tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6144399974671330252023-11-16T05:03:42.081-08:00the day my tivo diedmommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-70631221934621886332009-06-11T19:36:00.000-07:002009-06-12T07:33:26.211-07:00My Dad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJdyxi0eV6oa8eB5VTcN-S_X7ZVGuRloDN7rcxEQvzhSLJFs9tFY92_RfmAXk1dmtwPabqP9O37ViPDLQLtMkApVEzxreWSUZgKlOypfF7zcfRd82N5loAMH38SLugDm_Zf3bZ6dIYq4l/s1600-h/mydad_001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346264840382985378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 292px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJdyxi0eV6oa8eB5VTcN-S_X7ZVGuRloDN7rcxEQvzhSLJFs9tFY92_RfmAXk1dmtwPabqP9O37ViPDLQLtMkApVEzxreWSUZgKlOypfF7zcfRd82N5loAMH38SLugDm_Zf3bZ6dIYq4l/s400/mydad_001.jpg" border="0" /></a> Dad 1943-2009<br /><br />This is about my dad. My hard working, strong (fighting cancer), funny, loving, dad. He died on Tuesday, May 5th 2009. I was totally shocked. Even though he had been sick with terminal cancer since January 2007, I was completely caught off guard. I knew he was riddled with this horrible disease, I knew he was severely de-hydrated, I knew he was in renal failure, but somehow I thought he had more time. Probably because every doctor that spoke to us said he had like one or two weeks left. I knew it wouldn’t be that long, but I really thought I had more time. More time for closure. More time to say the things I needed to say to him my whole life but never could. But I didn’t . It never happened. The beautiful moment I envisioned of me and my Dad apologizing for all the terrible things we’ve said to each other our whole lives then proclaiming our love for each other, and him passing painlessly into eternal peace, did not happen. I had been planning what to say to him for a long time now, and I feel gypped... We (my Mom and I) left him alone at the hospital, for what was supposed to be just overnight, Just a few hours, to get some much needed sleep, and he slipped away. Why? That was my big question that night/morning after the 3am phone call from the hospital telling me he was gone. Why? Why wasn’t I given the chance to say those things? Was it because he already knew them? Was it because I said them too late? Or was it because I was too chicken to tell him when I had the chance? I will never know. I only know that I have regret. When I was an adolescent, or a bratty young adult, for that matter, I never pictured this day. The day when every thing I ever wished I hadn't said comes back to haunt me. I remember him working hard driving a taxi in New York to provide for our family and me being terribly ungrateful and embarrassed of it. I try to forget that I ever made him feel less than totally respected or completely loved. I try to forget that we disagreed on almost everything political or financial. And focus on the present. But here I am in the present, never having confronted the past, with no future to speak of, as far as a father/daughter relationship is concerned.<br />I hear from everyone that I should cherish the 2 ½ years that I had with him, on borrowed time. I kinda don’t. I know that is sooo wrong. But the last 2 ½ years have been HELL. We worried about and cared for him every single day of that. Our whole family’s existence became “Daddy has Cancer” 24/7. He was in terrible pain and miserable about 2 of that 2 and a half years. We saw him deteriorate from this baby faced, fun Grandpa, to a 98 lb broken, sad, old man, who couldn't eat or drink and was in excrutiating pain most of the time. It was heart-breaking to watch. And even more torturous to see my mom try and take care of him when we all knew what the outcome would eventually be.<br />Granted, we were lucky to have vacationed with him, (Leucadia, Ca for a week in a Beach House and a ten day trip back to out hometown Harrison,New York to see family and friends), he was able to see his grandson be born (Sep of 08) after having only granddaughters for 12 years, he saw the Giants win the Super Bowl again (in AZ, I might add) , he saw the Sopranos series finale (big deal, if you‘re Italian) , he saw our new president (although, he was not too thrilled about it…) and got to see the “new” Yankee Stadium, but he said they (the Yankees) didn’t deserve it (I totally agree!). I just wished he had lived long enough to see Adam Lambert lose American Idol, because that would have really made him happy.<br />I guess I have to believe that one reason we got those extra years was to reconnect, because I think I spoke to my dad more in the past 28 months than I did the whole rest of my life put together. It seemed as if we (me and my Dad) never really had much to say to each other before I had kids. And then he became someone that I never knew. He adored those children. They really and truly were the Light of His Life. I saw a side to him I didn't know existed. He didn't have to say it, but I knew, he loved them with all his heart. He was a man of few words, my father. Before he had cancer, we could sit in the same room for hours without barely saying a word to each other, and then all of that changed. Maybe it was because he had nothing but free time now, since he stopped working but, I had actual conversations with him. We discussed politics and child-rearing and pop-culture, everything but the elephant in the room. Oh Well...<br /><br />I can’t believe he is really gone… What are we gonna do without him? How is my mom gonna live without having someone to take care of every second of every day? How are my kids gonna handle not being totally spoiled and unconditionally loved by someone that can teach them long division? How are we all gonna get through Father’s Day this year? How am I gonna go on knowing that my Daddy is not there to always protect me? IT SUCKS! I miss him so much already and It's only been one month...How are we gonna handle FOREVER? But, I guess, if that’s how I feel, he already knows what I wanted to say so badly, and I don’t have to worry. I just wish I had the chance to tell him. “I Love you Dad. And I will ALWAYS miss you, every day. And, even I if you didn’t know it or believe it, I am very proud of you and honored to be your child”.<br /><br />(PS sorry for the sappy post, I will post a funny one soon, as Mel Brooks says Tragedy + Time = Comedy)mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-59446503987017045402009-04-11T00:33:00.000-07:002009-04-11T01:05:58.683-07:00Happy Easter 09'<div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvP4jNBdCuaKUJRjGwG2m4FMJcdOw0gDLD0PmmvHp-cGhXuRIblldbK8NCkff-6-2Ev-7SmBs0rEk3AdLQUNzejx5LqbihZqpDGi8Pwel6H0HwioWgiQ4BNjahyphenhyphennyO1BzybEOHM4Arpj9x/s1600-h/peeps.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323335315653164066" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 223px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvP4jNBdCuaKUJRjGwG2m4FMJcdOw0gDLD0PmmvHp-cGhXuRIblldbK8NCkff-6-2Ev-7SmBs0rEk3AdLQUNzejx5LqbihZqpDGi8Pwel6H0HwioWgiQ4BNjahyphenhyphennyO1BzybEOHM4Arpj9x/s320/peeps.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br />I know this is stupid, but I can’t believe it’s Easter! I feel like I just took down my Christmas Tree. It is officially Good Friday and I have no idea what we are doing on Easter Sunday. Lame. Totally lame. I am a Forty-one year old woman, I should have some sort of plan as to what to do on a holiday. I should have a menu. I should have an idea that it is coming. I should clean my house, and purchase a ham, and DECORATE, something… I should color Easter Eggs. I should bake Easter Bread. I should buy a floral dress to wear, Oh, wait, I did that (priorities…). My mom keeps asking me “What time should we be there on Sunday”? and I keep saying, “What’s Sunday”? Denial, it ain’t just a river in Egypt! It’s how I live my life. I have ignored Easter so long, I don’t know it’s coming. I have to get it together though, because I will have a houseful of company on Sunday expecting holiday food. So I have to deliver. How am I gonna do this? My mom is “makin’ manicotti (mannigott) and I am doing the ham…oy vey!! I hope I don’t F*&$@ It up. If I do, my mom will let me know. She has already baked taralle (toddalles) and coconut cupcakes that look like they came “straight out of a Martha Stewart layout” (actual quote from her)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhftxpIoRXfttScCV43bB8pagcZOVwvqdg_dNs56vh8W79x6QGHCZlyzFOsOMiDunC_qFJubcIqeyw1up0TYnEUGZlIY7FtYYBBvWq9hcG9RcPxxdU1IgEehgenvAbqNcUOL6s-47mLkZ1j/s1600-h/eastercupcakes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323337331333392546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhftxpIoRXfttScCV43bB8pagcZOVwvqdg_dNs56vh8W79x6QGHCZlyzFOsOMiDunC_qFJubcIqeyw1up0TYnEUGZlIY7FtYYBBvWq9hcG9RcPxxdU1IgEehgenvAbqNcUOL6s-47mLkZ1j/s320/eastercupcakes.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>and chocolate covered strawberries. I can’t compete, I don’t even try. That’s why I give up before I even put it in the oven. I know I will never get it right. No matter how awesome my ham comes, it will never get the props it deserves because it was not made by my mom. I know you are all saying, no, if it’s good she will say so. NOT TRUE! She will never give me a cooking compliment. It’s kinda crazy, actually. I could make the Best Meal On Earth and she would say, “yea, it was pretty good….” I think it kills her inside, just a little, when I make a great meal without a recipe. She (my mom) always asks, where did you get this recipe? And I always say. I kinda made it up from a bunch of different ones I read online. My mom is always horrified by the notion that I didn’t follow directions to the tee., and that I basically, wung (past tense of wing) (sp) it…That is why Easter is - On The Fly - this year. I have no head for recipes. I want to take a huge ham, throw it in my oven , and forget about it. I hope while it is cooking I can, clean my house, or at least my downstairs bathroom, have all four people showered, hair done, and cutely dressed (?), and set a fabulously springy dining table…. Then take some stuff, rub it on the ham and hit it with a mini blow-torch so it looks like it came from the “Honey Baked Ham Company”. Not hard, huh? I know women are doing it all over the world today, so it shouldn’t be. But why do I find it to be? The million dollar question…I guess if I could answer it, it wouldn’t be so hard. But it is, for me anyway. I guess I’m not cut out to be “domestic”. I would rather order than make. I don’t believe in the “made with love” adage. If you have the gift - go for it- if not - buy it. NO BIG DEAL. My mom is HORRIFIED!!! I know she taught me better than that, but you can’t teach this kind of stuff. Either you have it or you don’t , and apparently, I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I can “cook” with the best of them, I just can’t chef. I have a problem with following recipes and menu plans and anything having to do with directions. I have no patience for it. I always leave something out. Either it’s an egg, or a tsp. of baking powder, or cream of tartar. And it’s always a key ingredient . Something that, if it’s missing will totally alter the final product! That’s why I hate to bake. Too much math. Too much science. Too much reliance on the person who is making it… Anyway, I will attempt Easter this year. I hope it goes OK. I’m sure it will make for a decent Blog Post if it doesn’t though. (Lookin’ on the bright side!!) Maybe Mom (WWMD) will even compliment my ham. (dreaming…) If not Happy Easter Anyway!!</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIXveF7dIZRTPYFX-QYM_D_ynLgFYi-LSDcGUvhyphenhyphenDh4HyFw6E7NOz5u0llTaom9hFXKQ2TRMhRbmwlVJw0Smu8LKZvbr4AEN_Gq6fnqO7Z47E0dd_D7jkDNaHXY23sKgowr1oZnHf52KF/s1600-h/ei1c08_beef_cheese_manicotti1_lg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323336380318166354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIXveF7dIZRTPYFX-QYM_D_ynLgFYi-LSDcGUvhyphenhyphenDh4HyFw6E7NOz5u0llTaom9hFXKQ2TRMhRbmwlVJw0Smu8LKZvbr4AEN_Gq6fnqO7Z47E0dd_D7jkDNaHXY23sKgowr1oZnHf52KF/s320/ei1c08_beef_cheese_manicotti1_lg.