<?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-803300426009489472</id><updated>2011-12-05T16:57:51.005-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mi Vida Loca</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-6619386387181998562</id><published>2011-12-05T16:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-05T16:57:51.022-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Can I Quit School?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Niko drew a picture for me today and wrote, "Rhonda, I Love You!  Love, Niko".  I said, "Wow, good job!  You're a very good speller for a first grader!".  He responds with, "I know everything!  Can I quit school now?"  I love this kid!  hahaha   He is fully educated at the age of six and is ready to rule the world.  Somehow, I believe he probably could.  ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-6619386387181998562?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/6619386387181998562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/12/can-i-quit-school.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/6619386387181998562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/6619386387181998562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/12/can-i-quit-school.html' title='Can I Quit School?'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-1966094492233812020</id><published>2011-08-02T11:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T12:03:16.368-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Local Hero!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;My Niko was riding his bike outside and I told him, "Don't go by that house on the corner!  That big German Shepherd jumped the fence the other day and attacked a man and his little dog."  Niko says, "I don't care!  I'll take a big weapon, like a knife, down there and stab that bad dog right in the eye!  I'll be a hero!".  He continued to tell us that he'll be a local hero because the city will make a golden statue of him stabbing the dog.  Around the statue will sit golden benches where people can sit and look at him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he described the statue to us, he posed in the position that he and the dog will be in.  We couldn't stop laughing!  I don't know where he comes up with this stuff!&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/803300426009489472-1966094492233812020?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/1966094492233812020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/08/my-local-hero.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/1966094492233812020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/1966094492233812020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/08/my-local-hero.html' title='My Local Hero!!'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-2920768332923657220</id><published>2011-06-30T10:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T10:33:15.508-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Prince Charming</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;As we were browsing through a shoe store the other day, Niko picks up a pair of school bus yellow, patent leather, stripper heels.  He says, "Mommy, try these on.  They're beautiful!".  Since he handed me a size 6, I knew would be impossible to fit even my big toe in, I declined.  He proceeds to pick out lots of colorful, exotic shoes for me to try on.  Since when did my 5-year-old stuntman take an interest in women's shoes?  He tells me, "But, Mommy.....you'll look so beautiful with these shoes on!".  Too cute!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we continue shopping, his eyes suddenly light up and he runs over to me, gets on one knee, holding a shoe in one hand and says, "Try this shoe on and see if it fits!".  I look down and see a clear plastic, strapless, 3-inch heel with lots of gold and silver sparkles.  This shoe was bejeweled and glittered to the max!  Niko says, in his Boston accent, "This is the glass shoe that Prince Charming gives all the gals!".  The young, Mexican salesgirl couldn't stop laughing.  Only my little Prince Charming would do something so adorable!  I hope he never grows up but when he does, I hope he buys me lots of glittery shoes :)&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/803300426009489472-2920768332923657220?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/2920768332923657220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-prince-charming.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2920768332923657220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2920768332923657220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-prince-charming.html' title='My Prince Charming'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-5156654505989494893</id><published>2011-04-27T19:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-27T19:13:56.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Mom Is Sooo Funny!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: webdings;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;The other day my mom and I were talking and she mentioned that she watches, "The Apprentice". I immediately said, "I can't stand Donald Trump!". In her cute southern accent she says, "He's not so bad once you get to know him." Know him? What? Well, I knew what she meant.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I told her that Donald is considering running for President. Although I would never vote for him, my mom feels that he would make a great President. She says, "Hey, he knows how to make money! I would vote for him!". That's true. Good point, Mom! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I immediately responded with, "How can the man manage a country when he can't even manage his hair?". She says, "Hey, he manages his hair pretty well because he's actually bald under there!". Hahahaha!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Oh......how I love these debates with my mother :)&lt;/span&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/803300426009489472-5156654505989494893?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/5156654505989494893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-mom-is-sooo-funny.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/5156654505989494893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/5156654505989494893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-mom-is-sooo-funny.html' title='My Mom Is Sooo Funny!'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-7542099458803733173</id><published>2011-04-26T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-26T07:28:11.737-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation???</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;On a recent road trip to Florida, I wondered if a vacation was actually a good idea.  1,200 miles away, in a car, with my hubby and two kids.  