<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554</id><updated>2012-02-16T02:51:59.784-08:00</updated><title type='text'>There's A Worm In My Nose</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-5118044820399964546</id><published>2010-01-22T18:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-22T18:58:23.302-08:00</updated><title type='text'>WATER FIGHT!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>You know what happens when your husband is home ALL day EVERY day?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Tension.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pj9bb5CoI/AAAAAAAAAK0/9u8cM-mHeMQ/s1600-h/11949849061349451324high_tension_danger_yve_r.svg.med.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 183px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pj9bb5CoI/AAAAAAAAAK0/9u8cM-mHeMQ/s200/11949849061349451324high_tension_danger_yve_r.svg.med.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429762207736466050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter how much you like each other, no matter how well you are getting along, there is an underlying tension. You don't want him to mess up your routine, you don't want him to be bored, you don't want him to be discouraged, you definitely don't want him to start down the depression road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Timm has been home since November. We've been down this road before and it's been ugly at times. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;This&lt;/span&gt; time has been pretty good. We haven't let it get us down too much. We've even had some fun, not bad at all. This week has been an *eh* week though. We are tired and we're sick of being in the house. We've had some fun distractions, but it all comes swooping back as soon as the fun is over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today&lt;/span&gt; has been a long day. Nobody fighting or anything, just long and a bit boring. Dinner time came around I grudgingly made tacos. Dinner conversation was lacking, (not much to talk about when you are with each other 24 hours a day) nobody had any news. Timm started in with the teasing and I'm telling you I just wasn't in the mood. He kept at it though and every time it was aimed at me he would just smile and giggle. He just wasn't catching the death looks &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; he just didn't care. So after a few minutes of this I really just felt like dumping my cup of water on his head. I decided that was a pretty bad idea so I sipped my water down until I only had an inch or so of water.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pjIGag31I/AAAAAAAAAKk/Dlh4mGIXAhM/s1600-h/blue_cup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pjIGag31I/AAAAAAAAAKk/Dlh4mGIXAhM/s200/blue_cup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429761291560476498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;then I dumped it on his head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't get much on him though, he knocked it out of my hands. He looked at me a little surprised, but laughed, so I dove for my cup, got a little more water and threw &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; on him. He grabbed Alison's water and threw it in my face. That was it, it was on. I raced him to the sink and started filling my cup. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pjIVjTJCI/AAAAAAAAAKs/T847D_ak8_I/s1600-h/kitchen_sink.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pjIVjTJCI/AAAAAAAAAKs/T847D_ak8_I/s200/kitchen_sink.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429761295623857186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We fought over the cups, just barely getting each other here and there. Then he put his hand over the faucet, spraying me in the face and I threw a cup of water over my shoulder. By the time it was all over we were both bent over laughing, we were both soaked to the bone and it took three towels to clean up the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   We now know that the best medicine for unemployed tension is a water fight. Who cares if it's winter? We had fun, the kids think we are crazy, and everybody is smiling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-5118044820399964546?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/5118044820399964546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=5118044820399964546' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/5118044820399964546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/5118044820399964546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2010/01/water-fight.html' title='WATER FIGHT!!!!!!'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S1pj9bb5CoI/AAAAAAAAAK0/9u8cM-mHeMQ/s72-c/11949849061349451324high_tension_danger_yve_r.svg.med.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-4388514069666106335</id><published>2009-08-28T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T13:22:27.109-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Andrew's Friend</title><content type='html'>We do most of our grocery shopping at Harmon's. Well, almost a year ago the whole family went to the store, except Andrew wasn't there. Crackers Bigpants was. One of the cashiers, an extremely nice boy named Tino, saw Crackers. Tino just loves that Andrew has almost no inhibitions and will go where ever he wants dressed as a clown and he told him that. He told him that he was so awesome and brave. That just tickled Crackers. Just before we had gone in he said, "I hope I don't scare anybody." He is always so thoughtful like that. Well Andrew and Tino soon became fast friends. Tino always gives Andrew big hugs and high fives. He has even let him scan the groceries. Here comes the sad part.... Tino is leaving soon. He is joining the Airforce, he hopes to be a medic. We wanted to make sure that we got a picture of Tino before he left and we know that he loves Andrew, but nothing makes him happier than seeing Crackers come into the store. (He has even told us that he has had horrible days, but all that changes when Andrew comes to visit.) So the next couple times we went to the store after we found out he was leaving we made sure to have Andrew's Crackers gear and a camera in the purse first. These are the pictures we got....&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Spg7_E26usI/AAAAAAAAAJk/Sovo9kIKoxA/s1600-h/100_1016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Spg7_E26usI/AAAAAAAAAJk/Sovo9kIKoxA/s320/100_1016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375112110088567490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Spg7_ou8HLI/AAAAAAAAAJs/7qSUOwp47Yg/s1600-h/100_1018.