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuDz54D_YdmrwL_EvHYNV4E4_6v-Bc84P9FNnctIr5DNRerWPC7hhVNa8eouXSsNmNxKqN5DMYPdCsAuIWoWy9M5Z8L_utfo5djjwU7jnQxGX5wMj7NkAIm__Btx62HE2dCVnsx07lNZH/s1600-h/06517ct%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323340706663935506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuDz54D_YdmrwL_EvHYNV4E4_6v-Bc84P9FNnctIr5DNRerWPC7hhVNa8eouXSsNmNxKqN5DMYPdCsAuIWoWy9M5Z8L_utfo5djjwU7jnQxGX5wMj7NkAIm__Btx62HE2dCVnsx07lNZH/s320/06517ct%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div></div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-40841385714090970862009-03-26T00:49:00.000-07:002009-03-26T11:20:47.341-07:00Little Bit Of A " Crush"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPXQ7x9Ls8WisRhFOSuWv-UlG6rIXjB2lBHFDWk0LlwrqMpq8pxY3L84CPli8t3fAiaag_c_c_zYVCJsDj2DDafchQD5ItiU0yhEvXYyqM45otNrLMddUX6bg_xq5FTG_kmpHDWNdE5NS/s1600-h/david-archuleta.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317559446808384802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 249px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPXQ7x9Ls8WisRhFOSuWv-UlG6rIXjB2lBHFDWk0LlwrqMpq8pxY3L84CPli8t3fAiaag_c_c_zYVCJsDj2DDafchQD5ItiU0yhEvXYyqM45otNrLMddUX6bg_xq5FTG_kmpHDWNdE5NS/s320/david-archuleta.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>The past two weeks we (my kids and I) have been on Spring Break and I really wanted to post something, but I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">couldn't</span>. It's been too boring. I have had nothing to say. We were drowning in a sea of Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. I wanted to go on and on about the Fabulous (17 day) Spring Break we just had, but i couldn't, because, frankly, it sucked. That was UNTIL...</div><div>THE MOST EXCITING THING IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE HAPPENED!!! (read sarcastically...)<br />The most exciting thing we (me and my 2 girls, 9 and 12 years old) did was go to lunch at Oregano's (OK Pizza ) and then go to see David <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Archuleta</span> (really?) in concert. We did this with a bunch of other tween/teens and their moms as well. My favorite part of the "concert" was when he said " First I'm gonna sing some songs from the 90's and then I'm gonna sing some more RECENT STUFF". I laughed like I was watching Don <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Rickles</span>!! NO ONE ELSE GOT IT!! This kid is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">soooo</span> young he has to perform cover songs!! From the 2000's!! I want a refund! I guess you have to give him props for actually SINGING the songs and not lip synching them like most people do these days. But my girls were happy. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">SOOO</span> HAPPY!!! They even made it onto the local news. Here's the story about how that happened. We walked around to the back of the theater after the performance and waited for him (David) to come out and sign autographs and shake hands and take pictures and such. I was basically just pacifying my children when I said we would do this, thinking they would get tired and we would go home. Well that did not happen. When Rachel asked me for a pen to go with her paper for an "autograph" I humored her by saying, " Celebrities always have a pen!". So. We waited...And waited... And waited some more...Then, finally, I said those dreaded words to the other waiting moms. Let's go get the car and pull it around. As you can already guess, as soon as I was far enough away to not SEE the crowd, but still close enough to still HEAR it, I heard screams. The screams of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">tweens</span>/teens/David <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Archuleta</span> fans. They were screaming because they saw him!! He came out into the crowd of girls and signed autographs, touched hands, high <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">fived</span> and even posed for a few choice pictures and cell phone snaps. The local Fox 10 station was there to capture it all (thank god!). When I pulled my car around my girls were as giddy as they could ever be spinning tales of "never washing their hand again" and "he actually talked to me!!" Rachel (the daughter I mocked for requesting my pen), even got an honest to goodness, David <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Archuleta</span> autograph (with a borrowed pen) !!!! Abbie (my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">EMO</span> 12 year old) was in full view, actually conversing with David on on our local evening news. This is totally THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO THEM IN THEIR LIVES!! And I can't figure out how to upload the stupid video onto my blog. Oh well, so much for technology. And Spring Break for that matter. Anyway I guess my point is WE (they) LOVE D A V I D A R C H U L E T A !!!! (they made me say that...)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxJaC7e2v6M2Q8PlVRyjvQRL_rHnuKZ8-EgTZ2v4ipdiqs5flrirbMJT9OzT_9hkQMbtrIz7Ld-sMJCYBt8tY5EfcTrk1SR0rxqSPRPeg53ZAOWlNh8WJ5536rY4NvlfZg93ZdxtcB391/s1600-h/anadavida.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317413287995953810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxJaC7e2v6M2Q8PlVRyjvQRL_rHnuKZ8-EgTZ2v4ipdiqs5flrirbMJT9OzT_9hkQMbtrIz7Ld-sMJCYBt8tY5EfcTrk1SR0rxqSPRPeg53ZAOWlNh8WJ5536rY4NvlfZg93ZdxtcB391/s320/anadavida.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiEO05ttnlbxv3ByCVLoEzj2uhjTh5XuAOT6AXzA7woUvqJMAyzjPw6R8-9ZD3gpPxngPtErEFhpg5cFTfPtGY36Uc8j3fWL6Kr9VJPYSqYWkqR1H1M11fTWd64rz1C-MVrYMNF6zysPS/s1600-h/rnadavida.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317413282785898082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiEO05ttnlbxv3ByCVLoEzj2uhjTh5XuAOT6AXzA7woUvqJMAyzjPw6R8-9ZD3gpPxngPtErEFhpg5cFTfPtGY36Uc8j3fWL6Kr9VJPYSqYWkqR1H1M11fTWd64rz1C-MVrYMNF6zysPS/s320/rnadavida.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Alyssa and Abbie with the drummer, Rachel and Lexi and Taylor with same said drummer (nice guy)</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>I swear, If I can figure out how to get the FoX 10 News footage in, I will Embed it (whatever that means!!!)</div><div><br /></div><div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-59685015323730490212009-02-26T16:27:00.000-08:002009-02-27T07:04:15.166-08:00Totally Creeped Out<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ0qM0ydd-80Vda85qQTkiGLCNJbTCBKE4PxmrwyY5G0-wANZlO8p7pHCZYb6PitMzX3sO3vY87ymA4Oqp-WupQ9mlwzbtnDpTEnNJRfy4J31PhdGEu4Bwt9WlwGlOcj6ULChyphenhyphenzmbgRZU0/s1600-h/pageantgirls.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ0qM0ydd-80Vda85qQTkiGLCNJbTCBKE4PxmrwyY5G0-wANZlO8p7pHCZYb6PitMzX3sO3vY87ymA4Oqp-WupQ9mlwzbtnDpTEnNJRfy4J31PhdGEu4Bwt9WlwGlOcj6ULChyphenhyphenzmbgRZU0/s320/pageantgirls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307281994300625874" /></a><br />OK, so I lied. In my last post, I lied. I said I would no longer display photos of other peoples children for comedic purposes but in this case I have to. This is probably why Karma bites me in the a** every other day. Has anyone seen either Toddlers and Tiaras on TLC or Little Miss Perfect on WE? Well, I have and I watch them with a morbid fascination. My nine year old (daughter),however, watches it with complete adoration for these girls,and it is totally Freaking Me Out!! A couple of years ago one of these "child beauty pageant" specials was on VH1 and I viewed it with both of my girls who were 7 and 10 at the time to show them just how "creepy" they were. Much to my utter dismay, they did not find them in the least little bit "creepy", and they thought they were the coolest things they had ever seen and they wanted to be in them!! Crap! It backfired! How could they not see the "EXTREME CREEPINESS" of a 5 year old with false teeth and hair and lashes and skin color!! It has been two years since my girls saw their first "pageant show" and my 12 year old has gotten over it (THANK GOD!!), but my nine year old is Obsessed!! She it totally in to it!! She practices her walk, rehearses her dance routine for the talent portion, curls her hair and works on her interview technique. She's good to go! She also asks me, almost on a daily basis, if I've checked into where we can enter her in one of these Freakshows!! I always say, "I'm working on it!" kind of like when my husband asks me if I've found a "real" full time job yet...Oh, and it has to be Glitz. For those of you not familiar with this term, it means they doll it up!! They wear more make-up than a kiddie drag show and twice as much sequins. The parents are real stagey-like and they throw around phrases like Pro-Am and Casual Wear. Practically everyone gets a crown and the winner usually gets 5-10 $100.00 bills, more often than not, in the shape of a fan. It's a riot! I would love to see one live and in person, strictly for entertainment, but not with my daughter AS A CONTESTANT!! How -OH- how do I make her see just how totally "creepy" (sorry I'm using that word so much but I just can't think of a better, more descriptive one) child beauty pageants are!! She REALLY wants to be in one! I never wanted to be the type of parent who would roll their eyes and squelch my daughters' dreams, but COME ON! I have two words...JON BENET...You know what though, I told her (my 9 YO) that story and she still doesn't care. I'm REALLY hoping this a phase that she will grow out of, but you never know, maybe someday she may almost become Vice President...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GXO4vR3SoN4EFYMSfpXCUJHm1a0Ye7M-fK1kGtaUUpt02LHgyBqueGpc3QrEfhPyrs1i0i95DYfaqvYabil3S8Vt49iiK1otR-YI3U3z9xWSI_ZOJbhRT1ecTojGUL43FmM5PpimVVmU/s1600-h/DSCN2897.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GXO4vR3SoN4EFYMSfpXCUJHm1a0Ye7M-fK1kGtaUUpt02LHgyBqueGpc3QrEfhPyrs1i0i95DYfaqvYabil3S8Vt49iiK1otR-YI3U3z9xWSI_ZOJbhRT1ecTojGUL43FmM5PpimVVmU/s320/DSCN2897.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307280668730820978" /></a><br />my aspiring Beauty Queen...oh the horror!!mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-48702519689902131072009-02-14T12:46:00.000-08:002009-02-14T12:55:14.177-08:00Sorry Little DavidI feel like a big IDIOT! Last night I just happened to catch the end of the show Inside Edition and low and behold there was David. David, of "David after Dentist" fame. Bless his little heart, he was asked how he liked all of the attention he was getting from this You Tube video and he said "At first it was really cool, but now it's not so fun." AWWWW! Poor little guy! I feel so bad I actually participated in perpetuating the exploitation of this defenseless child! I'm soooooo sorry David. Please accept my humble apology. No more posting videos of other peoples children for comedic purposes for me. I know this isn't my usual type of post, but I just felt so guilty.mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-287211007074125312009-02-06T00:42:00.000-08:002009-02-06T06:58:37.463-08:00Very Funny Friday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6x-A4qIM0Feks-joV_FnLZQWG9RpsoQivSEj5uAhuzuup1OuT99oLWD3Sjn_0Cdr38DGTj40GrPSf7EpXaFWm6AS68Tx4doFC6Wd09vDTL4JmP2ceSS5xwbrgcOJuUSahBq8npGlx7czw/s1600-h/FVFcream(2).png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6x-A4qIM0Feks-joV_FnLZQWG9RpsoQivSEj5uAhuzuup1OuT99oLWD3Sjn_0Cdr38DGTj40GrPSf7EpXaFWm6AS68Tx4doFC6Wd09vDTL4JmP2ceSS5xwbrgcOJuUSahBq8npGlx7czw/s400/FVFcream(2).png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299577520478319762" /></a><br />Hi All,<br /> I have elected to paticipate in a Blogger Carnival...I know...Where are the thrill rides run by pot-smoking,transient,pedophiles and the deep fried twinkies?? Oh Well!!<br /> This is soooooo much pressure (to be VERY FUNNY) so my lame attempt is a link, to You Tube, of all places. I laughed pretty hard when I watched it, although if it was my child I don't know if I would have posted it. If you don't find it amusing then read my Blog Posts, some of them are (I've been told). ENJOY! (or don't)<br /><<object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/txqiwrbYGrs&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/txqiwrbYGrs&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object<br /><br />http://borrowedlight.blogspot.com/2009/02/funny-friday.htmlmommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-9001396171910006772009-01-27T23:36:00.000-08:002009-01-28T07:20:10.480-08:00True Story Tuesdays<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimI1onqQBG8JAwh2GQGH3VRorxb-Jxnba2iXGQdp3X5AH9ql4aNxDYW5Jq7xVP7LtTUYZqWcEHYOZaN3zQ8ePHVS6vNmZsxMIctrhq49PtuBsC8MpsiWW9Pag7xIo7_Ytk-zA73PfHFQ4t/s1600-h/carflood.