My son threw up the whole way there.  My daughter was aggravated because she couldn't sleep.  My husband's back was killing him from driving and I was stressed beyond belief.  A vacation, really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One week in a small hotel room....all together.  Sure, we're a close family but at home we can escape to our bedrooms or the basement.  Not this time!  We were forced to be together, in small quarters.  I had absolutely no privacy for days!  My only escape was the five minute shower I took each day and even then my son was banging on the door needing his mommy's attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Niko (5) wanted to go to the beach and swim while Kiana (14) wanted to visit Harry Potter Land to shop and explore.  My son couldn't ride many of the rides that my daughter and I rode.  He was very upset!  My hubby couldn't stomach most of the rides.  It was 92 degrees and extremely over crowded.  Everyone was frustrated and I was ready to run away!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I surprised my family with a spring break trip to Florida with the intentions of spending some good, quality time with them.  Was this all blowing up in my face?  Did I even know these ungrateful people? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the week progressed, things got better.  We enjoyed the beach, restaurants, and museums.  We even began enjoying each other.  During the drive home, my daughter raised an interesting point.  She believed that we had a hard time adjusting to the constant time together.  We were forced to be together, like it or not.  Although I did not achieve total relaxation during my vacation, I learned a lot.  I learned to love all the good and bad things about my family.  I also learned to appreciate home because I sure missed it a lot!&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/803300426009489472-7542099458803733173?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/7542099458803733173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/04/vacation.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/7542099458803733173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/7542099458803733173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2011/04/vacation.html' title='Vacation???'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-4755524761723319313</id><published>2010-12-17T21:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-17T21:28:18.120-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Drive By</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;As I was pulling out of the work parking lot today, a guy almost ran into my car with his bike.  He didn't seem happy to be riding his bike through the snow and didn't have much control over it, either.  Although he almost ran into me because he didn't stop before proceeding through the driveway, he became extremely upset.  He looked at me with fire in his eyes and called me a "White Bitch".  I was shocked!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not only was I insulted, but I was not going to let him get away with it.  How could I possibly let this slide?  No way!  I was going to give him a piece of my mind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I caught up to him down the street as he was passing me on my passenger side.  I quickly rolled down the window and yelled, "HEY!!  I'm not white!!".  I meant to say, "HEY!  I'm not a bitch!", but somehow that didn't come out.  Startled, he looked at me with confusion.  I'm not sure if he was trying to get away from me or if he was trying to figure out how I wasn't white.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, I laughed all the way home.&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/803300426009489472-4755524761723319313?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/4755524761723319313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2010/12/drive-by.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4755524761723319313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4755524761723319313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2010/12/drive-by.html' title='The Drive By'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-4932601978498708328</id><published>2010-10-14T08:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T09:03:56.113-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wife Swap!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;Have you ever watched, "Wife Swap"?  Well, I have used this show to threaten my children when they misbehave.  One day we were watching the show and a mean, crazy mother was swapped with a really sweet, obsessive compulsive mother.  Of course as the show played on, the crazy mother was mean to the kids and totally destroyed the home she was staying in.  The kids learned to love and appreciate their clean home and sweet mother and couldn't wait for her to come home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the purpose of the show is to teach the husbands and kids to appreciate their family and home.  Each mother has something to teach the other family.  In my case, I feel as though my family should appreciate me more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, my son was acting up and throwing tantrums, my husband didn't want the healthy meal I had cooked, and my daughter wouldn't clean her room.  I got so mad and yelled out, "THAT'S OKAY!  I'LL TEACH YOU ALL A LESSON!  I'M GOING ON WIFE SWAP AND YOU'LL SEE HOW GOOD YOU'VE GOT IT!"  They all looked at me like I was crazy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little did they know, I have seriously considered it.  It would definitely make for a good story.  Because I'm such a neat freak, they'll probably send someone here to destroy my house or shave my kids bald.  Hey, my family will learn to appreciate me, won't they?  The truth is.....I don't think I could stand to be away from these spoiled brats for a whole week but I'll never admit it! ;)&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/803300426009489472-4932601978498708328?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/4932601978498708328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2010/10/wife-swap.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4932601978498708328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4932601978498708328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2010/10/wife-swap.html' title='Wife Swap!'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-1028153999865329688</id><published>2010-08-05T07:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-05T08:05:16.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Sweet Pork Hammer</title><content type='html'>As the kids and I sat in Olive Garden having dinner last night, I was awakened by the sweetness of my four-year-old son.  