw the possum.  It was laying by our hedges.  It lifted its head up, wobbled it around a bit, and then laid it back down.  Flies were buzzing around it.  It was injured and bleeding.  I knew I couldn't leave the poor thing to suffer.  So, I called Animal Control and was told that they "don't do wild animals".  I called a Wildlife Rescue place that is no longer in operation and was given the name of a pest control place.  I called them.  The guy told me he could take care of it for 50 bucks.  I didn't want the poor thing "taken care of".  So, I called out vet.  They told me to bring it in and their wildlife expert would take care of it.  Take care of it, as in try to rehabilitate it or euthanize it if its injuries were too severe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my mom to come watch the kids, canceled our playdate, and once Grandma got here, I had to get the thing captured.  It has since then crawled back under the hedges.  I took an old towel and a pair of heavy duty work gloves outside.  I was able to pull it out from under the hedges.  It "played possum" again.  I cleaned the leaves off of it shooed the flies away, and wrapped it in a towel. I then put the possum in one of our cat carriers and headed to the vet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to fill out a form and I left the possum there.  They will take a look at it, see if it can be saved, and then go from there.  With luck, it will be okay and will be released back into the wild.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have the heebie-jeebies after having a possum in my house.  And that my dog had it in her mouth.  Montana has never done anything like that before.  You can be sure that I will be looking at my dogs' mouths from now on when they come inside. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4952399814231954724?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4952399814231954724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4952399814231954724' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4952399814231954724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4952399814231954724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/killer.html' title='Killer'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SKxrBbvfqSI/AAAAAAAAADg/a95DpdXPsiM/s72-c/IMG_0002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3249761679206616702</id><published>2008-08-05T22:19:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T22:25:57.941-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So mad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I've been so angry lately.  I yell at J all day long.  He spends the whole day saying, "Sorry Mommy" even for things that aren't his fault.  I am the worst Mom in the world.  What is wrong with me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3249761679206616702?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3249761679206616702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3249761679206616702' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3249761679206616702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3249761679206616702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/so-mad.html' title='So mad'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3582984199269296377</id><published>2008-08-01T23:13:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T23:27:45.404-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The last of J's babyhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J loved his first movie experience.  He sat for about the first 40 minutes or so and then stood for the rest of the movie.  When he was standing, he turned around and saw the projector.  He  asked for his sunglasses since the light was so bright.  The kid then watched the rest of the movie in his shades.  Weirdo.  The movie was just, eh.  The first was fantastic and I was pretty disappointed with this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember how I said a few weeks ago that we were breaking the nooch (pacifier) habit?  Well, I didn't do it.  I finally decided that Thursday was the day.  I warned J about what was going to happen and how the nooch was only allowed in his room and in the van.  On Thursday morning, J woke up.  After I got him dressed I asked him what the rule is now with his nooch.  He took it out of his mouth and tossed it on his bed.  I was shocked.  The rest of the morning was spent playing, eating, watching TV, the usual.  Just before naptime, J began raiding my pockets.  He found one of Kensie's nooches in one and began asking for his.  It turned into a full-blown tantrum when I told him no.  He then proceeded to throw his Thomas trucks onto his floor and would not pick them up.  He lost them for the rest of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After his nap on Thursday, J whined a bit about leaving his nooch in his room, but was very proud to tell Chris at dinnertime about what a big boy he is.  He was good about it today, too, but begged for one after his nap.  I know that was only because he was grouchy since I woke him up.  However, tonight he drew a picture of his nooch!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am fine with him having one to sleep.  I just hate seeing him walking around with it all the time.  We had him cut way back on it, but then when Kensie came along, so did some lazy parenting.  I let him have it all the time because I didn't feel like dealing with saying no.  Now that he is almost three, it's time to give it up.  Well, at least cut back.  It's his last babyish behavior.  He sleeps in a big boy bed, is potty-trained, eats at the table rather than a high chair....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J asked to hold Kensie yesterday and I took some pics of it.  Here is my favorite:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SJPhVo7XdJI/AAAAAAAAADY/dPSx9Igs1hI/s1600-h/IMG_1942.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SJPhVo7XdJI/AAAAAAAAADY/dPSx9Igs1hI/s320/IMG_1942.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229771354187199634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3582984199269296377?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3582984199269296377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3582984199269296377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3582984199269296377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3582984199269296377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/08/last-of-js-babyhood.html' title='The last of J&apos;s babyhood'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SJPhVo7XdJI/AAAAAAAAADY/dPSx9Igs1hI/s72-c/IMG_1942.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7192587041089044780</id><published>2008-07-29T21:49:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T21:59:57.938-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We are the Pirates Who Don't do Anything!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I am taking J to his first movie tomorrow!  I am super excited.  He is super excited.  He, of course, has no idea what to expect.  He just knows we are going to see a "Veggietales" movie and that we will sit in seats, there will be a big TV, and we will eat popcorn.  Oh, and it's a hot date with Mommy.  My mom is watching Kensie and Chris will be at work, so it's just my boy and me.  We are taking advantage of &lt;a href="http://www.regmovies.com/nowshowing/familyfilmfestivalschedule.aspx?state=WI"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;.  I just wish we had known about it sooner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, my kids both seem to find eating solids to be terribly exhausting....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J at about 5 months:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SI_YPhhVWoI/AAAAAAAAADI/NrzvgWNKY3w/s1600-h/2-17-2006-12.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SI_YPhhVWoI/AAAAAAAAADI/NrzvgWNKY3w/s320/2-17-2006-12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228635453608254082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensie, a week or so ago:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SI_Y5TKh-OI/AAAAAAAAADQ/Yrwc-cYYi68/s1600-h/IMG_1754.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SI_Y5TKh-OI/AAAAAAAAADQ/Yrwc-cYYi68/s320/IMG_1754.