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296271361841684514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimI1onqQBG8JAwh2GQGH3VRorxb-Jxnba2iXGQdp3X5AH9ql4aNxDYW5Jq7xVP7LtTUYZqWcEHYOZaN3zQ8ePHVS6vNmZsxMIctrhq49PtuBsC8MpsiWW9Pag7xIo7_Ytk-zA73PfHFQ4t/s400/carflood.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><div>I have been wanting (real word ?) to do this for a while and have been encouraged by my friends (you know who you are) to do so. Because nothing is happening in my life right now I need to draw from past experiences. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Fortunately</span>, or not, depending how you view it, I have many, many ridiculous stories to draw from. This is why I started a Blog in the first place. Stupid things happen to me. ALL THE TIME. It's like I'm a supporting character in a popular Sit-Com. Only I'm real. I'm a suburban stay-at-home soccer mom whose kids have no interest in soccer. So here I sit, in my house, waiting for something to happen. IT NEVER DOES. Until I don't want it to. This is my recount of an event that took place last September (or so).<br /><br />My friend Lisa and I were on our way home from Bunco on a Thursday night. It had rained, pretty hard, for couple of days, before that (BTW). That night it was clear. And not raining. And chilly but not cold or wet. We proceeded to Bunco in the normal fashion. On our way home we were talking normal Bunco talk, "can you believe how big her kids got", "why didn't she come tonight?", "Where are they going on vacation now?". And then it happened. We were so wrapped up in our conversation we didn't realize we were floating. FLOATING. The car was floating, on water, i might add. What looked like an innocuous puddle, had in fact become a LAKE. The water started to rise, rapidly, I might add. Lisa said "should we call a tow truck?". Then she said "should we call Mark? (her husband)" I said , as I whipped out my cell phone, "I don't know who you're calling, but I'm calling 911!!". And call I did. The 911 operator proceeded to ask me my location (Middle of F*N Nowhere) and my situation (F*D). She then said the the most frightening words, "Can you climb onto the roof of the car?". I said "Oh please don't send a Helicopter, or a camera crew, my hair is so frizzy tonite!". She said to exit the car as soon as possible since the water level was rising. I guess in hindsight it really wasn't all that life threatening, but I kind of got hysterical anyway. I looked at Lisa (my best LDS friend) and said "I can't believe I am in this situation and I can't swear!!" She kindly said, go ahead, so I, for the sake of her ears, only swore in Italian for the rest of the night." (it doesn't sound as crass, and it makes people laugh) We sat there for a good 10 minutes not knowing if we would be rescued before a giant RED FIRETRUCK from the Mesa Fire Dept came. This fire guy who had to be about 6'6" walked up to the car with hip waders and a really bad attitude. He said "I need you to get out of the car and walk to the end of the road, (which was about 1/2 a mile away in waist deep - for me anyway - water) and I said "Yea, right, please pull the fire truck up to the side of the car and I'll get in." He said, "No , really you have to get out and walk." Well needless to say it is POURING now, and I am totally hysterical and my window is closed (because there is no power in the car and the windows are motorized) and Lisa's window (driver's side) is only halfway down. Lisa calmly and coolly exits the car thru the half-open drivers' side window. How I don't know ,because I am CRYING, like a 3 year old. (What an idiot!) He (the 6'6"fireman) then says to me please climb out of the window. Cut to 5:45 that evening when I cut the tag off of my Brand New Ralph Lauren White Sweater that I was wearing at that very moment. Back to floating car. He proceeds to PULL me out of the half-open window, at which point Lisa says to me, "do you need to pull your pants up?" and I respond, "Desperately!!", I could actually feel my jeans slide off my butt as he dragged me into the cold, dirty, rushing water. The minute my legs went in all I could thing was "Scorpions, Spiders, and Snakes, Oh My!". And I started to involuntarily scream. Like a girl. In a lake. Full of scorpions, spiders, and snakes. The fireman said to me "Why are you screaming? It's not even that deep." I said "Listen, Mr. 6'6" this may only come up to your knee but I can feel it touching my butt!" I will never forget this moment. Lisa said to me "Do you want me to hold your phone in my purse so it doesn't get wet?" Duh? Yea! Of Course. Not realizing that five minutes later we would be separated and she would end up on the safety of a fire truck (that I begged to be on and was turned down) and I would end up ALONE on the side of a deserted road, flooded with water, with strange animal sounds in the background, and (I am not prejudiced) a Mexican immigrant with a broken down car that we didn't see until I walked (swam,waded) to the end of the road. He came up to me and said "telephone?", and I said something like "no, my friend has it. and she's coming to get me!". He just laughed at me. I guess I deserved it though. 5 seconds later a Town Of Mesa truck pulled up behind me and asked "Are you OK?" I said "physically yes, mentally I'm a little shaken". He said "are you alone?" What a LOSER. YES, I am alone. "I said something lame, like, my friend is over there, on the fire truck." he said "without you?" I said " YUP". He said "Why don't you call her?", I said "because she has my phone". He said "wow, too bad, do you want to use mine?" GENIUS!! Why didn't I think of that? So I did. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Oh Well, so much for that idea. He (being the rocket scientist that he is) suggested I call someone else. Who else would I call. Marty. Do I even have to tell everyone what a terrible idea this turned out to be. He had just gone to sleep, (ie, too tired and probably drunk to drive) and was really annoyed that I woke him up. Plan B. Wait. In the Middle Of Nowhere. With no Ride. The Town of Mesa guy was like, "Can I have my phone back?". so I hung up with Marty and gave it to him. We waited there in silence for another 5-7 minutes and his phone rang. He said "yes...uh,huh...hold on..." then he stuck his phone out the window of his truck and pointed it toward me and said "It's for you". I took his phone, in astonishment and said "hello?". Marty. Of Course. He pressed the call back button on our home phone, DOY! I then proceeded to have a fight with him about picking me up. The guy was all - "you are SO not having a fight with your husband on my cell phone minutes" and I told Marty - gotta go, and I hung up. The men on the truck told me "their job was done here", and they were leaving. I said, no screamed, "Dude! you are not leaving me here in the middle of freakin' nowhere with a guy who doesn't speak English, no cell phone,cold,totally soaking wet and wild animals crying in the night (I wish we had sound effects, it would bring it home!). About 3 minutes later a giant Paramedics truck pulled up to me on that pitch black street and a nice EMS worker got out and said "Are you OK?", and I said "Do you have a Xanax on that truck?" and he said "No, but I have your friend." I said "SHUT UP!!" and I went over to the truck and there was Lisa. She looked at me and said "I have to pee so bad, so don't say anything funny." I said "How was your ride?". We laughed like morons for about 6 minutes straight. IfI were them I would have given us both a sobriety test. The paramedics proceeded to tell us that it was a very slow night and they offered to drive us home. Since both of our husbands were sound asleep we took them up on their offer.God Bless those guys!! I do have to admit though, I was swearing the whole way home. In two languages, Italian and English. I think Lisa forgave me. The next morning I called her at about 10am and I said "I had the strangest dream last night, I dreamt we were in a car..."<br /><br />(P.S. this happened when gas was over $4.00 a gallon and she just filled up the car. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxcAipGw6rbqBgxTfdGylVYWFdo4zT-wLAVD-Tzekt37mReqSmceZ29xjW2MuNtNUM7DPqyMZe-t7WDh8TPQDfeymGjWul2nOtqEm3RUOOH2pY4GzYcHn4RbacwR72vTy-xqIovWR7pEZ/s1600-h/trapped.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296271197864847986" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 192px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxcAipGw6rbqBgxTfdGylVYWFdo4zT-wLAVD-Tzekt37mReqSmceZ29xjW2MuNtNUM7DPqyMZe-t7WDh8TPQDfeymGjWul2nOtqEm3RUOOH2pY4GzYcHn4RbacwR72vTy-xqIovWR7pEZ/s200/trapped.gif" border="0" /></a><br />My synopsis of this evening was.<br />Full Tank of gas - $100.00<br />Towing the submerged car from Mountain Rd to the gas station - $300.00<br />Watching Liz push her fat ass out of a half-opened window into waist deep water - Priceless)</div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-78688988373424697202009-01-19T12:10:00.000-08:002009-01-19T16:46:54.276-08:00Procrast... (Oh, I'll Finish It Later)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3KCRPqVsEG79kz0FOb0MIOHjgSn2Ci2dp3tyI0VoSOJIfKwJlkK-9Qx9vDZNJCZa2fa6P3VN1UiYYGztL1zM6tHgDTN84E-qcZkFHfguodG6Mwwb5Gm__E2kCPT8B1LTFTJ9TOg5qG7un/s1600-h/flipcalendar.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293100440539987282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3KCRPqVsEG79kz0FOb0MIOHjgSn2Ci2dp3tyI0VoSOJIfKwJlkK-9Qx9vDZNJCZa2fa6P3VN1UiYYGztL1zM6tHgDTN84E-qcZkFHfguodG6Mwwb5Gm__E2kCPT8B1LTFTJ9TOg5qG7un/s400/flipcalendar.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>I keep reading new Blog entries from all of my favorite <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bloggers</span> and I am wondering where do they come up with the motivation to do it? My last post, according to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">MMB</span> was FIVE weeks ago. It was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">doozy</span>, but it was still five weeks ago.Since that time, we have had Christmas (which feels like it was 6 years ago), New Year's (pretty lame, I might add), and my birthday (OK-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ish</span>). And now, we're done. That's it. </div><div>Every year for as long as I can remember on or around the 3rd of January (the day after my birthday) I fall into my annual "Absolutely Nothing To Look Forward To Funk". Sometimes it lasts 'til Easter, most years I goes well past Memorial Day, especially if I've gained another 10 pounds. It is without fail. I can't get past it. It literally paralyzes me, and I end up doing nothing - AT ALL. I go into TV hibernation until some sort of family or work obligation forces me to get up and flat iron my hair and actually put on a pair shoes. When I lived in New York , I used to blame this on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">SADD</span>, you know the type of depression that happens because it's cold and dark and grey all the time. Well living in Arizona shoots the sh** out of that theory! It's been nothing but gorgeous and sunny and like 65-75 degrees every day (sorry, rest of the country). So, I was wrong. It's ME. Stupid, gloomy, unmotivated, me. Every year without exception my New Year's resolution has been to "Finally Lose The Weight". I guess if figure if I stay in my funk indefinitely then I have some sort of excuse for not doing it. I do kind of feel like, why even try though. Why diet, I'll just gain it all back? Why exercise, I'll just stop when I get bored? Why stop drinking wine, I heard it's good for you anyway? Why take down my Christmas Tree, I'll only have to put it up again in December...wait...what? </div><div>It just seems like an insurmountable task. Fifty pounds. That's more than my daughter weighs (she's teeny though), soaking wet. And the worst part about it is, I was THERE, I DID IT, I lost the stupid weight. I had done it and I let it slip away. Granted it slipped away 5-10 lbs at a time over the last 3 years, but away it slipped, none the less. And now i stand in my packed closet with clothes in virtually every size, in my Old Navy XXL sweatsuit (my fat uniform), listening to the 6's 8's and 10's mock me. "You can't wear me anymore," they say "try the shoes, they're pretty loyal".