He kept staring a table seated across from us.  It was a mother and her two sons.  My Niko suddenly pointed to the little boys and said, "Mommy, where's their Daddy?".  Embarrassed, I quickly whispered to him that it wasn't polite to point.  He insisted, "But...where is their Daddy?".  I explained to him that maybe their Daddy was at home, or working, or maybe they just didn't have a Daddy.  He said, "Why?  What happened to him?".  I could see that he was getting upset and I knew that I needed an excuse and fast.  I didn't want to say, "Geez....maybe he died."  Although, that thought did run through my head.  So instead, I said, "Maybe he doesn't live with them.  Maybe he has his own house."  Niko suddenly made a sad face and said, "Awwww....poor things!".  At that moment, my heart melted because I truly felt the love he has for his Daddy.  This sweetness actually came from the same kid that calls himself PORK HAMMER!!  (Hahahaha!!).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-1028153999865329688?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/1028153999865329688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-sweet-pork-hammer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/1028153999865329688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/1028153999865329688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-sweet-pork-hammer.html' title='My Sweet Pork Hammer'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-8624262573261007500</id><published>2009-12-27T14:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T14:36:34.984-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This Can't Be Good!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Why is it that every time I have something in the house that I really love to eat, I feel the need to eat it constantly until it's gone?  I just polished off all of the chocolate covered almonds.  Hey....at least the almonds are healthy, right?  And, chocolate is now supposed to be good for you too.  I always seem to tell myself this.  I somehow convince myself that the junk food I ate was somehow good for me.  lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey.....I ate pizza, cheese is good because it contains calcium and the sauce is good because it contains lycopene.  hahaa!!  Well, I'd make a good lawyer.  I have totally sabotaged my high-fiber diet.  Oh well, I'll restart this thing on the first of the year.  Why did everyone buy me cookies, nuts, candy, and cakes for Christmas?  Maybe I can re-gift them?  No.....that wouldn't be good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it's that time of the year when we should all be enjoying holiday goodies.  Who eats a salad at Christmas?  That reminds me, I ate glazed ham for four days straight.  Ugh!  I don't even want to step on the scale.  Let's not forget the cheesy potatoes, lasagna, baked beans with bacon, mashed potatoes, butter rolls, and macaroni salad.  Whew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you holidays!!!!&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/803300426009489472-8624262573261007500?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/8624262573261007500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/12/this-cant-be-good.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8624262573261007500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8624262573261007500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/12/this-cant-be-good.html' title='This Can&apos;t Be Good!'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-6711035015980462961</id><published>2009-10-22T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T09:09:22.205-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Niko's Funnies</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;We went to visit my grandmother in the hospital yesterday.  I said, "Niko, say hi to Grandma" (She is actually his great-grandma).  Well, he responds with, "I don't need another grandma.  I have a lovely grandma in Detroit".  I couldn't stop laughing.  He just cannot grasp the concept that he is allowed to have more than one grandmother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While out to dinner the other night with some friends, he had some very funny things to say.  My husband gave him a glass of chocolate milk.  Niko decided that he would put two straws in his cup instead of one.  He then looks over at our friend who was sitting next to him and says, "Here's a straw for you so that we can share this milk and both drink at the same time".  It was sooo cute!  I am not sure where he learned this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, he's been calling me "big 'ol mama".  Nice, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His favorite word is "butthole".  Lovely, isn't it?  He calls his sister "Stinky Butthole".  I especially love when he does that in public.  Just wonderful!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People look at me as if I taught him this language.  I can honestly say that I really don't know where he learns this stuff. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is also a charmer.  My husband and I recently celebrated our 7th anniversary.  Niko says, "Hey, that's not fair!  I want to be married with a little girl.  I want to be married with Leeanna (his first cousin) and she is going to wear a pretty flower in her hair".  My sister thought this was really funny. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we exited the hospital elevator the other day he says to the nurses, "Have a good day, ladies!"  He calls all pretty girls "mamacitas".  He often says to girls walking down the street, "Hellloooo ladies!"  I don't know what I'm going to do with this kid!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, forgot to tell you that as we passed Long John Silver's yesterday he blurts out:  "Mommy, stop!!  I need a fish!"  lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The joys of motherhood!&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/803300426009489472-6711035015980462961?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/6711035015980462961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/10/nikos-funnies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/6711035015980462961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/6711035015980462961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/10/nikos-funnies.html' title='Niko&apos;s Funnies'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-7688141959702092411</id><published>2009-07-16T23:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T00:00:59.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This Boy is Too Much!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;As my son and I looked through a photo album the other day, we came across his Baptism pics.  