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228636171309021410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7192587041089044780?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7192587041089044780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7192587041089044780' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7192587041089044780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7192587041089044780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/07/we-are-pirates-who-dont-do-anything.html' title='We are the Pirates Who Don&apos;t do Anything!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SI_YPhhVWoI/AAAAAAAAADI/NrzvgWNKY3w/s72-c/2-17-2006-12.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-2640511546993899427</id><published>2008-07-19T22:39:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T22:47:56.111-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Beauty and the Beast</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This is my new favorite picture of Kensie:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SIKz01KApAI/AAAAAAAAAC4/fpDiYs6mrmk/s1600-h/IMG_1833.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SIKz01KApAI/AAAAAAAAAC4/fpDiYs6mrmk/s320/IMG_1833.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224936237906830338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're gonna be in trouble once she starts dating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is a current picture of J:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SIK0yqU8wMI/AAAAAAAAADA/Nrx0ZDIS5Oc/s1600-h/IMG_1823.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SIK0yqU8wMI/AAAAAAAAADA/Nrx0ZDIS5Oc/s320/IMG_1823.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224937300151812290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's marker on his forehead, by the way.  He was mad because he wanted me to take a picture of his tractor.  But I decided to photograph his fit instead.  Unfortunately, it wasn't a 10 on the Richter scale, so he doesn't look &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;too&lt;/span&gt; pissed.  I really want to get one of those on film someday.  Although, since my camera is digital, do I say on memory card????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-2640511546993899427?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/2640511546993899427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=2640511546993899427' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2640511546993899427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2640511546993899427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/07/beauty-and-beast.html' title='Beauty and the Beast'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SIKz01KApAI/AAAAAAAAAC4/fpDiYs6mrmk/s72-c/IMG_1833.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8126475265095405087</id><published>2008-07-16T18:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T18:56:21.445-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Such a pushover</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Why can't I just say no to people?  My dad just called.  My younger sister is going to a friend's house that lives near me.  My dad doesn't feel like going to pick her up again, so he asked if she could sleep here.  I hesitantly said yes, but I was wishing I could say no.  It normally wouldn't bother me to have her stay here.  However, I haven't had a second to myself today.  Neither kid took a good nap, they were asleep at different times,  and I was really looking forward to having a few hours to myself.  Especially since J didn't fall asleep until 1:00 this morning and I was battling with him for three hours to get him to bed last night.  So, I just collapsed into bed once he was finally asleep.  I haven't had any me time for two days and I need it so badly.  I wish I had the balls to say no, but I am too scared of my dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8126475265095405087?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8126475265095405087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8126475265095405087' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8126475265095405087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8126475265095405087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/07/such-pushover.html' title='Such a pushover'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-2849674306753552969</id><published>2008-07-11T22:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T23:03:07.843-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You know what?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;That's J's latest.  1,000 times a day.  It's replaced "You happy?", his old question of the day.  Unfortunately, he doesn't realize that "You know what?" is traditionally followed with some sort of news.  So, he usually asks, "You know what?" and then when asked what, he babbles some sort of nonsense or says something completely random.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news....I have broken it to the pacifier (or nooch as we refer to it as) addict that his days are numbered.  The habit is out of control.  He is more attached to it now than he was 6 months ago.  He wants one ALL the time and I really want to break him of it.  So, starting Sunday, he can only have it in his room and in the van.  Soon it will be just in his room and then eventually it will be gone.  I want it gone by his third birthday.  Fingers crossed....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-2849674306753552969?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/2849674306753552969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=2849674306753552969' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2849674306753552969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2849674306753552969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/07/you-know-what.html' title='You know what?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-756782115165436454</id><published>2008-07-10T00:25:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T00:27:28.079-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Comments please!</title><content type='html'>So, I didn't think anyone actually read this thing, but now that I have this live traffic feed thingy (I lurve technology!), I see that I do have readers.  So, leave comments.  Please!  Even if it's just to compliment the beauty that is my offspring.  Thanks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-756782115165436454?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/756782115165436454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=756782115165436454' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/756782115165436454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/756782115165436454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/07/comments-please.html' title='Comments please!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4915350184764461057</id><published>2008-07-09T20:48:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T21:10:52.243-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Crap, it's been a while</title><content type='html'>But does anyone actually read this thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Updates:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan:  He's potty trained!  Yippee!  It's awesome.  I love it.  Yeah, he still wears a diaper to bed, but even the experts say that night time dryness takes a lot longer.  He hasn't had an accident in weeks.  However, he will pee out of spite when he is in timeout.  That pisses me off.  There isn't much else new on the J front, but he is potty trained!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensington:  She has two teeth.  She can roll over.  She started cereal on Sunday.  Big changes for the little girl.  More and more of her personality is coming out.  She acts seriously silly sometimes and I love it.  Kensie now takes good naps every afternoon.  Since the girl used to just be a cat napper, this is heaven!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We just got back from our Door County trip.  It was "eh".  My family offered little to no help while we were there.  My sister seems to have major issues with Kensie.  She didn't even touch her for the first few days and after that had minimal interactions with her.  