<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01t7aaVagiWSVYQpVFdzDPA4atMoj_iryU0Zh_WfVBCCU6nVQoFFo6ccOU6CDExpQwtHEAMGQPcI9NjUckIZHXo-ubG2Y3uajBYnZy_EkEVj1cXPlgw4VSeMkDX7YGN6HUJI3fXONpjkv/s1600-h/omag+108.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293115764051694466" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 165px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01t7aaVagiWSVYQpVFdzDPA4atMoj_iryU0Zh_WfVBCCU6nVQoFFo6ccOU6CDExpQwtHEAMGQPcI9NjUckIZHXo-ubG2Y3uajBYnZy_EkEVj1cXPlgw4VSeMkDX7YGN6HUJI3fXONpjkv/s200/omag+108.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Oprah did a show the first week of the year to announce that she is officially "FAT" again. She said she was mad at herself and embarrassed and "How did I get here again?" and "I can't believe I'm still talking about my weight!". <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Holla</span> Girlfriend!!! I am forty <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">freakin</span>' one years old and I have lost and gained the same 50 lbs more times than I care to admit on a Blog. I never have any idea what size I will be next year, or next week for that matter. It's shameful, not to mention expensive (multiple wardrobes, diet stuff) and exhausting. But it wouldn't be January without another diet. So here I go again, diet # 4793 is in the planning stages. I guess it couldn't kill me to take a jog around the neighborhood. Oh, I'll do it tomorrow, I promise. Besides, I really have to take down my Christmas Tree already. Did you know that tomorrow is already the 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">th</span> of January? Boy, time flies when you're PROCRASTINATING!</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFa9RxlkGWYWoQgR502xuDQ-gMt4Bm6DUYXr18NHKKShO_Q1tRT6TQvYIE-1_iCWQtaXJWdtbkEGvyNM3GHL2kucPbPzOHsO9Q2phf0dk6FenmHH85i1jl1d_gUQ6Un4isQSUmbDLJzcg/s1600-h/xmastree08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293115898736267298" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFa9RxlkGWYWoQgR502xuDQ-gMt4Bm6DUYXr18NHKKShO_Q1tRT6TQvYIE-1_iCWQtaXJWdtbkEGvyNM3GHL2kucPbPzOHsO9Q2phf0dk6FenmHH85i1jl1d_gUQ6Un4isQSUmbDLJzcg/s200/xmastree08.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-58365605014637135892008-12-12T21:41:00.000-08:002008-12-12T22:18:50.244-08:00'Twas The Fight Before Christmas 2008<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279146386193040258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 376px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfs0JliJq2KbZLkb5TkIDjEN9YrouLWC08JArKhLtISlTsXk6LrfceWr8slRiC0WYPCwZGLaLkFAHe-E2oLbW3-6QEnLtJGJ1EI39SVkC-yMsZ6yOhVofIWwO1ufnxHk74m8X2XVJCuSu/s400/scan0001.jpg" border="0" /> liz and joey (1971)<br /><br />...a letter to my brother<br /><br />Twas’ the fight before Christmas, when all through the year<br />We never see them, they don’t know we’re here<br />But all of a sudden like the tick of a clock<br />I can feel my family boat start to rock<br />Right ‘round Thanksgiving it starts with a bang<br />The planning of Christmas, one Big Happy Gang<br />But it never seems to go as we planned<br />Your house or my house where will we land?<br />We go round and round and we call every name<br />And always it seems, the outcome’s the same<br />We never agree on a proper location<br />Each year I say, “Let’s go on vacation!”<br />But just like the years that have prefaced before<br />We’ve come to the end of our cash flow once more<br />So much for Disney and visions of mice<br />I must now stay home and develop a vice<br />So break out the vino, pass the Xanax around<br />Nicita fights are legendary and world renowned<br />The stuff that we say at Christmastime<br />Would make you think we’re nothing but slime<br />We say things we want to all year but we cant<br />And just -look out- if we’re off on a rant<br />There’s yelling and crying and a lot of hanging up<br />Swearing and screaming and tons of dredging up<br />We let it all out like a therapy group<br />Firing comebacks like an improv troupe<br />We just can’t seem to be on the same page<br />So here we sit with our guilt and our rage<br />This time of year should be filled up with cheer<br />Not start and end each day with a tear<br />As Rodney King says “Can’t we all get along?”<br />But we always think that the other is wrong<br />My house or yours - really - who gives a shit?<br />Is it worth losing all of your family over it?<br />We have to realize what’s important this year<br />That Dad is alive, and with us, right here<br />I want to have memories that are happy forever<br />And I know that I won’t if we’re not all together<br />Working this out now may be a tall order<br />And I’m going through wine like it’s bottled water<br />I’m sure we could probably go some more rounds<br />As stress eating adds another 10 pounds<br />So consider this my final appeal<br />I’m willing right now to make you a deal<br />We have a cease fire ‘til 2009<br />Cause after the holidays we seem to be fine<br />But I’m sure you’ll exclaim, as your tongue you bite<br />This really was our BEST CHRISTMAS FIGHT!!<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJHF8hbNCdEOraOyjuyrpgr8KJZdULyZBVQxP6Gj-giShR4-V6uuLBjTBP1abHyvCN0JaRu-MwXQx8x5nbVFRcFIklNHs5euJoIEZ7kcV5Dn4Hdn2uae9MpfhOWhaTYn7hwpfBfcZBJtP/s1600-h/scan0005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279146899102281906" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 159px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJHF8hbNCdEOraOyjuyrpgr8KJZdULyZBVQxP6Gj-giShR4-V6uuLBjTBP1abHyvCN0JaRu-MwXQx8x5nbVFRcFIklNHs5euJoIEZ7kcV5Dn4Hdn2uae9MpfhOWhaTYn7hwpfBfcZBJtP/s200/scan0005.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoqb-jbDg9Tbgws01ncUyODDMog6KvmXcYCgqMGZhLw1MWMBdLLLS08o8MHTSHUFj4E09khCO8MdotZWRuiggNyXK9Z8kmzRJ4dq7tNraWNUMvwAYkw-FjWjmU_EosDj4PElsmyAlWZIr/s1600-h/scan0002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279146895478588802" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 153px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoqb-jbDg9Tbgws01ncUyODDMog6KvmXcYCgqMGZhLw1MWMBdLLLS08o8MHTSHUFj4E09khCO8MdotZWRuiggNyXK9Z8kmzRJ4dq7tNraWNUMvwAYkw-FjWjmU_EosDj4PElsmyAlWZIr/s200/scan0002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0tBR3YjdGquW5fjkJa3NSrJhjrA4cmDK6rvHdIF_vm_EG_aEuPvjbpuFMrQQCgWoXt71Jmd1PSDwZ9IhVcdFWcD-3-FF3ooDXKsgO2AATWjuUP3E9O1QhzSgATuKVCxuZD7-gn60SUgq/s1600-h/scan0003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279146901403158978" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0tBR3YjdGquW5fjkJa3NSrJhjrA4cmDK6rvHdIF_vm_EG_aEuPvjbpuFMrQQCgWoXt71Jmd1PSDwZ9IhVcdFWcD-3-FF3ooDXKsgO2AATWjuUP3E9O1QhzSgATuKVCxuZD7-gn60SUgq/s200/scan0003.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5hZMvrTqLkvyT3UpQC65NxLY108uqGDHWpzpkuaGIgZYLRbDcjazpzBT1z7WyenK9zHyjMW5w1zHrSsvGjaWoHyvJellkm7G14rKdhbd3MWN6pc5R0w-ZvEUzrdbxW2dYQDd39vCkFVG/s1600-h/scan0006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279146908959042066" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 147px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5hZMvrTqLkvyT3UpQC65NxLY108uqGDHWpzpkuaGIgZYLRbDcjazpzBT1z7WyenK9zHyjMW5w1zHrSsvGjaWoHyvJellkm7G14rKdhbd3MWN6pc5R0w-ZvEUzrdbxW2dYQDd39vCkFVG/s200/scan0006.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-60194813189482607062008-11-28T15:09:00.000-08:002008-11-28T20:45:48.150-08:00(Not So) Black Friday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AHyPh8GUenQtAbgSTb7BtR0GdmjAzDs_-ZphDV-Rvb1VfzrcmZljhNoq8H4xfrDpIUuelRq6qvNFocc3uLmoLlOmrC5BeYX0cXKYk7c16V4xXAYWCIVt77aU168nA4Vq0-mVwWXeCHCU/s1600-h/bftru.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273862330855516162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 310px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AHyPh8GUenQtAbgSTb7BtR0GdmjAzDs_-ZphDV-Rvb1VfzrcmZljhNoq8H4xfrDpIUuelRq6qvNFocc3uLmoLlOmrC5BeYX0cXKYk7c16V4xXAYWCIVt77aU168nA4Vq0-mVwWXeCHCU/s400/bftru.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Here it is, 4pm on what used to be my favorite day of the year, and I have not left my house. Black Friday was once more exciting than Christmas to me, because it meant I got to SHOP. Shop, a lot, and shop on sale. My three favorite things all in one day. I love to shop. I have <em>always </em>loved to shop. I could shop for 48 hours straight (with bathroom and coffee breaks, of course) if someone (Marty)would let me. I think of it as "the thrill of the hunt" and I try to get the absolute cheapest price I could possibly pay, no matter how much I spend in gas getting there (I know, duh.). At one point in my life, I loved shopping more than TV, and for me that speaks volumes. I used to be one of those people who poured over every ad, I made lists of where to get the best deals, and map out my strategy ahead of time. I used to get up in the middle of the night or not sleep at all, and be all hopped up on pumpkin pie and Starbucks and stand on line with the other suckers (get a life, you may say). Oh, how I miss those days... </div><div>Not this year though. I will not attend Black Friday. You see, I (like so many of my fellow Americans), am no where near the Black. In fact, I am so far into the Red I fear I may just spend the rest of my life there. I used to be OK with it, until "The Bailout" was announced. I would like to be bailed out. Where do I sign up for this? Do you think if I let my mountainous debt get into 10 figure territory the American Taxpayers will just pay it off for me? Because if that's the case I'm heading to Old Navy, I could use a new cashmere sweater and they're really cheap today. Not that it matters if your trying to achieve a 1 billion dollar deficit. But old habits die hard. It is totally killing me how cheap everything is today, because no matter how cheap it is, I still don't have any money to buy it, and NO MONEY equals NO SHOPPING!! So here I sit, with a perfect storm of depressing circumstances. Broke...constant televised reports of "the Joneses" (with whom I can no longer keep up with) getting great deals on great stuff interspersed with 70% off commercials from my most frequented retail/wholesale establishments...and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fridgeload</span></span> of extremely high calorie leftover food just calling my name... Wish me luck, because only something bad can come out of this. I am predicting either a 5 lb weight gain or a breakdown/mini-spending-spree by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cyber</span></span> Monday, probably both. Stay tuned for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">further</span></span> announcements...</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxus3OOlVW3RtyKLTKbnPDPagMDflnrjnGNxg0VrI6LLdjVbIdagEDziID8G1nMEIXPP1h_hbCwvxu1PyGO0C1S7dap0u5zYup8xQ5okPEdOOkEgmOoDszCD4Llqo5ouUj7C8d9ExClxme/s1600-h/bftarget2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273862826385841314" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxus3OOlVW3RtyKLTKbnPDPagMDflnrjnGNxg0VrI6LLdjVbIdagEDziID8G1nMEIXPP1h_hbCwvxu1PyGO0C1S7dap0u5zYup8xQ5okPEdOOkEgmOoDszCD4Llqo5ouUj7C8d9ExClxme/s320/bftarget2.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTsFzY1-hprCffZ3PPvaIIGwXOFhQdO2s-ArkS-TtlkdLAVCuvMp1PFbHP5v1XBafQiGT6humd09qVTPAxMp3jy9cKl51LnbrpGO7hc1PhuL6533R1X5dyx2BzSSiWIcWV-6qdOiT-b0b/s1600-h/bftarget.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273862821824650450" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 248px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTsFzY1-hprCffZ3PPvaIIGwXOFhQdO2s-ArkS-TtlkdLAVCuvMp1PFbHP5v1XBafQiGT6humd09qVTPAxMp3jy9cKl51LnbrpGO7hc1PhuL6533R1X5dyx2BzSSiWIcWV-6qdOiT-b0b/s320/bftarget.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-23947354602095815392008-11-24T12:03:00.000-08:002008-11-24T14:32:34.787-08:00How To Feel OLD (But Not Quite As Old As Your Husband)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggF7lL9sYp5mVUWlRiw9vu-UPulb6KmBPoykHetYMeQrPVdmZ7uCj26wxifNyEvjGatM4j7-wD-mxL2kVJ9KXLevGB0L54dWkYds1Nj43-6UcastSOhvafUOzKkPVw4uyJOn3heJRdfFGW/s1600-h/jonas.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272352157742219490" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 193px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 120px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggF7lL9sYp5mVUWlRiw9vu-UPulb6KmBPoykHetYMeQrPVdmZ7uCj26wxifNyEvjGatM4j7-wD-mxL2kVJ9KXLevGB0L54dWkYds1Nj43-6UcastSOhvafUOzKkPVw4uyJOn3heJRdfFGW/s200/jonas.