He was not happy at all.  There was a pic of the priest dunking his head in the water.  My son quickly responded after seeing the picture, "What's wrong with these stupid Mother F**ckers?  What are they doing to me?  You don't supposed to do that to a baby!"  I almost passed out!  I was shocked!   He thought the priest was trying to drown him.  He couldn't understand the baptism.  Mind you, this was only 3 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seriously don't know what I'm going to do with this boy!  His mouth is terrible and his temper is even worse.  We've tried hot sauce, soap, time-outs, and taking toys away.  Nothing seems to work.  Each day I keep telling myself that the cussing will end soon.  The pediatrician told me to ignore the cussing and he will stop.  How do you ignore a child that is yelling profanities in line at the grocery store?  He seems to pick up every bad word that is muttered around him.  It's like a secret language for him.  He loves the words and knows exactly how to use them.  I am the most popular mom in my neighborhood.  "Hey...there's that brat's mom!"  Fits in the front yard are quite the norm as he hates to come inside.  Many older women have told me bad kids = good adults.  I hope they're right because I would hate to be known as the brat's mom while I'm trying to rest in the nursing home.  :)&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/803300426009489472-7688141959702092411?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/7688141959702092411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/07/this-boy-is-too-much.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/7688141959702092411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/7688141959702092411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/07/this-boy-is-too-much.html' title='This Boy is Too Much!!!'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-2101036526988504454</id><published>2009-06-07T10:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T11:05:01.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why???</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Sometimes I wonder why I decided to be a Mommy.  With all the worries and stress that come with being a Mommy, I often find myself feeling overwhelmed.  I remember my Mom telling me that you never stop worrying about your children.  When they're born we worry about SIDS and immunizations.  When they're toddlers we worry about stitches, falls, and scrapes.  As school age children, we worry about them walking to school or playing outside.  As teenagers, we worry about their friends, boyfriends, drugs, and sex.  During their college years, we worry about them drinking and driving, completing their degrees, and money.  Once they're adults, we worry about them financially and physically.  Then.......they have children and we worry about our grandchildren.  To sum it up, once you become a Mom you are stressed forever and ever.  I guess it's worth it, though.  I sure love them lots!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-2101036526988504454?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/2101036526988504454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/06/why.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2101036526988504454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2101036526988504454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/06/why.html' title='Why???'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-2633414375935098470</id><published>2009-05-21T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T06:54:29.002-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will He Ever Be Potty-Trained?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;My 3 1/2 year old son is driving me crazy!!  He refuses to be potty trained.  Most days he'll go pee in the big toilet (he barely reaches it).  But, other days he's perfectly content peeing in his pull-ups.  I know, I know, put regular underwear on him and he won't like the feeling of being wet, right?  I tried that and it didn't work.  lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;He has no problem with being wet.  In fact, he'll walk around in wet underwear for quite a while before he decides to tell me.  He refused his musical potty chair.  So....I sold it at the last yard sale.  The weird thing is that he will pee when we go out somewhere.  He loves using other people's toilets.  Maybe I should just redecorate our bathroom on a daily basis to make him feel as if he's exploring a new place.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;The truth is, I'm at a loss.  We've tried letting him pee with Daddy, clapping and cheering for him when he pees, having his best friend tell him that he wears underwear, and rewarding him.  Nothing works!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;My daughter was completely potty trained by age 3 and I thought that was late.  Wow!  He'll be 4 in October.  I would like for him to begin preschool but one of the stipulations is that he must be completely potty trained before enrollment.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Well...if preschool doesn't happen, I've always got kindergarten, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-2633414375935098470?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/2633414375935098470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/05/will-he-ever-be-potty-trained.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2633414375935098470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2633414375935098470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/05/will-he-ever-be-potty-trained.html' title='Will He Ever Be Potty-Trained?'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-8340426355554228835</id><published>2009-04-29T14:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T14:47:14.270-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When is a young crush too young?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#009900;"&gt;I currently came across a question on Mamapedia &lt;a href="http://www.mamasource.com/article/1st-crush-in-1st-grade-isnt-this-a-little-young"&gt;http://www.mamasource.com/article/1st-crush-in-1st-grade-isnt-this-a-little-young&lt;/a&gt; that deserved some attention.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;The question was, "1st crush in 1st grade??? Isn't this a little young?"  Here are my thoughts on the subject:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Although as parents, we hate to admit it, but......our kids have hormones.  Yes...hormones.  Hormones are part of the human body and they affect our personalities, big time.  Some kids have no interest in the opposite sex until they are teenagers.  Others, like myself, are interested in the opposite sex immediately after birth.