Yes, I know it hurts that I got pregnant again so easily, that Kensie was unplanned, and that she's a girl.  But, God, grow the F up.  She's your niece for Christ's sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's not much more on this front.  Now for some pics!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and the kids:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVtqvMjrpI/AAAAAAAAACg/r57WxdXf0GY/s1600-h/IMG_1649.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVtqvMjrpI/AAAAAAAAACg/r57WxdXf0GY/s320/IMG_1649.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221199923997027986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the pool:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVua-FDSbI/AAAAAAAAACo/rBpd3NkzLtE/s1600-h/IMG_1705.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVua-FDSbI/AAAAAAAAACo/rBpd3NkzLtE/s320/IMG_1705.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221200752625797554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J loving his cousin, Ryan:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVvIAMrmEI/AAAAAAAAACw/JhZWruiU4zk/s1600-h/IMG_1659.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVvIAMrmEI/AAAAAAAAACw/JhZWruiU4zk/s320/IMG_1659.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221201526288783426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4915350184764461057?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4915350184764461057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4915350184764461057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4915350184764461057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4915350184764461057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/07/crap-its-been-while.html' title='Crap, it&apos;s been a while'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SHVtqvMjrpI/AAAAAAAAACg/r57WxdXf0GY/s72-c/IMG_1649.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-2535314652126115608</id><published>2008-06-11T20:30:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T20:48:59.858-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Things</title><content type='html'>I'm depressed today.  I haven't felt this down in quite some time.  I've been down since Friday.  All I wanted to do last weekend was sleep.  I thought it was cuz my thirtieth birthday was on Monday.  I AM bummed about being 30.  There is something different about being in my thirties as opposed to my twenties.  But now my birthday has passed and I am still down.  So, to try to lift my mood, I am going to list five happy things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Jonathan.  Jonathan and the potty.  My boy is getting it.  He really is!  He finally pooped in the potty yesterday and today.  I think it's finally clicked for him.  Thank God. I was SO sick of cleaning poop out of underwear.  That is nasty.  People that cloth diaper their kids are much more tolerant of poop than I am apparently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Kensington.  Kensington and the Exersaucer.  My girl loves it.  We finally broke it out yesterday and within a few minutes, she had figured out how to turn to check out the other toys.  Smart, smart girl.  Since she loves to stand so much, the Exersaucer is her new best friend.  The poor Bumbo has been replaced.  The Bumbo is now her second best friend.  But who wants to sit when one can stand?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. It's summer!  That means longer days and that definitely lifts my mood.  It also means being able to go to the park, the pool, and the freedom of not wearing a dozen layers.  That's one shitty thing about Wisconsin winters.  In order to go anywhere, you must dress in layers.  That means much bundling of myself and my offspring.  It also means warming the car up before we go anywhere.  Said layers are then removed as we are in the car and then replaced when we get to our destination.  Once inside, remove layers again.  Before departure, replace layers.  Repeat.  PITA if you ask me.  Now the most my kids need is a hat and some sunscreen and we're good to go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bad mood is making it impossible for me to think of any more.  Hmmm....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about some pics instead?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is Jonathan riding his new bike that replaced the one that was stolen.  (Thanks Gramma and Pop-Pop!):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SFB_HS53EII/AAAAAAAAACI/tcOfYZwo51M/s1600-h/IMG_1542.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SFB_HS53EII/AAAAAAAAACI/tcOfYZwo51M/s320/IMG_1542.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210804532177997954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is my sassy girl, enjoying her Exersaucer:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SFB_3gtCATI/AAAAAAAAACQ/HVYdQsi-m3Q/s1600-h/IMG_1551.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SFB_3gtCATI/AAAAAAAAACQ/HVYdQsi-m3Q/s320/IMG_1551.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210805360516006194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kids are gorgeous.  I know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-2535314652126115608?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/2535314652126115608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=2535314652126115608' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2535314652126115608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2535314652126115608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/06/good-things.html' title='Good Things'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SFB_HS53EII/AAAAAAAAACI/tcOfYZwo51M/s72-c/IMG_1542.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7529018043049992253</id><published>2008-06-05T23:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T23:13:39.366-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't wanna...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J cracks me up.  He is so negative these days.  We will ask him to do something and he will reply, "I don't wannna [insert request]".  It's I don't wanna go to bed, I don't wanna wash my hands, etc.  Lately it's been that he doesn't wanna go potty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tangent....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J is doing awesome with his potty training.  No accidents for days now.  However, he refuses to poop in the potty.  He's done it.  But he'll hold it in.  He'll say, "I gotta go poop."  We'll tell him to go poop and he'll say, "I don't wanna go poop."  Who cares if you want to?  If you gotta go, then frickin' go!  Anyway, he now holds it in until after he goes to bed at night.  He'll then go in his diaper.  When I go to check to see why he hasn't fallen asleep yet, I will discover he's pooped.  It's beyond frustrating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the other night he and I were in the living room.  I was tired and crabby at that point cuz it had been a long day.  This was our conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J:  I gotta go poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Then go poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J:  I don't wanna go poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  If you need to poop, go poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J:  But I don't wanna go poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Just go poop, J!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J:  I don't wanna go poop!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  I don't give a shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J:  I don't wanna I don't give a shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost it.  I totally cracked up.  That was the first time he's ever said a swear word and he had no clue what he was saying.  Too cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7529018043049992253?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7529018043049992253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7529018043049992253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7529018043049992253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7529018043049992253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-dont-wanna.html' title='I don&apos;t wanna...'