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjI-_JX144pQJr7u0nEMLOWDJO_RZyMZYx-oONM9blytUgrUrLjC41nt5jKU5dBlmNwz_jaXdPyKzw4YD2Vw1kefLEv23vUPCab8VPUmuunSxazXS5PU5MBCMahPr7UhQ5rUS9FW-su3wI/s1600-h/miley.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272352037405634530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 112px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjI-_JX144pQJr7u0nEMLOWDJO_RZyMZYx-oONM9blytUgrUrLjC41nt5jKU5dBlmNwz_jaXdPyKzw4YD2Vw1kefLEv23vUPCab8VPUmuunSxazXS5PU5MBCMahPr7UhQ5rUS9FW-su3wI/s200/miley.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Man, do I feel old. Last night I did something that I do once a year but I did it in a way I never have before. I watched the 35th annual American Music Awards - with my daughters. I have been watching this outrageous (shout out to Lionel Ritchie for the old schoolers) show for forever and it has never made me feel this way. It was like a veritable battle of the generational bands. Every artists I liked, they immediately hated. Every performer they worshiped, I rolled my eyes at. This was the moment I realized I had in fact become my mom. I vowed when I had children that my musical taste would never fall into the "adult contemporary" divider but as far as they (my girls) were concerned, there it was. I used to wonder why my mom would listen to the oldies station in the car and exclaim "they don't make songs like this anymore." Now I know. Here I am listening to the 80's station in the car doing the exact same thing! I just don't understand why MY kids don't like MY music. Abbie is currently in a Jonas phase . In fact, I have had a "Lovebug" earworm for about 2 months now. I walk around humming it, and when I realize what I'm doing I feel like a moron. Rachel is all about Miley, Miley, Miley. She asks me life changing questions like, "who do you think is better (at what I don't know), Miley or Selena Gomez?", and I always reply, "Miley", of course. Then she smiles completely satisfied and says "I knew it!". Anyway, there we were critiquing the performances when Abbie said something really amusing. She was watching this woman sing and she said "Look at her, who does she think she is? She totally thinks she's all that!"</div><div></div><div>This is who she was talking about</div><div> </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoRHo4TKTwuhz0rM5xQlgUwW4P3fEiaH6cHMhDuC_THuszmG4l3mEnxbdfSAKdbTXMV5oPEjaNezc21G90myPfJmPSHm98SpBSnNGWAY1FOEoN5aYEqp0fFEFPQyQOa6qxwEz-tHx0Q4m/s1600-h/mariah.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272340932339967890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 108px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoRHo4TKTwuhz0rM5xQlgUwW4P3fEiaH6cHMhDuC_THuszmG4l3mEnxbdfSAKdbTXMV5oPEjaNezc21G90myPfJmPSHm98SpBSnNGWAY1FOEoN5aYEqp0fFEFPQyQOa6qxwEz-tHx0Q4m/s200/mariah.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this Mariah Carey?</div><div>She IS ALL THAT. Abbie said "No she's not, what songs does she even sing?" I said, "Uh, all of them..." She has been number one on the charts more than any other person who has ever recorded music and my children don't know who she is because her name is not on every marketable piece of crap you can stick a name on. I have seriously failed as a parent. I have got to have more programming control of their Ipods. They need more protein and less junk food as far as music goes. They were also picking on Annie Lennox (one of my faves), and Alicia Keys (due to her headgear). Abbie squealed (actual squealing) with delight everytime the camera locked on Joe (Jonas, who else), and Rachel was quite taken with both of Miley's outfits. Which by the way, were both ripped from the pages of this months InStyle magazine as if it were her own personal catalog. What a way to spend your 16th birthday. Mine was spent on line at the DMV eventually failing my permit test and crying the rest of the day. But I digress. One more thing - Kanye West - at least agree on something. We love him on the radio and on the Ipod, we hate him in person. I know he's got issues, it's just a shame he can't just let his talent speak for itself and keep his big mouth shut. We'd all like him more. Oh, and one last thing, I swear, Jimmy Kimmel, he's funny and all but don't make me feel like I have to have my hand on my clicker all night because I don't know what crude thing you will say next about my daughters' favorite Disney stars. That's it, I'm done venting, but I would like to say that when my husband said who are They (Rhianna and Chris Brown) I laughed, because really, dude, how old are you?</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCw3YDwZfxLrZ70eClhzpmNP5cObadn0h7Rl92CWKWs2MQIH0y6uC7j04rYuN3eoCVvBzAVWnf140k4hnp957cd_WJgQr2j7pDXRbYcplGRrxNQFEmrvUQgwqzwFtBcGyECJFi8XQpnPdz/s1600-h/rhianna.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272351088846321906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 112px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCw3YDwZfxLrZ70eClhzpmNP5cObadn0h7Rl92CWKWs2MQIH0y6uC7j04rYuN3eoCVvBzAVWnf140k4hnp957cd_WJgQr2j7pDXRbYcplGRrxNQFEmrvUQgwqzwFtBcGyECJFi8XQpnPdz/s200/rhianna.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8W7JVZ00trR7OTXtwvo8YVfJQMilImLzK7xlSX99tiPoJ8Z2hK-uQKZWDNbmX30zoOnxjk6GKDezR8rC7v2OtImoFwMPSlCVEjq6UxLYN0fOHULPnmYgFKbkF1-zdRB8hyphenhyphenP2uIl2UHUJ/s1600-h/chris+brown.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272351268833714914" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 112px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8W7JVZ00trR7OTXtwvo8YVfJQMilImLzK7xlSX99tiPoJ8Z2hK-uQKZWDNbmX30zoOnxjk6GKDezR8rC7v2OtImoFwMPSlCVEjq6UxLYN0fOHULPnmYgFKbkF1-zdRB8hyphenhyphenP2uIl2UHUJ/s200/chris+brown.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div></div></div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-65361210460474608732008-11-12T10:17:00.000-08:002008-11-12T10:59:44.938-08:00Completely Addicted To Facebook<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJxmP1n2tHb9wTlNoynwslYqubvxFbWfM47cmvPc-_GWlmpyjJgDRzENwQPKB9_Waxk3YPEpm2TxHpH8TxrRujq9EzksAanhuJDfrjOIli4HZCmAedAtt7RJaSwBiIiTHlJOGLnbt_A8h/s1600-h/iheart_main_main.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267846838338979874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJxmP1n2tHb9wTlNoynwslYqubvxFbWfM47cmvPc-_GWlmpyjJgDRzENwQPKB9_Waxk3YPEpm2TxHpH8TxrRujq9EzksAanhuJDfrjOIli4HZCmAedAtt7RJaSwBiIiTHlJOGLnbt_A8h/s200/iheart_main_main.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KcYlQqg_pBRWCQH2rGPhTy-KK6LN1z2DubI4oaKj2VieaeNvIKD2UsZJyp9SN8fvMjk-b-SND-dT9Cp_7BosLM33y0hc9qUxzfgMrGMCd1Xb7fRa3_54gwe_6iBwbD-XXdEVUtkTxlrB/s1600-h/facebook-logo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267845660052842562" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 75px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KcYlQqg_pBRWCQH2rGPhTy-KK6LN1z2DubI4oaKj2VieaeNvIKD2UsZJyp9SN8fvMjk-b-SND-dT9Cp_7BosLM33y0hc9qUxzfgMrGMCd1Xb7fRa3_54gwe_6iBwbD-XXdEVUtkTxlrB/s200/facebook-logo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Hi, my name is Liz, and I'm a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Faceaholic</span>. Apparently <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Facebook</span> is the crystal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">meth</span> of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">internet</span>. You become completely addicted from the first time you log on. You continue to log on several times a day every day there afterwards, until you realize you have a problem (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ie</span>, you've run out of clean dishes, clothes and milk). I should know, I'm totally hooked. I have logged more hours <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Facehopping</span> (going from one profile to another) lately than watching TV (perish the thought). This is why I have been neglecting my blog. Well, that and the fact that absolutely NOTHING has happened worth writing about in the past week. At least not to me personally, let's not panic, I'm aware of the new President Elect (yea!) and the historic event we are all witnessing. I am just saying that my life has been pretty much <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">SSDD</span>, and since the election is over TV bites. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">SOOOO</span>, I tried <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Facebook</span>, and not to be trite but, my life has not been the same since. I have connected with friends and cousins and neighbors that I haven't heard from or seen in years, and it's awesome!! You should try it, that is if you are like me and can devote the time it will suck out of your life. You see, I am really into avoiding reality (not reality <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">tv</span> shows, though) lately (dad's chemo, money stuff, kids fighting, etc.) so this foray into my past life is just what I needed.You can casually drop in when you feel like it see what people are saying and log off. It's kind of like a new form of Alice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Kravitz</span> (Bewitched). You get to see who your friends friends are and what groups they belong to and who's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Facebooking</span> your 12 year old daughter. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">I's</span> a whole new Big Brother. Speaking of brothers, I told my brother to join <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Facebook</span> and within two hours of joining his number of friends surpassed mine. So if you read this and you have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Facebook</span> add me as your friend...I have self-esteem issues...</div><div>If you don't have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Facebook</span>, what are you waiting for? I'm sure your kids have it, and then you can be their friend (spy) too. I am usually pretty up on things so I can't believe it took me this long to discover such a fun w<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmUEmyCNc4c6s365YRSWgxzgbTdBJAZJNbp96mcw5u2W29zdi25xylnjI3JdnGADEHUb0W1kyk5tUqiqRUzda6xSlJh6cNv_CcLOJoVedr41IT5ittmDrkwO5mIe2ooxfArVk-PMFUDby_/s1600-h/facebook-local.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267845897921213442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 296px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmUEmyCNc4c6s365YRSWgxzgbTdBJAZJNbp96mcw5u2W29zdi25xylnjI3JdnGADEHUb0W1kyk5tUqiqRUzda6xSlJh6cNv_CcLOJoVedr41IT5ittmDrkwO5mIe2ooxfArVk-PMFUDby_/s320/facebook-local.png" border="0" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">aste</span> of time. Gotta go check my wall! </div></div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-89989074349348590532008-11-03T22:47:00.000-08:002008-11-03T23:24:36.898-08:00SPENCER IS DIABOLICAL<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNolw2faoFAi5zOZ6kICyV4nug7X7ammwdNUfXwsIWgHSb6cp5nLmKv9bj3rpwwvMUZO5rOUxIE5nKXYWzvKtiUbN1zvscuDGh_VzvRUsxiWprgbpbDlAPa5FcROhfdT5hPQ_DUg0mTvn/s1600-h/spencer-pratt-of-the-hills.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264693567388080930" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNolw2faoFAi5zOZ6kICyV4nug7X7ammwdNUfXwsIWgHSb6cp5nLmKv9bj3rpwwvMUZO5rOUxIE5nKXYWzvKtiUbN1zvscuDGh_VzvRUsxiWprgbpbDlAPa5FcROhfdT5hPQ_DUg0mTvn/s320/spencer-pratt-of-the-hills.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>That's all. If you watch "The Hills" you know what I mean. If you don't, why aren't you watching "The Hills"? I know it's sad that a woman of my age would be totally sucked into this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">shizz</span>, but I am. Don't ask me why either. Also, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Audrina</span> needs a mentor. (I'm Available!) (Please don't move in with Justin Bobby, without some kind of commitment, to a house that you PAID FOR !) . Oh and another thing, PLEASE VOTE! I don't care who you vote for, or for what proposition you vote yes on, just do it. We all have to count for something don't we? Either way it will be totally historic. I'm just glad to be a part of it. (CHANGE...that is)</div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-16414743303055250632008-11-02T18:46:00.000-08:002008-11-02T21:04:23.910-08:00Dia De Los Muertos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyzYtRr62S4Az2N2Iqf-2QcME9LdulFRYFnT4KUWNXfYIjKd9mnSkmCAXHGGkp0GJtikaNsPRkapziXdb2wrNot3hgBDVyAjxAGzaNPTM1ubnWFDhwV5ubBttdQWRjl3S1a3YvSNaB4xv/s1600-h/dia-de-los-muertos-art-rj2-.