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;I remember having a boyfriend in kindergarten.  Ah, yes...Adam Dick.  Don't laugh!  That was really his name.  We held hands on the school bus, everyday.  He liked me and I liked him.  Why, you ask?  Well, I still remember his mushroom haircut.  I thought he had the prettiest hair in the world.  I think he liked my little glasses. haha!  Anyway, we didn't do anything inappropriate.  In fact, I loved going to school just to see him.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;The truth is that kids want acceptance.  They want to feel attractive and accepted.  A crush is just a normal part of growing up and for some, it comes early.  Some children love the attention that is bestowed upon them by other children.  Hey, don't we all feel flattered when someone tells us that we're pretty or cute?  It's all in fun.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;My three-year-old son loves girls and women of all ages.  I remember being in line at the grocery store and my son stroked the hair of a woman standing in front of us.  She was about 75 years old with silver, wavy hair.  As her stroked her hair he said, "She's pretty!"  The lady was so flattered that she got a tear in her eye.  I wondered how long it had been since this lady had been called, "pretty".  It was the sweetest thing I've ever witnessed.  He loves women, all shapes, sizes, colors, ages, and ethnicities.  I just hope I don't end up with twenty grandchildren. ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Parents, try not to worry so much.  If you make a big deal of the crush, the more important it will become to the child.  Just accept it as a part of normal childhood and use it to torture them later in life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-8340426355554228835?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/8340426355554228835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-is-young-crush-too-young.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8340426355554228835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8340426355554228835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-is-young-crush-too-young.html' title='When is a young crush too young?'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-8293828331316382320</id><published>2009-04-28T06:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T07:10:09.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cougars</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff0000;"&gt;My daughter made me laugh the other day.  We were riding in the car, on the way to school, and the radio was on.  They were discussing the new show, "Cougars".  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Apparently&lt;/span&gt;, this is a show similar to "The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bachelorette&lt;/span&gt;".  The only difference is that the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bachelorette&lt;/span&gt; is a woman in her 40's or 50's and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;bachelors&lt;/span&gt; are young men in their 20's.  These men are aware that they are there to find an older woman.  They prefer older women.  I think it's great!  Hey, older men have been pursuing younger women for centuries.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Well...my daughter thought it was a horrible idea and a horrible show.  She said, "Mom, if you ever brought home a young guy, I would hate it! That's gross!"  I couldn't help but laugh.  I can't believe that she sees me as an "older woman".  I surely don't feel like an older woman.  I'm only 36 for God's sakes!  I still feel 20.  I still find men in their 20's very attractive.  If I were single, I would definitely date younger men.  Although, my husband is ten years my elder.  :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I'll be honest, I like men of all ages.  Al Pacino is much older than myself and I find him very sexy.  I always tease my husband by telling him, "I'm gonna be the most popular girl in the nursing home!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;As far as the new show, "Cougars", all I have to say is..."YOU GO GIRL!!!"  ENJOY!  ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;To the young guys on the show, "Watch out boys!  Those cougars just might tear you up!"  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;haha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-8293828331316382320?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/8293828331316382320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/cougars.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8293828331316382320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8293828331316382320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/cougars.html' title='Cougars'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-2765426497232061111</id><published>2009-04-20T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T18:02:48.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Time for Me?</title><content type='html'>Why isn't there ever any time for me?  Just me?  Maybe some time to sit back on the beach with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pina&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;colada&lt;/span&gt; and meditate? &lt;br /&gt;I anxiously awaited a recent vacation to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Disneyworld&lt;/span&gt; resorts.  Was it a nice trip?  Yes.  If you eliminate the packing, the unpacking, the re-packing, and the unpacking again.  Oh...and let's not forget the puking in the bag during the plane trip there.  No, not my children...ME!  I was so sick!  All that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;turbulence&lt;/span&gt; totally shook me up.  The shaking of the airplane wing freaked me out, too.  I kept picturing the wing flying off and the plane crashing.  Not good. &lt;br /&gt;Of course it had to rain during our trip to Magic Kingdom.  But, we made the most of it and shook it off.  The good thing is that the lines weren't very long and we were able to ride almost everything.  Niko decided that he was too old to be pushed in a stroller.  Try walking around &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Disneyworld&lt;/span&gt; with a three-year-old....not fun!  He kept running after the characters and running away from us.  After two days of this, I suddenly found myself wishing for a vacation alone.  Why didn't I go on a cruise, all alone?  Someday, maybe. &lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, it was great watching my children enjoy the vacation.  To see the joy on their faces as Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck hugged them was something I will never forget.  