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6394634892158623520</id><published>2008-05-31T21:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T21:48:15.368-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate people</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;J wanted to play outside tonight.  So, I took him out and he played in his sandbox for a long time.  He was playing in his playhouse for a while and then came out.  He said to me, "Mommy, where my bike?".  We looked all over for it.  We looked in the whole yard, in the garage....I asked Chris if he had seen it.  We finally came to the conclusion that someone swiped it.  J is so sad about it.  How do you explain to a two-year-old, who is struggling to learn not to take things that don't belong to him, that there are dishonest people in this world who steal?  I can't believe someone would steal a toddler's ride-on bike.  J got it for his first birthday and loved riding it.  He kept it parked next to his playhouse.  That means that the thief had to come into our yard to take it.  I feel violated.  I feel mad.  I feel angry.  But I mostly feel confusion. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6394634892158623520?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6394634892158623520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6394634892158623520' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6394634892158623520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6394634892158623520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-hate-people.html' title='I hate people'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8278463544854106651</id><published>2008-05-25T23:53:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T23:59:10.263-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy crap!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;And I mean that literally!  J pooped on the potty this morning!  He said to me, "I pooped."  I replied, "You did?!" with dread and then checked his Pull-up.  Nothing was there, so I put him on the potty and he went!  I was so thrilled and almost took a picture.  Cleaning the potty chair with poop inside?  Beyond nasty.  But to have poop in there to clean?  Beyond wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J has gone three days now with no accidents.  Well, he kinda had one tonight.  We were at Noodles and Company (J's current favorite restaurant) and he told me he had to pee.  When we got to the bathroom, there was a line.  Of course, no one would let this poor kid go first (Bitches), so he peed in his Pull-up.  I knew that it had just happened, too, cuz the wetness was warm.  He still sat on the toilet, though, and peed a little.  I didn't bring up the wet Pull-up and neither did he.  I am so proud of my little man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have had a busy weekend and I am beat.  I will write more tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8278463544854106651?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8278463544854106651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8278463544854106651' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8278463544854106651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8278463544854106651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/05/holy-crap.html' title='Holy crap!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1181542117264965652</id><published>2008-05-22T19:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T19:46:23.401-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My kiddos</title><content type='html'>I took this picture of my kids tonight.  I think it's super cute.  Please ignore the food on J's face....and the fact that Kensie looks less than pleased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDYTvhwfAbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/G8R74H2C5JQ/s1600-h/IMG_1465.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDYTvhwfAbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/G8R74H2C5JQ/s320/IMG_1465.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203368126709694898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1181542117264965652?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1181542117264965652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1181542117264965652' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1181542117264965652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1181542117264965652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-kiddos.html' title='My kiddos'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDYTvhwfAbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/G8R74H2C5JQ/s72-c/IMG_1465.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-7222920932457417388</id><published>2008-05-22T15:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T15:42:40.569-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm ba-ack!</title><content type='html'>I can't believe how long it's been since I last blogged.  So much has happened.  I am not going to go back and write about everything.  Just the important stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest thing is, of course, our little girl.  Kensington Leigh was born on February 8.  She was born via repeat c-section.  I developed pre-eclampsia again and was put on bedrest for a few weeks.  Just like with J, it got to the point that she just had to be born.  Luckily, Kensie didn't have the same breathing problems that her big brother had. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensington is a much different baby that Jonathan was.  She is particular and fussy.  She's not as fussy as she used to be, but she still is very particular.  When she was a newborn, she would have several hours every night where she would scream and there was no consoling her.  It was so annoying.  I struggled with adjusting to two kids.  J struggled with adjusting to having a sister.  I felt so over-whelmed.  Still do sometimes.  There were times that I would think I made a huge mistake.  But it's getting better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kensington is doing better, too.  She is happier now and much more interactive.  She seems to find being a baby to be boring.  She tries to sit up all the time and gets mad because she can't.  The Bumbo is her best friend.  She is a spitter like her brother was and is a good night sleeper like he was...and still is.  She naps terribly, but seems to be doing better on that front, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan is wonderful.  He is my joy.  He's funny and fun.  He still adores him some choo-choos.  He also loves Matchbox cars, dinosaurs, music, playing outside, the water, and books.  He begs to go to the park daily.  He is a typical two-year-old and has tantrums.  He is being potty trained right now and is quite proud to be wearing big boy pants.  J will not poop on the potty, though, and always goes in his pants.  That frustrates the hell out of me.  I tell him and tell him to use the potty and he just won't.  It's so gross to clean poop up out of underwear.  J still goes to music class and swim lessons.  He will also be attending nursery school this fall and is psyched about that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are all looking forward to this summer.  We have lots of plans.  We're going to Door County, the Milwaukee Zoo, all of the local zoos and farms, &lt;a href="http://www.thomasandfriends.com/usa/parents/dowt.html"&gt;Day Out With Thomas&lt;/a&gt;, and lots more.  It should be a blast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-7222920932457417388?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/7222920932457417388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=7222920932457417388' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7222920932457417388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/7222920932457417388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2008/05/im-ba-ack.html' title='I&apos;m ba-ack!'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8580319900536261929</id><published>2007-08-27T20:23:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-27T20:36:22.401-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Overdue update and bentos</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted!  Let me see if I can remember everything that's happened lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My pregnancy:  I'm in the 2nd trimester.  