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264271181867647362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 285px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 357px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyzYtRr62S4Az2N2Iqf-2QcME9LdulFRYFnT4KUWNXfYIjKd9mnSkmCAXHGGkp0GJtikaNsPRkapziXdb2wrNot3hgBDVyAjxAGzaNPTM1ubnWFDhwV5ubBttdQWRjl3S1a3YvSNaB4xv/s400/dia-de-los-muertos-art-rj2-.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ahhh</span>! The day after Halloween! I love it. I know I am going to get a lot of flack for this but I HATE Halloween. I hate picking the costumes (too much decision making), I hate picking the candy (what's on sale, what won't I eat all by myself before trick or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">treaters</span> arrive), I hate the whole pumpkin thing (buying, lugging,carving) but most of all I hate the division of candy afterward ("she got more than me"," she stole my snickers" -" no i didn't" -"yes you did"). I also hate the fact that the minute they clear those Halloween shelves there are exactly 53 shopping days left until Christmas and they (the evil retail elves) don't waste one second of prime selling time. Please don't remind me Christmas is coming when my pumpkins are still out. Which reminds me. How lame am I? How totally lame of a STAY AT HOME MOM am I , that we forgot to carve our pumpkins this year. Did you hear me? I said WE FORGOT TO CARVE OUR PUMPKINS THIS YEAR!! They just sat there...uncarved...how sad. Now we don't even have roasted pumpkin seeds. I guess I could always buy them at Trader Joe's. And I guess we could always do them next week (as suggested by the girls), but I don't think so. Once I rip off that October calendar page it's time to add my "Christmas <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Playlist</span>" to shuffle on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">IPOD</span>. I am officially in holiday mode. Any second now I will have my annual "where to have the holidays" fight with my brother and the season will be underway. I'm kind of looking forward to it. I would love to have SOMETHING, ANYTHING to actually look forward to other than a season finale (TV). So here we go. Here come the holidays, good or bad, like 'em or not, here they come. Just for reflection though, I thought I might share the few Halloween photos we did manage to get on that day. </div><br /><div>(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ps</span>. Abbie changed costumes 3 times before the date, and had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">such</span> a meltdown about her hair after school on Friday she made me trim her bangs in my bathroom with cuticle scissors before I sprayed it red. Rachel's props cost more than her dress. I BEGGED her to put Miss Alaska on her sash, wear glasses and carry an American Flag and go as Sarah <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Palin</span> but to my dismay she said NO WAY! - she likes Obama. Oh and I think the Auto Focus feature on my camera may have ceased working because all of my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">pictures</span> are really blurry, but maybe it's just the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Xanax</span> - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">J<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMoRP-hnHdaXNnk468FqMav84N9WqxZIjdhtgeYk-dM1FRz5wIeSMkqp62e8PA4sHp2gXT-BuYzP8L4nVT3s3SZHMEnFLbY6z4_6pEWyH7QieTxEkGB3P_IAbX7rfqP-9sPc2wtywKm-s/s1600-h/DSCN2893.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264267860739675858" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 278px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 235px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMoRP-hnHdaXNnk468FqMav84N9WqxZIjdhtgeYk-dM1FRz5wIeSMkqp62e8PA4sHp2gXT-BuYzP8L4nVT3s3SZHMEnFLbY6z4_6pEWyH7QieTxEkGB3P_IAbX7rfqP-9sPc2wtywKm-s/s320/DSCN2893.JPG" border="0" /></a>K</span>) <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264268951106263090" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG9JOd6clJHAph3ZzS4MfdbotTGMK7MM81dOMsrp3wK8AxgxqsLCygwRU-1WOVKqYqChkwyxHrgUBGtF9BwvCTFTuqNiGazrsJmVfzUSAHsCXnnLGJImL7aMFy2EYIshrvUh73IhkjDbW/s320/DSCN2884.JPG" border="0" /> </div><div></div><div>The Devil and the Beauty Queen (how Apropo)</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Beware the TWEEN FROM HELL!!</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Miss Alaska, I mean Arizona (2020)</div><div><br /></div><div></div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDRUFs_y-_gnjujZhdFI7hSNtVEmMIJCApneZX1pOVdxOWXH6pjsQYC90zgHhP5koI-XzoijeE3bizZ8fhUMgi-dIoJSDT9GO7_Lu_X7GlITrPeTT4DSLl-toWHmJtIqc2znSrAfaPFpM/s1600-h/DSCN2883.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264268716490577426" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 256px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 322px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDRUFs_y-_gnjujZhdFI7hSNtVEmMIJCApneZX1pOVdxOWXH6pjsQYC90zgHhP5koI-XzoijeE3bizZ8fhUMgi-dIoJSDT9GO7_Lu_X7GlITrPeTT4DSLl-toWHmJtIqc2znSrAfaPFpM/s320/DSCN2883.JPG" border="0" /></a>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-42199692803690037782008-10-27T23:30:00.000-07:002008-10-27T23:35:32.603-07:00Rhetorical Question<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPmSI1wmV3dXwSK259U_4K0hqoE8F1Sb8WrjksAWJpeNfhgT32-dtRZelAk7IPFQ5PrwsKQ1ww67jCrgryorWk84qw1GcoquMT5NAm1s4qiGlvt4vPD0bDjeXvxMKq6SFYSPZo60aSppQ/s1600-h/Wine%2520Glass%2520-%2520Red.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262088951036409778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPmSI1wmV3dXwSK259U_4K0hqoE8F1Sb8WrjksAWJpeNfhgT32-dtRZelAk7IPFQ5PrwsKQ1ww67jCrgryorWk84qw1GcoquMT5NAm1s4qiGlvt4vPD0bDjeXvxMKq6SFYSPZo60aSppQ/s320/Wine%2520Glass%2520-%2520Red.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Is it wrong to drink wine while watching "Celebrity Rehab with Dr.Drew Pinsky?"</div><br /><p> please comment...</p><p>(PS please vote for who is the craziest. i'm torn between Kenickie and Buddy Holly, although how many drugs do you have to do to get kicked out of Guns and Roses? again, rhetorical...)</p>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-81769200534007902522008-10-22T23:59:00.000-07:002008-10-23T17:40:22.920-07:00Happy 12th Birthday Abigail Catherine<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAEg_cWSbGMtotJcoBrhV8zgpgqwIkdpo5TU_bkxfOdjc1A9IZbUBeb3EAvFyaxUXewJAyO9yygJ2xIyivKDtBQdL207bVxrgj_rJXk6apfebRDMFUbHVeXvkmiapD7lnITb_fzcQYISt/s1600-h/DSCN2712.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260469285743686242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAEg_cWSbGMtotJcoBrhV8zgpgqwIkdpo5TU_bkxfOdjc1A9IZbUBeb3EAvFyaxUXewJAyO9yygJ2xIyivKDtBQdL207bVxrgj_rJXk6apfebRDMFUbHVeXvkmiapD7lnITb_fzcQYISt/s200/DSCN2712.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37JNcGrYBWQY96d81gMSqcfhjEGQVyTiSXbKSdVXrpTGscKmE-CMTZt1YBEyvPmlysyhfZPiTTlf1WsyR3WrJnbXD1PMYDTEQ60DKBZzeys6aj8NbU5Zdsf-KGlMKpm7UFG5sQFnAr2uU/s1600-h/DSCN2692.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260459755217518258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37JNcGrYBWQY96d81gMSqcfhjEGQVyTiSXbKSdVXrpTGscKmE-CMTZt1YBEyvPmlysyhfZPiTTlf1WsyR3WrJnbXD1PMYDTEQ60DKBZzeys6aj8NbU5Zdsf-KGlMKpm7UFG5sQFnAr2uU/s400/DSCN2692.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Oh my Abbie. How did you get so much attitude into 12 short years? How can you know how to change every setting on my cell phone yet not know how to cut your own steak? How did you get to be almost as tall as me (no mean feat) and such a beautiful girl? Ten minutes ago you were 3, Now you're stealing my hair products. How can you be so sweet and so sassy at the same time? How can you possibly think that I have bad taste in clothes? How can I be walking around all day humming a Jonas Brothers song and not realize it? How on earth do you text so fast? How can you love a kitty that much? And last but not least, HOW CAN YOU BE TWELVE? ALREADY? I just gave birth to you, right? (18 hours of petocin, no epidural and a seven stitch episiotomy, for a FIVE POUND BABY-THAT I GAINED 50 POUNDS FOR!) Have a happy happy birthday honey, I hope your party on Friday is fun!!</div></div><br /><div>i love you with all my heart, always...even if i don't show it sometimes.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-lpBec1NwK70pP1x3PQxnE6YLXoM5C5V3J06jW_MN47i9xnEXdVvUOwTMl1zjhygy_UnVScAVO9-5NWd_nQdqgfbIh5cFpGIUJQYg9NgOhyGJ-NUmjApQOATVvpqJ6byARRK9rm4drAL/s1600-h/DSCN2685.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260469705194782642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-lpBec1NwK70pP1x3PQxnE6YLXoM5C5V3J06jW_MN47i9xnEXdVvUOwTMl1zjhygy_UnVScAVO9-5NWd_nQdqgfbIh5cFpGIUJQYg9NgOhyGJ-NUmjApQOATVvpqJ6byARRK9rm4drAL/s320/DSCN2685.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0XqqTlIpnE4Ghp9HMpxVDoACpxhyPHYBzbkimA4mM-Xy0q8d5GH2ANP7_WH_R-yblgCCBqc0Y9sW7naz-fBSrmjrluOoSCSyrhwkzkgnz4sfL3rmwdpq_vcGNGzScBHK2ao0Lf4jlDta/s1600-h/DSCN2701.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260471671731738306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 245px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 331px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0XqqTlIpnE4Ghp9HMpxVDoACpxhyPHYBzbkimA4mM-Xy0q8d5GH2ANP7_WH_R-yblgCCBqc0Y9sW7naz-fBSrmjrluOoSCSyrhwkzkgnz4sfL3rmwdpq_vcGNGzScBHK2ao0Lf4jlDta/s320/DSCN2701.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-11639040362278782072008-10-20T22:55:00.001-07:002008-10-21T00:51:39.394-07:00If My life Were A SitCom<div><div> If my life were a sit com it would've jumped the shark a long time ago. Predictable plot lines, annoying recurrent characters, and generally, stuff that just doesn't happen in real life. All of these things usually occur in the last season or two of what was once a great show. We used to be a great show now we're just OK. As with any sit com worth it's salt every episode has an A story and a B story running concurrently. Today was one of those days, so here it goes.<br /></div><br /><div>Story A. Liz and Marty's 17th (yes that's right kids 17th) Wedding Anniversary. Some of you may wonder given our current state of war, why would I want to commemorate such an occasion? Well if I do say so myself, our wedding was GREAT, the marriage not so much...(JK) It was the kind of wedding you dream of, the kind where everyone and their brother comes and they all have a great time and talk about afterwards- for years. For a while there we were the wedding to beat, the bar, the standard by which the next few would be measured until someone topped it. And someone always did, in the Tri State Area anyway. It should have been great we paid enough for it. Sorry I mean MY PARENTS paid enough for it (happy Mom?). We paid for the band($5000), which is what made it so much fun, the photographer($3000), and the Rolls Royce ($750), which a total of 10 people saw us in including my wedding party and the photographer because I was 45 minutes late (surprised?) to the ceremony. I loved my wedding day, it was the most fun I've ever had in painfully restrictive underwear and a tiara. I'm sure my second wedding won't even come close.