It was worth the puke, the packing, the expense, and the sunburn to see their happiness.  Hey...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Aladdin&lt;/span&gt; was quite cute, anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-2765426497232061111?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/2765426497232061111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/some-time-for-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2765426497232061111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/2765426497232061111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/some-time-for-me.html' title='Some Time for Me?'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-8883301771561919467</id><published>2009-04-11T18:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T18:49:54.388-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Worst Mother Ever?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;I often wonder if others see me as the worst mother ever.  My son is such a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;handful&lt;/span&gt;.  He cusses like a sailor, throws toys, yells, screams and throws temper tantrums.  I know people probably think that he must come from a very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;dysfunctional&lt;/span&gt; family, but that is not the case.  We are normal people that run a very normal household.  But....nowadays, what is normal?  If normal consists of family dinners together, movie night, story times, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;play dates&lt;/span&gt;, then we're pretty normal.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;He is three.  I can tell you from experience that three is much worse than two.  Why do they call it "terrible two's"?  I have no clue.  It should be called "tumultuous three's".  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;Sometimes I feel like I want to run away to Italy and never return.  Maybe change my name to Roma and fit right in with the rest of the local villagers.  However, my heart won't allow me to leave my little man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;I truly feel that God made him so cute just to make me feel bad each and every time he is disciplined.  He'll do something naughty and then look up at me with those big green eyes, and I melt.  He's a modern day James Dean...gorgeous yet dangerous.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;I'm praying that four is a much better year.  By then, I may have a nervous twitch and a bald spot but hey, I'm a positive thinker.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-8883301771561919467?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/8883301771561919467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/worst-mother-ever.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8883301771561919467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8883301771561919467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/worst-mother-ever.html' title='The Worst Mother Ever?'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-3584168943113923775</id><published>2009-04-08T13:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T13:14:41.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The End of Naptime??</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;I cannot express to you the importance of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;nap time&lt;/span&gt;.  I'm sure many parents have enjoyed those few hours in the afternoon each day.  I use my son's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nap time&lt;/span&gt; to get many needed things cleared off of my agenda.  Homework, housework, a phone call, an email, an article, or just a nice cup of coffee is great during the only quiet time I have.  I have come to love and appreciate those quiet afternoon hours or sometimes.....minutes.  But, my son has been refusing his naps recently.  Will this be the end of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;nap time&lt;/span&gt;?  I was hoping to continue this until at least kindergarten.  What shall I do?  This is horrible!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Well...today I decided to take a different approach.  I decided that I am the boss, not little Mr. Crabby Pants!  I took him in my room, shut the door, turned off the phone and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;layed&lt;/span&gt; down with him.  After much resistance, I held him tight and he threw a fit!  He screamed and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;tantrumed&lt;/span&gt;.  After yelling, "Sissy...I need help!!" several times, trying to fish-hook and head-butt me, he fell asleep.  I started thinking to myself, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt;...what's the problem with taking a nap?  I wish I could take naps."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;He looked like such an angel laying there sleeping so peacefully.  I wondered if fifteen minutes of screaming and temper tantrums was worth the two hour nap?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;YES.  DEFINITELY!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-3584168943113923775?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/3584168943113923775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/end-of-naptime.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/3584168943113923775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/3584168943113923775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/end-of-naptime.html' title='The End of Naptime??'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-6143556487217228080</id><published>2009-04-07T07:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T08:08:15.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Old?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Have you looked in the mirror recently and said to yourself, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt;...I'm getting old!"?  I have!!  It &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;occurred&lt;/span&gt; to me a couple of months ago when I was waxing my eyebrows and saw a white eyebrow hair.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;OMG&lt;/span&gt;!!!  I knew I was getting old when I saw that.  It's so weird because I still feel young.  It seems like I'm still 20 but when I look in the mirror I am beginning to see a line in my forehead, a line next to my eyes, and gray hairs.  What's next??  Will I have one of those big moles with white hairs growing out of it?  I'm just not ready for this!!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;As I thought about it more and more, I realized that many of my gray hairs (that I so anxiously dye every other month) are probably caused from my kids.  I haven't slept since Niko was born 3 1/2 years ago.  I constantly worry about my daughter because she will soon be 13.  