Morning sickness continues.  I was given IV fluids again last week.  It sucks.  However, I am hopeful that things will get better soon.  I have good days and bad days.  Today, for example, has been great.  I have been ravenous all day long.  It's like I can't get enough to eat!  We heard the baby's heartbeat at my last appointment. It was about 160 beats per minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan:  What can I say about my little boy?  He's just the greatest thing ever.  We gave him his birthday present a little early.  The child is in HEAVEN.  He loves his train table and plays with it constantly.  It's so cute to watch.  J is doing well in all regards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris and I found J a cozy coupe on clearance at Wal-mart a few weeks ago.  J loves, loves, loves it!  This is what he did when watching TV for the first few days after he got it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7P8JYJNI/AAAAAAAAABM/RGHqf9zaEgI/s1600-h/IMG_0623.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7P8JYJNI/AAAAAAAAABM/RGHqf9zaEgI/s320/IMG_0623.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103558316514616530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7QMJYJOI/AAAAAAAAABU/LjX3J8ljDIs/s1600-h/IMG_0625.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7QMJYJOI/AAAAAAAAABU/LjX3J8ljDIs/s320/IMG_0625.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103558320809583842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It was his version of the drive-in movies, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently stumbled upon the idea of bentos.  (For more information, visit &lt;a href="http://bentolunch.blogspot.com/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; blog.)  I tried the first one today and J loved it!  I am now going to start serving him bentos regularly.  This was my first bento attempt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7QsJYJPI/AAAAAAAAABc/rbjU_s0K6g4/s1600-h/IMG_0636.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7QsJYJPI/AAAAAAAAABc/rbjU_s0K6g4/s320/IMG_0636.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103558329399518450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The items are clockwise from the top: Tortilla wraps with cream cheese.  Pepperoni.  Applesauce with wheat germ mixed in.  Cheese stars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J can be a picky eater, so I am hopeful that this will help him start eating better and possibly trying new things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8580319900536261929?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8580319900536261929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8580319900536261929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8580319900536261929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8580319900536261929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/08/overdue-update-and-bentos.html' title='Overdue update and bentos'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RtN7P8JYJNI/AAAAAAAAABM/RGHqf9zaEgI/s72-c/IMG_0623.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-8714947937081851701</id><published>2007-08-11T00:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-11T00:24:29.537-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Da Da Da Da Da Da Da DaTa Da</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;That's the theme to "Thomas and Friends", in case you don't know.  My kid has become OBSESSED with Thomas over the past week or so.  We discovered that one of our On-Demand channels has it one there, so he begs to watch it over and over and over.  There are only about six episodes on there, so we watch the same ones again and again.  I know, repetition is good for toddlers.  But not good for mommies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J will say, "Thomas?"  If that gets no response, then it becomes "Choo-choo?  Please?"  and who can resist that?!  He only has one of the Thomas engines, but he's getting a train table for his birthday, so he'll be getting more of them soon.  (If you want sticker shock, check out the prices of Thomas stuff.  It's insane.  Luckily, there are a couple of other brands that are easier on the wallet.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of J's birthday, I started planning his party.  It's going to be at &lt;a href="http://www.funset.com/"&gt;Funset Boulevard&lt;/a&gt;.  I know that he's going to have a blast.  I love it cuz I don't have to do a thing other than show up with the birthday boy.  I wanted to have it the day after his birthday and spend his actual birthday with just us, but Chris wanted the party on Saturday so as not to interfere with the Packer game.  Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-8714947937081851701?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/8714947937081851701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=8714947937081851701' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8714947937081851701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/8714947937081851701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/08/da-da-da-da-da-da-da-data-da.html' title='Da Da Da Da Da Da Da DaTa Da'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6105090651986363016</id><published>2007-08-05T20:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T20:38:40.887-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My personality</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I saw this test on someone else's blog.  This is what it said about me.  Agree?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width="350" align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bg align="center" style="color:#EEEEEE;"&gt;&lt;span style="'color:black;font-family:Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;You Are An ISFJ&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.blogthings.com/whatsyourpersonalitytypequiz/isfj.jpg" height="100" width="100" /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Nurturer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have a strong need to belong, and you very loyal.&lt;br /&gt;A good listener, you excel at helping others in practical ways.&lt;br /&gt;In your spare time, you enjoy engaging your senses through art, cooking, and music.&lt;br /&gt;You find it easy to be devoted to one person, who you do special things for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In love, you express your emotions through actions.&lt;br /&gt;Taking care of someone is how you love them. And you do it well!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At work, you do well in a structured environment. You complete tasks well and on time.&lt;br /&gt;You would make a good interior designer, chef, or child psychologist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How you see yourself: Competent, dependable, and detail oriented&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When other people don't get you, they see you as: Boring, dominant, and stuck in a rut&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyourpersonalitytypequiz/"&gt;What's Your Personality Type?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6105090651986363016?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6105090651986363016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6105090651986363016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6105090651986363016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6105090651986363016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/08/my-personality.html' title='My personality'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-1564405656485422846</id><published>2007-08-02T00:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T00:45:30.429-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mouse in the house.....and more</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;We have a mouse.  You would think that with three cats that mice wouldn't be a problem, but apparently none of them can keep the critters away.  Useless, I tell ya.  Chris set up traps and the sneaky bastard has been getting into the trap, stealing the chocolate, and getting back out.  Today I go into the kitchen.  Avery is sitting on top of the counter.  He has his paw stuck in the trap and has the mouse!  I called Chris to ask him where I should dump the guy.  