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Spg7_ou8HLI/AAAAAAAAAJs/7qSUOwp47Yg/s320/100_1018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375112119718780082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good luck Tino, we will sure miss you! Especially Andrew/Crackers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-4388514069666106335?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/4388514069666106335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=4388514069666106335' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/4388514069666106335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/4388514069666106335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/08/andrews-friend.html' title='Andrew&apos;s Friend'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Spg7_E26usI/AAAAAAAAAJk/Sovo9kIKoxA/s72-c/100_1016.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-3198070066355142152</id><published>2009-08-02T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T23:30:36.040-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yipiyuks</title><content type='html'>Alison is such a creative girl.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaC8EbMrAI/AAAAAAAAAJc/dn33a_XLXvQ/s1600-h/100_0347.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaC8EbMrAI/AAAAAAAAAJc/dn33a_XLXvQ/s320/100_0347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365619974550105090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I love the projects she comes up with and this is one of my favorites! Have you ever heard the poem Yipiyuk? it goes like this.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h1 style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;a name="_Toc451715654"&gt;The Yipiyuk by, Shel Silverstein&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;In the swamplands long ago,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where the weeds and mudglumps grow,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;A Yipiyuk bit on my toe…&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exactly why I do not know.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kicked and cried&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;And hollered “Oh”—&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Yipiyuk would not&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt; let go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;I whispered to him soft and low—&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Yipiyuk would not&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt; let go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shouted “Stop,”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt; “Desist” and “Whoa”—&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Yipiyuk would not let go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it was sixteen years ago,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Yipiyuk still won’t let go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The snow may fall,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The winds may blow—&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Yipiyuk will not let go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The snow may melt,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grass may grow—&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Yipiyuk will not let go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drag him ‘round each place I go.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Yipiyuk that won’t let go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;And now my child at last you know&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exactly why I walk so slow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                   Well Alison really liked this poem and has made herself a Yipiyuk bag. Just a drawstring bag full of modeling clay and doo dads (Yay! Finally a use for all those little things that she can't seem to part with). She makes these cute little creatures which she calls Yipiyuks out of the wonderful doo dads and clay that come from this bag. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBAB4nfOI/AAAAAAAAAIs/2iI9fEeGA2k/s1600-h/100_0202.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBAB4nfOI/AAAAAAAAAIs/2iI9fEeGA2k/s320/100_0202.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365617843564412130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Then, she pulls out a book, preferably my Planet Earth book, and finds a cool picture. Then, she takes pictures of the Yipiyuks in front of scenery from the books. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBA5os1vI/AAAAAAAAAI8/2maLJ-TNjWI/s1600-h/100_0329.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBA5os1vI/AAAAAAAAAI8/2maLJ-TNjWI/s320/100_0329.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365617858530039538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So cute right?&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaC7tamH4I/AAAAAAAAAJU/mKLlTJ-WrOo/s1600-h/100_0204.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaC7tamH4I/AAAAAAAAAJU/mKLlTJ-WrOo/s320/100_0204.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365619968373563266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBBNnKkdI/AAAAAAAAAJE/oUwfm7h_Wl8/s1600-h/100_0330.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBBNnKkdI/AAAAAAAAAJE/oUwfm7h_Wl8/s320/100_0330.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365617863892308434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(She let Jack make this next one, he called it "Uggy Ippy Uck")&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBBgQHpDI/AAAAAAAAAJM/cUAsas0hyEY/s1600-h/100_0331.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBBgQHpDI/AAAAAAAAAJM/cUAsas0hyEY/s320/100_0331.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365617868895921202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Are you off to make your own Yipiyuk now?&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBAlSJHOI/AAAAAAAAAI0/BwAC6bP7gAo/s1600-h/100_0328.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaBAlSJHOI/AAAAAAAAAI0/BwAC6bP7gAo/s320/100_0328.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365617853066714338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Maybe even a Yipiyuk bag?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-3198070066355142152?