She is beautiful and intelligent and I often worry that some weirdo is going to take advantage of her.  But...I try to reassure myself that she is a level-headed young lady.  She's like her Mommy.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Kiana&lt;/span&gt; is strong and confident and she doesn't take any crap.  I actually feel sorry for the man that marries her.  He'll probably be one of those little guys that says, "Yes, Dear!"  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;She will definitely be the boss.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Niko worries me a little more.  He loves women of all ages.  I have a feeling that he's going to give me lots of grandchildren.   :)  He was conceived on Valentine's day.  Maybe that has something to do with it?  I was going to name him Valentino but his Daddy (Nick) loved the name Niko a little more.  I wonder why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;I have developed a new &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;mathematic&lt;/span&gt; formula for colleges everywhere:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;KIDS+NO SLEEP=GRAY HAIR*WRINKLES&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-6143556487217228080?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/6143556487217228080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/getting-old.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/6143556487217228080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/6143556487217228080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/getting-old.html' title='Getting Old?'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-4631682750056265175</id><published>2009-04-06T09:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T09:36:12.011-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Little Like Me??</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;Have you ever looked at your kids and said to yourself, "Geez, she's a brat just like me!"  Or...."Wow!  He totally looks like me!"  I often find myself doing that.  However, recently, I noticed myself observing my nieces and nephews.  I was looking for some kind of trait that would link them to me.  None of them look like me at all.  Most of them have light hair and light eyes.  I was hoping at least one of my nieces or nephews would look like me so that I could tease my siblings.  Could I get just one dark-haired, curly-topped, dark-eyed niece or nephew??  Well....that just didn't happen.  But...I noticed that several of them have my personality.  They are all funny, sassy, clever kids.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;Just today I noticed that my niece, Delayna is right-handed but eats with her left hand...just like me!!  How cool is that?  As I sat at her school pancake breakfast, I looked over to see her eating with her left hand.  I pointed out the similarity to her and we both laughed.  Funny how little things are inherited, huh?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;Although I am 5'8" and my Grandmother was only 4'11", we have the exact same hands.  I call them midget hands.  I'm a freak!  So tall, with big feet and midget hands.  lol    Everytime I look at my hands, I am reminded of my Grandmother.  Now that she's gone, I love looking at my hands.  I miss her so much and I feel like I'm carrying around (literally) a part of her with me.  Those hands worked so hard during her life.  I really consider myself blessed to have them.  :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#663366;"&gt;Maybe one day when my niece is saying something funny or eating with her left hand, she will remember me fondly.  She will remember the day, at her pancake breakfast, that we laughed.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-4631682750056265175?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/4631682750056265175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/little-like-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4631682750056265175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4631682750056265175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/little-like-me.html' title='A Little Like Me??'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-107392593689685191</id><published>2009-04-01T15:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T15:17:24.785-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fun, Fun Carpets!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;As I sweat, pant, and growl through the shampooing of my carpets, I ask myself, "Who would put white plush carpeting in the dining room?"  My husband, that's who!!  Frustrated and exhausted, I hurriedly go over the carpet again and again with the shampooer.  Each spot symbolizing another day in the growth of my 3-year-old son.  A punch stain next to his chair, a chocolate milk stain from when he threw his last tantrum, a popsicle drip from last week, and a tire mark from his little dirt bike.  Why is there a bicycle in the house you ask?  Hell....I don't know!!!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Funny how I can find meaning in all these stains.  My struggles with O.C.D. (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), long lost since my single days.  The immaculate house that only had to be dusted and vacuumed once a week, yeah....right!!  hahaha!  Since the kids came along, I have learned to cherish each day.  A little spot or hand print here or there isn't a big deal anymore.  But...just as I'm reminiscing on these cherished thoughts, here comes my husband walking through the wet dining room carpet...with Harley boots on!!!  Arghhh!!!  The dream is over!!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-107392593689685191?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/107392593689685191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/fun-fun-carpets.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/107392593689685191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/107392593689685191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/04/fun-fun-carpets.html' title='The Fun, Fun Carpets!'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-4745136805502590044</id><published>2009-03-31T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:55:28.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bathing Suit Dilemma</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;While excitedly awaiting my Spring vacation to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Disneyworld&lt;/span&gt;, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;decided&lt;/span&gt; that I should probably tackle the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;unenjoyable&lt;/span&gt; task of swimsuit shopping.