He told me to drive the mouse away from the house or else it will come back.  While we're talking.....okay, arguing...I was holding the trap with mouse inside.  The little creep crawled out, jumped onto the counter, ran across Avery, and darted behind the microwave.  After a careful search, I realized he was gone.  He hasn't been back.  So, he either has disappeared forever or is waiting til we all go to bed to come back out.  This time I am just gonna let Avery have him and do whatever he wants with him.  It's pretty sad that our one-eyed cat is the one that is trying to catch the damn thing.  What are the other two doing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan continues to try my patience.  He tests me 1,000 times a day.  I will tell him not to do something, he will grin this evil grin, and then do exactly what I just told him not to do.  It's so frustrating.  He also finds it humorous to hurt people.  He will be climbing on me and he'll start pulling my hair.  I'll cry out, "Ouch!  Stop it!" and he will just laugh at me.  So, my kid is either sick and twisted or he hasn't developed empathy.  I hope for the latter.  Although, J surprises me at times, too.  Chris made me cry the other day.  J got this very concerned look on his face and came over to me.  He rubbed my leg and looked so worried.  He must be a work in progress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No new updates with the pregnancy. I was pretty sick again yesterday.  It's getting uncomfortable to lay on my stomach now and that's one of my favorite positions for reading to J.  He and I lay side by side on our tummies and look at books.  Anyway, it feels like I am laying on a softball now.  So, I think it's about time to find a new reading position.  Hmmmm...I wonder how laying on our backs would work?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-1564405656485422846?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/1564405656485422846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=1564405656485422846' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1564405656485422846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/1564405656485422846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/08/mouse-in-houseand-more.html' title='Mouse in the house.....and more'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4631793109957627245</id><published>2007-07-26T22:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-26T22:58:25.450-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been awhile</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So, this pregnancy has SUCKED so far.  My morning sickness got so bad that my midwife had me pumped full of fluids yesterday cuz I was so dehydrated.  She also put me on anti-nausea meds that are normally given to chemo patients.  The stuff works pretty well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have the world's naughtiest dog.  Chance barks and barks.  All.  The.  Time.  It gets so bad that we have to tie him to the coffee table sometimes just to get some peace.  J and I were outside the other day.  Chance was barking at the window at us, so I went in and tied him to the coffee table just to get him to shut the hell up.  When I came in, I saw this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RqlrkrZB-_I/AAAAAAAAAA0/9r1-kEQyKPs/s1600-h/IMG_0609.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RqlrkrZB-_I/AAAAAAAAAA0/9r1-kEQyKPs/s320/IMG_0609.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091719131586231282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice, huh?  Oh, shit.  I just noticed how messy my living room is in that pic.  Please ignore the mess.  My only excuse is that I have a toddler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kid is hilarious.  He loves ice cream.  He had some at lunchtime today. This is the result:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Rqlsb7ZB_AI/AAAAAAAAAA8/jFVF7Pi-Mcc/s1600-h/IMG_0613.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/Rqlsb7ZB_AI/AAAAAAAAAA8/jFVF7Pi-Mcc/s320/IMG_0613.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091720080774003714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RqltBLZB_BI/AAAAAAAAABE/ootuDKkAsXY/s1600-h/IMG_0615.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RqltBLZB_BI/AAAAAAAAABE/ootuDKkAsXY/s320/IMG_0615.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091720720724130834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't he the cutest?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4631793109957627245?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4631793109957627245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4631793109957627245' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4631793109957627245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4631793109957627245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/its-been-awhile.html' title='It&apos;s been awhile'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RqlrkrZB-_I/AAAAAAAAAA0/9r1-kEQyKPs/s72-c/IMG_0609.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-3114772102552198421</id><published>2007-07-19T22:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T22:42:39.413-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If these aren't the Terrible Twos, then what the hell are they?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;God, Jonathan has been AWFUL tonight.  His temper tantrums are out-of-control.  I am tired of them.  He got put in time-out for the first time tonight.  Oh, was his heart broken!  He wasn't good about staying sitting, but I kept putting him back.  I didn't say one word while I was doing it even though I wanted to throw him through a window.  He finally gave up, sat on the stair, and sobbed.  Afterwards, he was clingy, but I don't think he's had any long-lasting effects from it.  However, his voice is hoarse tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a vacation from my life. I need to go somewhere where I can be alone.  I want to have zero responsibilities and just do as I want for about a week.  That would be heaven to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My midwife called me this morning.  She started with, "There's a problem with your urine."  I was, like, OMG!  What could be wrong?  Pre-eclampsia couldn't start this early!  Maybe it showed I am having triplets or something.  But it's just a bladder infection.  I didn't know that it was possible to have one of those and not know it.  I've been peeing a lot lately, but that's part of pregnancy.  Can stress cause them?  Cuz Lord knows I am stressed to the max.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-3114772102552198421?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/3114772102552198421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=3114772102552198421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3114772102552198421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/3114772102552198421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/if-these-arent-terrible-twos-then-what.html' title='If these aren&apos;t the Terrible Twos, then what the hell are they?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6404417229045907016</id><published>2007-07-17T01:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-17T01:33:53.869-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My mom pisses me off</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Today was my first prenatal appointment with my midwife, Loree.  Everything went well.  Since Chris' insurance changed, we can't use the same OB that delivered Jonathan.  Since I most likely want to do VBAC, we decided to go with a midwife rather than an OB as they are typically more supportive of VBACs.  The appointment went fine and everything looks good at this point.  But my mom just irritates me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked my mom to watch J while I went to the appointment.  (And I'm glad I did cuz it was 2 hours long!)  She made a big deal out of having to take him to music class.  She had Annie go along with her.  I walked with them out to the car and watched as my little 14-year-old sister strapped my precious baby into his car seat!  Anyone that knows me knows that I am a car seat nazi, freak, fanatic, whatever you want to call it.  