(JK) Besides almost everyone who attended is either dead or divorced. On that day when we were young and (foolish, and) in love we promised for better or worse, for richer or poorer, to love and to cherish till death due us part. Seventeen long years later I'm still waiting on better, richer, and cherish...oh, and death. (JK)<br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpHejkxE3Umw_kmUpxAiJD0gnwHnoJq9ZqLFNyGhrQCXk7my5ygncfKbHpr1XrBx0cg07kXHlWjYaaaoMawlQLDdeRog8VEN0g1TWUKtzp3rjpbRyRooMVgyo_oFM1NnKbTvgEzeze9oM/s1600-h/scan0001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259488015197377490" style="WIDTH: 178px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 183px" height="191" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpHejkxE3Umw_kmUpxAiJD0gnwHnoJq9ZqLFNyGhrQCXk7my5ygncfKbHpr1XrBx0cg07kXHlWjYaaaoMawlQLDdeRog8VEN0g1TWUKtzp3rjpbRyRooMVgyo_oFM1NnKbTvgEzeze9oM/s200/scan0001.jpg" width="178" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlyCyc61lrOUObadqOPQShLiFfidjy8_5MsWUif-WzeadK8MN6coXktVPdRucRCNLpXytX4AV-xL_TycvvdwbV6_XZw3QRLjmWXEBCXPP5WPAoZzUOaeQdhhXY0a-v378o8dRhHS9MZFkP/s1600-h/scan0005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259488440779484034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlyCyc61lrOUObadqOPQShLiFfidjy8_5MsWUif-WzeadK8MN6coXktVPdRucRCNLpXytX4AV-xL_TycvvdwbV6_XZw3QRLjmWXEBCXPP5WPAoZzUOaeQdhhXY0a-v378o8dRhHS9MZFkP/s200/scan0005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEils7eMQkbN7YZIKMMERzn6ldnEjmaytscMgWj9_dLO8JSEEtFzKNsu7b6dyC0mv8YbEEC-PsKmIu0pJjv0fVLan3gaYqVZnNfnuyx0Y2pnwcY4EBUpvqWpNrOmFB2GBTEgG0Y8l_-gqacG/s1600-h/scan0004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259489006583937698" style="WIDTH: 140px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 197px" height="197" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEils7eMQkbN7YZIKMMERzn6ldnEjmaytscMgWj9_dLO8JSEEtFzKNsu7b6dyC0mv8YbEEC-PsKmIu0pJjv0fVLan3gaYqVZnNfnuyx0Y2pnwcY4EBUpvqWpNrOmFB2GBTEgG0Y8l_-gqacG/s200/scan0004.jpg" width="116" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm76N8Xria0Ph7SQdGsC_l3QgSZZKMRtyNFAIFKahV7OszXMqb6hR_RaaXh3ARDUBU4O_7gjg6MMhfUhS3jbcP6JMsJOh9X9Av9fsQ-5S9DfaSO3jLv3V7wVrjtNLvQx7z5mrJALwT2WSj/s1600-h/scan0002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259488257417546850" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm76N8Xria0Ph7SQdGsC_l3QgSZZKMRtyNFAIFKahV7OszXMqb6hR_RaaXh3ARDUBU4O_7gjg6MMhfUhS3jbcP6JMsJOh9X9Av9fsQ-5S9DfaSO3jLv3V7wVrjtNLvQx7z5mrJALwT2WSj/s200/scan0002.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_r8c7VOena0wrhoYc3VAAEL_4FldLBA1K_2QkAKEtbE9ij6vtuTinwd79YVTWct2DmnBWZ24S0C0qY7AOrZBBedKQwplcd2Eczzywy1YAWd2NesVx7BaU-cmVUyy3T5_wWYTPI8ndfyj/s1600-h/scan0003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259488337924879106" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_r8c7VOena0wrhoYc3VAAEL_4FldLBA1K_2QkAKEtbE9ij6vtuTinwd79YVTWct2DmnBWZ24S0C0qY7AOrZBBedKQwplcd2Eczzywy1YAWd2NesVx7BaU-cmVUyy3T5_wWYTPI8ndfyj/s200/scan0003.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><div>the theme is go big or go home Danny Tanner eat your heart out</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>So this being an awfully high number of years to be married I figured I'd better check the Hallmark gift guide for anniversary gifts by year. This is what it said</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Anniversary Gift Guide<br />Anniversary<br />Traditional<br />Modern<br />1st<br />Paper<br />Clocks<br />2nd<br />Cotton<br />China<br />3rd<br />Leather<br />Crystal & Glass<br />4th<br />Linen (silk)<br />Electrical Appliances<br />5th<br />Wood<br />Silverware<br />6th<br />Iron<br />Wood<br />7th<br />Wool (copper)<br />Desk Sets<br />8th<br />Bronze<br />Linens & Lace<br />9th<br />Pottery (china)<br />Leather<br />10th<br />Tin (aluminum)<br />Diamond Jewelry<br />11th<br />Steel<br />Fashion Jewelry, Accessories<br />12th<br />Silk<br />Pearls, Colored Gems<br />13th<br />Lace<br />Textiles & Furs<br />14th<br />Ivory<br />Gold Jewelry<br />15th<br />Crystal<br />Watches<br />20th<br />China<br />Platinum<br />25th<br />Silver<br />Sterling Silver Jubilee</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>As you can see there is a gap between 15 and 20. The years when so many marriages often bite the dust. My husband being the innovator that he is has come up with the only logical conclusion for year 17.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flowers from Albertsons (rubber band included)</div><br /><div>Ya gotta love him, Cheap yet still gets credit for being "thoughtful"...not fair.</div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWM89H0Yew0aqkI96ma7xrhSEsSxdkHW7tYtJyIJWxpxH59B7hqf4V8wnix5vZ7OKH4dLcZEHN0Ne_zjfx7YJsDJabGQIxQeKWvNu3aEwEfge5hfAx7t2OG34WmunnYiK2og7vgSOhGzqs/s1600-h/DSCN2683.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259495794750798338" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 201px" height="202" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWM89H0Yew0aqkI96ma7xrhSEsSxdkHW7tYtJyIJWxpxH59B7hqf4V8wnix5vZ7OKH4dLcZEHN0Ne_zjfx7YJsDJabGQIxQeKWvNu3aEwEfge5hfAx7t2OG34WmunnYiK2og7vgSOhGzqs/s200/DSCN2683.JPG" width="150" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>by the way I know I've already lost half of you...sorry for the long post, but isn't it sooo worth it?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Story B. My friend Lisa is Mormon, in fact 98% of my friends in Arizona are Mormons, I however am not. I was brought up Italian (old school) Catholic in suburban New York and I married a "nice Jewish boy" from Brooklyn and we settled in, of course, Gilbert, Arizona with steeples as far as the eye can see. People sometimes ask us if we're in the Witness Protection Program because we stick out like a sore thumb. See what I mean sit com, right? Anyway, Lisa had to give a talk in church yesterday about "finding joy in the journey" and she kind of used me and Marty as examples. Over the years my family and I have attended every LDS ward function you can possibly imagine. In fact, I'm surprised I don't have a freakin' calling. I'm down with my Mormon peeps, I know all the lingo, I know about the garments, I totally understand why Green Tea yes, Macchiato no. They've been trying to crack our nut for years but we haven't budged (too much religious guilt, I think). Years ago the Bishop in our ward (see how good I am) sent some lovely female missionaries to our home in Mesa to discuss the LDS church with us. They talked about faith and family and then brought up eternal life, that's when they lost him (Marty). He (Marty) wanted to know what the Mormon church was going to do for him on earth "right now" (proceeding to slap the back of his hand inside the other as if David Mamet himself wrote the line) and "what could you offer us if we became a member today?". I will never know if he was looking for a guarantee get into heaven free card or perhaps a free stay at a time share in Utah. All I know is they looked like a couple of deer caught in headlights and said "Well, we have to go now, but if you have any service projects like pulling weeds, give us a call, Bye!". I swear they left skidmarks. Needless to say no missionaries ever came back to our house in Mesa.</div><br /><div>I see them all the time on their bicycles in heat and I feel so sorry for them having to ride around all day just to talk to jerks like us. That is truly God's work. I guess they HAVE to find joy in the journey. Whatever that means, my journey lately has had very little joy. My poor dad has been very sick with cancer and it is putting a real damper on all things happy right now. Also financial problems are always fun.(JK) Oh and let's not forget the 40 or so pounds I have managed to find. I have had a distinct feeling lately that something is missing in my life. I have tried to replace it with many things, shoes, coffee, potato chips, wine, xanax etc. (notice I didn't say exercise), but none of it is working anymore. Today my girls wanted to play with Lisa's girls so she drove them to my house and stayed to chat for a while. As we were sitting there discussing her talk in church and what a reverent Mormon she was on Sunday (You see she resisted the urge to go see her lifetime crush, RICK SPRINGFIELD, who was playing in Chandler only 5 short miles from her house and if you know Lisa you know what a big deal that is), when my doorbell rang. I opened the door and I said "Lisa come here, did you have anything to do with this?" Standing in my doorway were two very weary looking LDS Missionaries, so we had to ask them come in so we could give them each a bottle of water and explain why we were laughing. Well, it turns out they were actually in Lisa's ward yesterday and they heard her talk, she explained to them that we were the family in the story and they couldn't believe it. They were just randomly walking the neighborhood and came upon our house. They said "we noticed you're not members", and I said "not yet they're still working on me, 9 years later". The nice boys left their number and I promised to call. Our family is definitely a "work in progress" right now, maybe someday we will find some joy in our journey though.</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259508803521019202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC0S_pN1kTx4ZvkTgqcaKulxbme8CVe2vUiy-J6WMXOE71cQ34QzT5LNAa2CTm2Hza7CRPT2dOJnBJk6B81y58szt4QDZqvwSv_MoFUqdIwJNe7vEW08WZwFl8gAIBR4uWJMhExlN7DaYo/s200/DSCN2679.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div></div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-58111366676110661662008-10-12T23:20:00.000-07:002008-10-13T09:20:31.062-07:0010 Things I Cannot Ask Yahoo Answers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKqBZOLuuy3actxpJperCn-abrKAjSnJeEomqTBLoRBpszoo0_40bEVlH2iZja9-GpJGA0HgPyjMj6Ql4fNXmPI9BoeU0_2fUQ7po3_ZPuc7B3zgig94mvV3DqjVmcOL8FboF63B3iRqr/s1600-h/DSCN2634.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256525784036268722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKqBZOLuuy3actxpJperCn-abrKAjSnJeEomqTBLoRBpszoo0_40bEVlH2iZja9-GpJGA0HgPyjMj6Ql4fNXmPI9BoeU0_2fUQ7po3_ZPuc7B3zgig94mvV3DqjVmcOL8FboF63B3iRqr/s320/DSCN2634.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>1. Does my pinky toe look broken to you?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>2. How bad do I need a pedicure?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>3. If I go to urgent care, what can they do for a broken toe anyway that doesn't involve tape?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>4. Shouldn't I just take the $50 and buy a cute new pair of fall shoes to wear when my toe feels better?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>5. How does a 40 year old woman with no athletic inclinations whatsoever break two (2) toes on the same foot in 6 weeks. (true story)</div><br /><br /><br /><div>6. Why do they call it a black and blue when it is clearly purple and yellow?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>7. Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of your own foot with an auto focus camera?</div><br /><br /><br /><div>8. Why is it suddenly so inexplicably cold in Arizona? (I have the answer to this one. Liz broke her toe and needs to wear flip flops instead of real socks and shoes and will no doubt run into Stacey and Clinton from "What Not To Wear"in Safeway.)</div><br /><br /><br /><div>9. Why don't children close a closet door before they leave a darkened room? </div><br /><br /><br /><div>10.Why doesn't anyone link me on their blog? (I know,I know, totally irrelevant but ponderous nonetheless...maybe I'm trying too hard?)</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-2191635682113414202008-10-08T16:18:00.000-07:002008-10-11T02:25:43.876-07:00Happy Birthday Uncle Joey<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4sQQ7GsRU7BqaYqZnXFXrzFkh55O-0vVBn21BngJYd17pZkczWdfUdlKVBLUsBaVyf9fO8471RbTgQjeSlIdBhE01OSv3RNZVd792fesTZpB1MuwmlB3cWX5KMLOEoBy31jz61T-ZsIv/s1600-h/of=50,590,442%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255824754466380034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4sQQ7GsRU7BqaYqZnXFXrzFkh55O-0vVBn21BngJYd17pZkczWdfUdlKVBLUsBaVyf9fO8471RbTgQjeSlIdBhE01OSv3RNZVd792fesTZpB1MuwmlB3cWX5KMLOEoBy31jz61T-ZsIv/s320/of=50,590,442%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Happy 38th Birthday Bro!</div><br /><div>Coolest birthday present ever...a future first round draft pick!hope you have a happy, love liz</div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-5496980034777197732008-09-25T22:24:00.000-07:002008-09-26T11:10:56.846-07:00Happy Birthday Dominic<span style="font-size:130%;">Happy Actual Birth Day</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Dominic Joseph Nicita</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjw5qdnYIXBZofu2RxIdMdWt6YMBtmsrxFi2A_uRX2UzmKbTmMegtmOIATEVOJQ8JwK_Y6NoIQDoZ8rDY6xfflTUdQ9Ha1u8Lcvst-iPURp-sbQsVaCiQ6OhAijthF-S54mHFoEmzOU3mV/s1600-h/DSCN2533.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250392238349147698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjw5qdnYIXBZofu2RxIdMdWt6YMBtmsrxFi2A_uRX2UzmKbTmMegtmOIATEVOJQ8JwK_Y6NoIQDoZ8rDY6xfflTUdQ9Ha1u8Lcvst-iPURp-sbQsVaCiQ6OhAijthF-S54mHFoEmzOU3mV/s320/DSCN2533.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99nof8sdX5gUFfldMmw2azBoGkeRci8HfN7v5UcMR2F0vaulS5-8qfIOUcFO7g8Wuprc2k85TWN8OPWb0UvK321eOWyfKrQrGc-35Bik9DGC-Vi-dZsFgUu0Lw4OulebJBWMu-JpoH9Mr/s1600-h/DSCN2537.