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I found the perfect bathing suit online (that is it looked great on the model) but quickly found out that it was out of stock until after my vacation.  Well, that wouldn't do me any good.  So....I cancelled the order and headed out to the department stores.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I found &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tankinis&lt;/span&gt;, bikinis, one pieces, barely one pieces, and strings.  None of which would fit my 38&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;DD's&lt;/span&gt;!  However, I remained open minded and tried on several different styles.  In the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tankini&lt;/span&gt;, I looked like I had a muffin popping out of the top of the bottoms.  In the bikini, I was busting out of the top like a spring break college girl after some very bad implants.  One nipple was peeking out, and although I'm sure my hubby would have enjoyed it, I wasn't too pleased.  The string bikinis disappeared and haven't been found since.  I'm surprised I wasn't arrested for shop lifting but that would have required a cavity search.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;So, I decided to visit the plus size section, hoping to find a big enough top to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;accommodate&lt;/span&gt; my breasts.  All the while, thinking to myself, "With all the implants in the world, do you think they would make a large top?  Maybe it's time for a reduction!  I sure miss my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-baby 36 B's!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I finally find a one-piece and try it on.  It couldn't be that bad, right?  Well......let's just put it this way, I looked like I had a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Hawaiian&lt;/span&gt; dress on (I think it's called a moo moo).  The stupid thing came to my knees!  Finally I happen to pass a rack with a nice, normal, one piece hanging from it.  Just as I was ready to give up, I decided to try it on.  Well...........IT FIT!!!  I actually looked human in it! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Not that I didn't buy a cute little cover up to wear with it.  ;)  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Hopefully, I won't scare the crap out of Mickey Mouse~&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;lol&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/803300426009489472-4745136805502590044?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/4745136805502590044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/03/bathing-suit-dilemma.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4745136805502590044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/4745136805502590044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/03/bathing-suit-dilemma.html' title='The Bathing Suit Dilemma'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-8896768648999871956</id><published>2009-03-30T11:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T11:56:15.096-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Present from My Son</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#993399;"&gt;As I was sitting with my son, watching tv, I noticed that he had something cupped in his little hand.  I said, "What do you have in your hand, Niko?"  "I have a present for you, Mommy!"  I felt myself get teary eyed thinking, "Wow!!  Is he the sweetest kid ever or what?"  Well...as I thought about how sweet and smart my little 3 1/2 year old was, I started to feel bad because he was really getting big and growing up.  "He will be growing up and leaving me soon", I thought to myself.  "What will I do without him?"  Just as I finished that thought, he put something in my hand.  It was a great big, green moco (booger)!  All I could think at that moment was, "Gross!!!" Of all things this kid could give me it had to be a moco.  The crazy thing is...........I love this kid so dang much that I actually thought it was pretty cute!  lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Some day I can torture him with these stories.  hahaha~&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-8896768648999871956?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/8896768648999871956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/03/present-from-my-son.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8896768648999871956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/8896768648999871956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/03/present-from-my-son.html' title='A Present from My Son'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803300426009489472.post-261670095597923840</id><published>2009-03-29T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T11:30:40.562-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sundays at My House</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6600;"&gt;Has anyone ever planned on having a relaxing Sunday?  No make-up.  No shower.  No clothes, for that matter.  Just smeared mascara from the night before, pajamas, hair up in a messy ponytail, and no bra with the boobs sagging?  Well...this has been my plan for many Sundays.  But, just like every Sunday, I get an unexpected visitor.  A knock on the door, which my 3-year-old son insists on answering.  "Somebody is at the door, Mommy!!"  Well.........geez....I guess I can't pretend that I'm not home, now!!  Whoever is at the door surely heard his mouth!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;I preceed to throw on a robe to cover up with.  God knows, I don't want this visitor seeing me at my worst!  It usually ends up being a friend of my husbands that is probably thinking, "Wow!!  What happened to this chick?"  Or.....the poor paper guy collecting for the month.  No...they couldn't stop by during the week when I start my days early with fresh makeup, a bra, and brushed teeth.  It's always a Sunday, when I just want to be gross.  I guess I should change my bummy day to Wednesdays.  :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/803300426009489472-261670095597923840?l=mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/feeds/261670095597923840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/03/sundays-at-my-house.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/261670095597923840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/803300426009489472/posts/default/261670095597923840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mividaloca-mividaloca.blogspot.com/2009/03/sundays-at-my-house.html' title='Sundays at My House'/><author><name>MiVidaLoca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16552743032423985537</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3fzHBHuBYI/Sc--tqCrJbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/_tHdL9w2Lco/S220/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