And then I when to lean in to kiss him and I noticed loose straps and a fucking belly clip rather than a chest clip.  Now I know that if  I say anything to my mom she will use one of several excuses.  One, she knew I would be checking J so she let Annie buckle him in.  Two, she never lets Annie buckle him in typically and it was just that one time.  Three, she just can't do the car seat buckles as it's too hard for her.  Or some combination of the three.  What pisses me off is that now I feel like I can't trust her to take care of J.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember when J was in his bucket seat that she would always do his chest clip backwards, but when confronted by it, she'd deny ever doing it.  It wouldn't bother me so much if she'd just admit she fucked up and move on, but she never does. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to find a different sitter.  Like, now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6404417229045907016?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6404417229045907016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6404417229045907016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6404417229045907016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6404417229045907016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/my-mom-pisses-me-off.html' title='My mom pisses me off'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-5664141798338513162</id><published>2007-07-15T17:50:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-15T18:05:41.192-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Is a normal weekend just too much to ask?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I need a break.  I need time off from all of the pressures.  I need for new stuff to stop being piled on.  All I wanted was to have a normal weekend.  Chris had stuff to do for work and laundry and lawn work needed to be done.  Plus, we wanted to spend some time with J.  We didn't get our normal weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday was a bad night. I was crabby and Chris and I fought most of the night.  The breaking point was when I was sobbing that night and Chris just sat there.  He did nothing to try and comfort me.  That hurt a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got a phone call on Saturday afternoon that Chris' mom was in the ER.  She was later diagnosed with colitis and admitted.  I wanted a break from J so terribly.  I haven't been the best mommy to him lately.  My patience level is low and my fuse is short.  I don't feel like doing much with him.  I called and left a message at my parents' asking for J to go over there for a bit so that I could get some reprieve.  No one ever acknowledged my message.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tangent here.....my family really gets me.  My parents have been told on more than one occasion that with my depression, I need some time away from J. Now that I'm pregnant, it's even more important for me.  I'm not talking days at a time.  I mean a few hours about once a week. Is that really too much to ask?  J's an awesome kid.  There are two teen-agers in that house who love spending time with him.  And yet it never happens.  When Chris was gone to MN a few weeks ago, I asked if J could sleep over one night.  They said sure and then reneged.  Stuff like this happens over and over and over again.  Every time I ask for them to watch J for a couple of hours, it's this huge hassle.  I just don't understand it.  Why wouldn't they want to spend time with their grandson?  Is caring for a small child really that hard?  What really pisses me off is that Ryan spends the night with them at LEAST twice a month.  He's going to their house for the entire fucking weekend next weekend.  That's really nice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, so I didn't get my break from J.  Last night, we ran errands.  J was pretty good during that time.  We ate at Golden Corral. That is one of Chris' favorite spots and I think it's just okay.  After J went to bed, Chris and I were gonna watch some TV.  Suddenly, Avery came limping through the living room.  He was holding his right front leg up off the ground.  I examined him and whenever I touched his right elbow, he'd meow.  We feared he had broken it.  It was slightly swollen.  We......well, Chris....decided we'd wait til morning to see how he was.  Chris and I fought more last night.  We just never can seem to get along anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris and J went to Sheboygan to see Chris' mom in the hospital today.  I hung out at home and kept an eye on Avery.  He's doing somewhat better.  I'm thinking that it's more likely a sprain at this point, but I'm still concerned about him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weekend is almost over and I am no more relaxed than I was when it all began.  I just want a nice, calm weekend where nothing out of the ordinary happens.  No trips to the ER.  No injured or sick animals.  Nothing but the mundane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-5664141798338513162?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/5664141798338513162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=5664141798338513162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5664141798338513162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5664141798338513162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/is-normal-weekend-just-too-much-to-ask.html' title='Is a normal weekend just too much to ask?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-4306485757718728349</id><published>2007-07-13T22:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-13T22:55:45.254-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How does stuff like this happen?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.nbc26.com/news/local/8486577.html"&gt;Tragedy&lt;/a&gt; struck the area this morning.  This has hit me hard.  I guess cuz Ellie was so close in age to J.  I just don't understand how this kind of thing happens.  How do people not know where a small child is?  How do they lose track of a toddler?  Apparently, this happens a lot.  About 4,000 kids a year are hit and injured or killed by a car backing up.  That makes my head spin.  I just don't understand it at all.  My heart goes out to that family.  They are in my prayers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not much to report on our front.  Oh, I had my first puking morning sickness episode this afternoon.  I never once vomited with J or came close to it.  This baby has me nauseous, dry-heaving, and now puking.  All I can say is that it had better be a girl.  If this pregnancy continues to be this difficult, this will be the last baby I ever carry in my womb.  J was a dream from conception. I wonder why this one is so different.  I just hope it's not the sign of things to come with this child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-4306485757718728349?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/4306485757718728349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=4306485757718728349' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4306485757718728349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/4306485757718728349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/how-does-stuff-like-this-happen.html' title='How does stuff like this happen?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-5474582399450730327</id><published>2007-07-13T00:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-13T00:17:34.633-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What does a 22-month-old do when told, "no"?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;So, this afternoon, I'm on the computer.  I know that's not shocking.  I spend &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;way &lt;/span&gt;too much time on the computer.  Between &lt;a href="http://www.babycenter.com"&gt;BBC&lt;/a&gt;, Ebay, MySpace, and Gmail.....well, it's not pretty.  Not to mention perusing all of the different store websites looking at fun stuff to buy.  I have no money to buy anything, but I like to look anyway.  If I go window shopping at a B&amp;M, I tend to buy.  If I do it online, I don't buy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was on the computer.  I think I was writing an email, but that's not relevant to the story.  J was wandering around the downstairs.  