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250383919535343778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99nof8sdX5gUFfldMmw2azBoGkeRci8HfN7v5UcMR2F0vaulS5-8qfIOUcFO7g8Wuprc2k85TWN8OPWb0UvK321eOWyfKrQrGc-35Bik9DGC-Vi-dZsFgUu0Lw4OulebJBWMu-JpoH9Mr/s320/DSCN2537.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> He's really teeny (6lbs. 19in) but he's cute, he has reddish blond curly hair and we can't tell yet who he looks like. He was born September 25, 2008 at 7:45am and Mom (Lisa), Dad (Joe) and baby are all doing fine. Big Sister Josie can't wait to see him. Oh, by the way my brother is Joe Nicita and he (Dominic) is my one and only brand-new nephew. My parents finally have a Grandson after 12 years of Granddaughters! I just hope he likes sports, come to think of it, I don't think he has a choice in the matter...Welcome to the Nicita Family, little man, where we put the "fun" in dysfunctional!!mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-27418044357575558912008-09-23T12:32:00.000-07:002008-09-23T13:33:10.982-07:00Happy Birthday Mom<span style="font-size:180%;">Happy Birthday Cathy, time sure flies when you're having fun, and flies even faster when you're not!</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JoMfuGCpkAvoqWnk9b0DcnC6sWFgCzO40IOkxPuJuzxQQYqIgG7holYqVFsLo3G0OABD4mLIZous1gGSpkbXyPjCXt9I0YEPZw9SNouw1ujCD7aXJYlsJNOu_7EF0HAjyDG0Hex9Ovx_/s1600-h/scan0001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249303345059166594" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JoMfuGCpkAvoqWnk9b0DcnC6sWFgCzO40IOkxPuJuzxQQYqIgG7holYqVFsLo3G0OABD4mLIZous1gGSpkbXyPjCXt9I0YEPZw9SNouw1ujCD7aXJYlsJNOu_7EF0HAjyDG0Hex9Ovx_/s320/scan0001.jpg" border="0" /></a>1948<br />This is my Mom, she is the very definition of a homemaker. She is part Martha Stewart, part Livia Soprano, all Marie Barone (TV references). She loves to cook large family dinners and bake awesome birthday cakes, she also loves to complain about doing it so the proper amount of guilt is acheived through "love".<br />There she is in all her glory...if you only knew her insane aversion to boogers you would find this picture hilarious!<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249303346617759746" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXz2Q9OJ0b8NJBWi_EE6kUu9sCwsCmjKKddkc8NMsTBzL6H-76wT5A2iCXRTajGYqpdGwV5EB7wAO34B1_JAuYxtzQkJLVfCNoUinDOQAN7aRg9iXP3dSXtdaVUpfRSE147JNKvlEyq_fE/s320/scan0002.jpg" border="0" />1991<br />My wedding day, her mantra was WWMD (what would Martha (Stewart) do?). Can you say Momzilla? And how much do you love our ginormous hair?<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWeiqaw-ecp_mrEy9ej429C1UOVP0M6mj-bB6eQHh6ex1Q0FwGYGOv3iQnkwibWaSDz4B_SRzFF_vlXY0uMoGMJuZfgfN_zTEIRWPhxX91e4a0Dkw7wHjbfGC1Nt543jG0Il7OX1VpTDD/s1600-h/scan0003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249303348234918258" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWeiqaw-ecp_mrEy9ej429C1UOVP0M6mj-bB6eQHh6ex1Q0FwGYGOv3iQnkwibWaSDz4B_SRzFF_vlXY0uMoGMJuZfgfN_zTEIRWPhxX91e4a0Dkw7wHjbfGC1Nt543jG0Il7OX1VpTDD/s320/scan0003.jpg" border="0" /></a>1969<br />This picture cracks me up. She seriously thought she was Jacqueline Kennedy, and by the way this is the one and only time in my life I have been in public in a bikini.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfJWFNHaKpa3FyoV0e9nNkmeBPxRemqP8A8P51LQOJr7UGZmW7cye4VJCF9ulna5v0tp2F_vpBwxl3lt3xtmFOua3w0hb2ALaWO7aPQWNqOztJ6TvEWF0S4OuesCVuMmbd8FfQdmVcP8x/s1600-h/scan0005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249303357621234162" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfJWFNHaKpa3FyoV0e9nNkmeBPxRemqP8A8P51LQOJr7UGZmW7cye4VJCF9ulna5v0tp2F_vpBwxl3lt3xtmFOua3w0hb2ALaWO7aPQWNqOztJ6TvEWF0S4OuesCVuMmbd8FfQdmVcP8x/s320/scan0005.jpg" border="0" /></a> 1995<br />Shopping in Venice...possibly our most memorable day together. Before Grandchildren of course!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrO6y_OyyVQgm00nH3Q6t11VViYpKtItnN0IZN7nWnnoDuacgzWYnUdSGh-pXWNbMz-RweEDsdLwfYNlm1lb5VgFEsdq9pF5df7xpnmYTiWWgSd8tst9lGPvUb6jjycWmyPWFpseInCBQC/s1600-h/scan0004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249313675425518098" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrO6y_OyyVQgm00nH3Q6t11VViYpKtItnN0IZN7nWnnoDuacgzWYnUdSGh-pXWNbMz-RweEDsdLwfYNlm1lb5VgFEsdq9pF5df7xpnmYTiWWgSd8tst9lGPvUb6jjycWmyPWFpseInCBQC/s320/scan0004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />sighing...get it? (the bridge of sighs)<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2GuHksqWZtesvOpDJVA8hJmJO7fbBciM-0s3fMoPPRO06l_8OsZksC-5gff-6BcyjULefnVg-ml1cCcOi2a8v4-oZ7gJcmm-LLkZxVyUCNhwHrfeOFMWQWmdlyfos0-Rz-6WLod4OWpYL/s1600-h/of=50,590,442[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249306050535247218" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2GuHksqWZtesvOpDJVA8hJmJO7fbBciM-0s3fMoPPRO06l_8OsZksC-5gff-6BcyjULefnVg-ml1cCcOi2a8v4-oZ7gJcmm-LLkZxVyUCNhwHrfeOFMWQWmdlyfos0-Rz-6WLod4OWpYL/s320/of=50,590,442%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a> 2007<br /><br />The girls in little Italy NYC on our way to Chinatown to buy fake bags!<br />I wish we could all go to Paesano's tonight for a Birthday dinner!!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE49MB-foJTEPtpkZz3e1NnLxvmtaBrS_O479IA2SJgDyXrBWGxwDoKyGpmRiMGiDKJlNkvNVXNoJL65LGtzrGqz-krz8BTpdKpBHBB6BZAAcYN_QpsraiKxHcZkfvThwL_tqPrAC6ALlG/s1600-h/of=50,332,442[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249306046120597442" style="CURSOR: hand" height="320" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE49MB-foJTEPtpkZz3e1NnLxvmtaBrS_O479IA2SJgDyXrBWGxwDoKyGpmRiMGiDKJlNkvNVXNoJL65LGtzrGqz-krz8BTpdKpBHBB6BZAAcYN_QpsraiKxHcZkfvThwL_tqPrAC6ALlG/s320/of=50,332,442%5B1%5D.jpg" width="227" border="0" /></a> Sept 2008<br /><br />Grandma and her girls, pretty soon she'll have another little gift, a grandson (and thus an heir is born).<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Hope you have a Happy Birthday Mom, I'll always remember those three little words you taught me growing up FOOD IS LOVE. So let's do lunch soon, love liz</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-90904183073871948652008-09-22T22:41:00.003-07:002008-09-23T13:57:22.596-07:00Rachel Rose's 9th Birthday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOknBraOXH6l6nGutB9bJE-5kL-hIg1HoX21XICNX-sLAZHCU5VGMnvSpDhzaMSjHA_9b7Op9-pJ9DjaYCcG_AeKL_oZhYbBL7k1hhfjcwBWQ1gfxH4ADG5FUEq6EjUlUudLLbKT0yMdYF/s1600-h/DSCN2513.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249301285282776050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOknBraOXH6l6nGutB9bJE-5kL-hIg1HoX21XICNX-sLAZHCU5VGMnvSpDhzaMSjHA_9b7Op9-pJ9DjaYCcG_AeKL_oZhYbBL7k1hhfjcwBWQ1gfxH4ADG5FUEq6EjUlUudLLbKT0yMdYF/s320/DSCN2513.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>My little Rachel. I cannot believe she is 9 today. Maybe because she only weighs 40 lbs. or possibly because she still can't ride a two wheel bicycle (don't tell anyone), but it seems as if she was just born yesterday and 3 weeks later we moved here to Arizona. She is such an Arizona girl, she gets cold when it gets below 75 degrees and she never ever has on shoes. She wouldn't last 5 minutes in New York, she needs her sunshine. She is super high maintanence, but we love her anyway and I just wanted to say I love you very much and I'm sooooo glad you had a Happy Birthday.</div><div> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249091037261835426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLoY2KPdVyJpcI-t9jj9VaUr6op-ECFl0xkU0P1SA8Q8dbu0g1dXCy0fHvd4clmuHhn4v0xXKcJWXhdygCtJ806SdPxH9TYqyy322rC4EMIdgJw8f_3S8fwHpjJx751j_QnxmUQZvxT_V/s320/rachel+1.jpg" border="0" /></div></div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-43510237866770866852008-09-09T01:44:00.001-07:002008-09-22T22:56:57.768-07:00i need a blog lesson...so much for the large fontmommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-74156834144684449152008-09-09T01:06:00.000-07:002008-09-22T22:56:31.231-07:00"e" the only letter not on sale<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT-YffMAHp5wK5_oV1Zsf9QOCLVidFnhmwIWv5JfnxYgVtNswHKQCVCsT3MPf31YGQTCCfZkWDg-KyPCnGoEzGaISQ7hprthTIXOSAkHxOdpiuyUI1XiGKv6FubXQkrrb5UEzFu-N_JHH/s1600-h/Emilee%2520Beth%2520Legge%2520sm.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249084612516960194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT-YffMAHp5wK5_oV1Zsf9QOCLVidFnhmwIWv5JfnxYgVtNswHKQCVCsT3MPf31YGQTCCfZkWDg-KyPCnGoEzGaISQ7hprthTIXOSAkHxOdpiuyUI1XiGKv6FubXQkrrb5UEzFu-N_JHH/s200/Emilee%2520Beth%2520Legge%2520sm.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I have decided to start posting in large font, partly because I am older and can't see anymore and partly because it looks better... I really don't have anything to say other than today my day mostly consisted of a series of futile efforts, all of them useless, some of them amusing. I went for an ultrasound to confirm or deny the presence of ovarian cysts (fun huh) and to have a CA-125 blood test due to family history. Then I proceeded to Target to purchase birthday party invitations for Rachel (her 3rd consecutive Hannah Montana party) for a date we still can't agree on. While I was in Target I spied some positively cute note cards with an initial on them. Should the good lord strike me dead if I am lying, but as I live and breathe every other letter of the alphabet "note card" was marked down from $3.99 to $1.50 except "E". I thought "this must be an oversight, or posssibly, a joke. I took the notecards with the rest of my purchases to the check out counter and explained my tale of woe. The unsympathetic sales clerk reiterated the sales price as $3.99 and was not into my story at all...needless to say I did not not buy the perfectly cute note cards, as I could not bring myself to buy into the discrimination they implied. A day in the life of Liz!! Don't you wish you were me...</div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-614439997467133025.post-71456458310144491962008-09-02T17:40:00.000-07:002008-09-23T13:54:48.937-07:00Seriously? Progress Reports?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2U4Xsfqk9QNA8F-tUfRygSlUKVXoKqLQvmvkhqZ7Sd6OU5LxoIZOXDu9kFDn2BrUbCt53sdI-1rUp5cBIaW13Ig6ssE21vImBDbk62LcDhyXqshgR6E1NvmRT28nTw0rCOW7XDbjC6Zoj/s1600-h/of=50,590,442%5B1%5D_(2).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249083422759363202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2U4Xsfqk9QNA8F-tUfRygSlUKVXoKqLQvmvkhqZ7Sd6OU5LxoIZOXDu9kFDn2BrUbCt53sdI-1rUp5cBIaW13Ig6ssE21vImBDbk62LcDhyXqshgR6E1NvmRT28nTw0rCOW7XDbjC6Zoj/s200/of=50,590,442%5B1%5D_(2).jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>This Friday my girls brought home of all things, progress reports!! Didn't school just start like the day before yesterday? Where is my life going? I am very happy to say that both of them did beautifully (much to my surprise)! We're talking A's and B's...WOW...Awesome Abbie and Rachie, keep it up, you're doing great! I guess this is a good a time as any to post our "First Day of School" pictures considering the semester is already half over. I can't believe how fast this year is going by. They've already taken school pictures, and have had to replace a backpack (too much 6th grade homework). </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlp39SzwHjmwnhEozqJYYeCzrEFr_o7VNqNb1X2rOURA48j2Lf37hNEddE0gyaxVupJ52LNC3XCyaTRmv2105PsJxt73SWeHghR3N8UOyVzHDculPcjsT0CK32S2DdGGmlpTK9ZZIMpzF/s1600-h/of=50,332,442%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249083415289706418" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 146px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 194px" height="193" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlp39SzwHjmwnhEozqJYYeCzrEFr_o7VNqNb1X2rOURA48j2Lf37hNEddE0gyaxVupJ52LNC3XCyaTRmv2105PsJxt73SWeHghR3N8UOyVzHDculPcjsT0CK32S2DdGGmlpTK9ZZIMpzF/s200/of=50,332,442%5B1%5D.jpg" width="146" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>We are now officially in "birthday season" in our family. It started this weekend with my niece Josie's 2nd birthday party (Barney theme...how retro of her) which included a bounce house and a sno-cone machine, FUN!! Rachel's is next on the 22nd of this month and we are in the planning stages of the Birthday Extravaganza, I hope the guest list isn't too long. I'll let you know soon since the invites have to go out within the next week.</div>mommylizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16743774908776499482noreply@blogger.com0