He was in the kitchen.  I assumed he was in his cupboard.  His new favorite thing is to go into his cupboard, announce "raisins", and take a box.  At least he always closes the door after himself.  He's trained better than his daddy.  Instead he came back into the living room carrying an empty Minute Maid lemonade container.  I let him keep it.  (Bad, bad Mommy.  In my defense, it was plastic, empty, and I was busy!)  The next thing I know, he's lining empty Coke cans up on the coffee table.  I was like, wtf!  I took the cans from him and shut the gate to the kitchen.  His response?  Throw himself on the floor and scream, "Dada!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I was tired and needed a break.  After dinner, I went upstairs to relax.  At one point, I could hear Chris scolding J for something.  I think I heard him putting his Thomas trains in his mouth.  (Again, bad parents.  They say 3 &amp; up for a reason, but he loves them.)  Chris warned him to take the train out and J ignored him.  So, Chris took the train away.  J's response?  Throw himself on the floor and scream, "Mommy!". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least he's consistent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-5474582399450730327?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/5474582399450730327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=5474582399450730327' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5474582399450730327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/5474582399450730327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/what-does-22-month-old-do-when-told-no.html' title='What does a 22-month-old do when told, &quot;no&quot;?'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-2589507252057311748</id><published>2007-07-11T00:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-11T00:56:33.570-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Door County</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRwyIs2S8I/AAAAAAAAAAs/OBk6-Mc4vA0/s1600-h/IMG_0597.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRwyIs2S8I/AAAAAAAAAAs/OBk6-Mc4vA0/s320/IMG_0597.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085813885839494082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Last week was the annual trip to Door County.  The trip was okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan had a hell of a time sleeping.  I guess being in a strange place was hard on him.  Actually, being in a strange place has always made it difficult for J to sleep.  He slept with me rather than in the pack-n-play, so it was a good thing that we were in a king sized bed.  Every nap and bedtime went like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J and I would read books and then we'd settle down to sleep.  I would pretend to sleep and J would fool around.  He would sit up, play with his stuffed animals, spin around in circles, etc.  My personal favorite was called Assault Mommy.  He would pry my eyelids open and say, "eyes".  Then he would stick his little finger up my nose and say, "nose".  My ears would be next.  Ah, that brought back fine memories of wet willies given by my wonderful big sister.  He would identify all of the body parts he knows (to include boobs....thanks, Chris) and giggle the entire time.  This would go on for 45 minutes or more.  Plus he would cry during that time, too.  This was so not like J.  Bedtime at home is relatively smooth.  It's books, snuggles and lullabies, and then into his crib while he is still awake.  Because I could not trust him loose in the room, I had to stay with him til he fell asleep.  I never could sleep as well as I usually do as I was too aware of J being right there.  Plus, he woke up a lot at night and did not sleep as late in the morning as he typically does or as long at naptime.  People who co-sleep: more power to you.  It's not for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The highlights of our trip included riding on the trolley and going to DairyView.  J loved playing in the sandbox at DairyView.  He was also kissed by a pony there!  We swam about every night, much to J's delight.  Then he and his cousin, Ryan, would take baths in the big whirlpool tub.  J hated the jets being turned on, but he loved the huge tub and being in it with Ryan.  I've added some pics from the trip below.  Enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRuK4s2S4I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lWbYbVM-nVg/s1600-h/IMG_0564.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRuK4s2S4I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lWbYbVM-nVg/s320/IMG_0564.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085811012506372994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRuxIs2S5I/AAAAAAAAAAU/oZM2YHRbXXg/s1600-h/IMG_0571.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRuxIs2S5I/AAAAAAAAAAU/oZM2YHRbXXg/s320/IMG_0571.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085811669636369298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRvYIs2S6I/AAAAAAAAAAc/Z3tBDz4TrGA/s1600-h/IMG_0576.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRvYIs2S6I/AAAAAAAAAAc/Z3tBDz4TrGA/s320/IMG_0576.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085812339651267490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRwBos2S7I/AAAAAAAAAAk/Z13Fejs5jNI/s1600-h/IMG_0589.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRwBos2S7I/AAAAAAAAAAk/Z13Fejs5jNI/s320/IMG_0589.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085813052615838642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-2589507252057311748?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/2589507252057311748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=2589507252057311748' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2589507252057311748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/2589507252057311748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/door-county.html' title='Door County'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/RpRwyIs2S8I/AAAAAAAAAAs/OBk6-Mc4vA0/s72-c/IMG_0597.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7779883864685457304.post-6801749039873595543</id><published>2007-07-10T02:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T02:54:51.279-05:00</updated><title type='text'>This is weird</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;"&gt;So, I'm blogging now.  How 21st century of me.  Jonathan is making me crazy these days.  He is so damn cranky all the time.  He hits, pinches, and slaps whenever he doesn't get his way.  Or he throws himself down on the floor and screams.  A few weeks ago, he added a new trick to his bag.  He now bangs his head on the floor when he's mad.  It's lovely.  Yes, I know I have a toddler, but I would still like it to be fun sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that being pregnant has a lot to do with my lack of patience with him.  I'm so tired all the time.  And so crabby.  (Now I sound like my son!)  Morning sickness is far worse this time.  I feel nauseous almost all the time.  I have been dry-heaving for the past week.  I would almost rather puke than dry-heave.  Plus, I can already feel my uterus.  I know I didn't feel it at this point with J.  I know that with the 2nd and subsequent pregnancies, the body is already stretched out.  But come on!  I'm only 7 weeks.  I feel bloated, too.  Man, being pregnant sucks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, listen to me.  I sound like I hate my children and I really don't.  I'm just grouchy, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7779883864685457304-6801749039873595543?l=mydogteaser.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/feeds/6801749039873595543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7779883864685457304&amp;postID=6801749039873595543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6801749039873595543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7779883864685457304/posts/default/6801749039873595543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mydogteaser.blogspot.com/2007/07/this-is-weird.html' title='This is weird'/><author><name>mydogteaser</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11159623235750650791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qKWTU7J0-u0/SDpA6hwfAdI/AAAAAAAAACA/rLnPM9nXyVg/S220/IMG_1463.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