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/3198070066355142152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=3198070066355142152' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3198070066355142152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3198070066355142152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/08/yipiyuks.html' title='Yipiyuks'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SnaC8EbMrAI/AAAAAAAAAJc/dn33a_XLXvQ/s72-c/100_0347.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-3443917479795064197</id><published>2009-06-18T19:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T20:20:28.008-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ring Toss!</title><content type='html'>This is one of my most favorite games! I love it, it makes me laugh every time!&lt;br /&gt;What you need for this game....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids, 2-6.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9n8-py9I/AAAAAAAAAG8/e4aT2oOwAH4/s1600-h/100_0445.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9n8-py9I/AAAAAAAAAG8/e4aT2oOwAH4/s200/100_0445.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348866370281524178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A balcony, stairs with a small landing, or even a very large second story window.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9oki4zSI/AAAAAAAAAHM/j47vF2Z51Gs/s1600-h/100_0454.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9oki4zSI/AAAAAAAAAHM/j47vF2Z51Gs/s200/100_0454.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348866380902485282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hula hoops.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9od8ClAI/AAAAAAAAAHE/hCuHl8F679Y/s1600-h/100_0453.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9od8ClAI/AAAAAAAAAHE/hCuHl8F679Y/s200/100_0453.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348866379128935426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever my kids are outside and they ask for the hula hoops, they know this is what is going to happen. They all stand out on the lawn and I toss the hoops over their heads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-ew8s_lI/AAAAAAAAAH0/GKt0zyaN4H4/s1600-h/100_0449.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-ew8s_lI/AAAAAAAAAH0/GKt0zyaN4H4/s320/100_0449.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348867311944924754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-e6-zhhI/AAAAAAAAAHs/tM1CNfanw-k/s1600-h/100_0448.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-e6-zhhI/AAAAAAAAAHs/tM1CNfanw-k/s320/100_0448.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348867314638095890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-etU9lmI/AAAAAAAAAHk/tV9TTSlVp7E/s1600-h/100_0452.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-etU9lmI/AAAAAAAAAHk/tV9TTSlVp7E/s320/100_0452.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348867310972933730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We almost always end up doubled over in laughter by the end (by end I mean after they run the hula hoops back up and we do it two or three times).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WARNING: Kids may end up in tears after being hit in the nose by a hula hoop (but no worries, if it hit their nose it probably went over their head 15 points for you!).&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-ee5ADNI/AAAAAAAAAHc/IUmfRJM3R04/s1600-h/100_0451.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr-ee5ADNI/AAAAAAAAAHc/IUmfRJM3R04/s320/100_0451.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348867307097558226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So here's a really loose tie in, but it's my blog, so there.&lt;br /&gt;Ring Toss is a game often seen at Carnivals or other street festivals right? Well, here are some pictures of my gorgeous girls after they got their faces painted at the Ogden Arts Festival. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjsAj_giFlI/AAAAAAAAAIk/dL7NKBg1jro/s1600-h/100_0434.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjsAj_giFlI/AAAAAAAAAIk/dL7NKBg1jro/s320/100_0434.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348869600775902802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sorry about the lighting on these, but don't they look pretty?&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjsAjlXjPUI/AAAAAAAAAIc/hWOAc-xaBwc/s1600-h/100_0429.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjsAjlXjPUI/AAAAAAAAAIc/hWOAc-xaBwc/s320/100_0429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348869593758907714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjsAjegJ7QI/AAAAAAAAAIU/bBOYxUG_eBI/s1600-h/100_0428.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjsAjegJ7QI/AAAAAAAAAIU/bBOYxUG_eBI/s320/100_0428.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348869591915949314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-3443917479795064197?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/3443917479795064197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=3443917479795064197' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3443917479795064197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3443917479795064197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/06/ring-toss.html' title='Ring Toss!'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Sjr9n8-py9I/AAAAAAAAAG8/e4aT2oOwAH4/s72-c/100_0445.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-6354400424365120783</id><published>2009-06-10T17:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T18:07:10.568-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When Make Believe Meets Reality</title><content type='html'>My kids play the strangest games, especially during the summer. Hollee asked me to come into her room on Friday afternoon. I walked back to find this.....&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWU_RJsnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/cAvuDi3DfiU/s1600-h/100_0318.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWU_RJsnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/cAvuDi3DfiU/s320/100_0318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345867676269523570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Hollee had wrapped all the kids up in "bandages" in her own little "triage" room. It was pretty cute. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWrtZWxFI/AAAAAAAAAGk/F0oUP9SK3j8/s1600-h/100_0319.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWrtZWxFI/AAAAAAAAAGk/F0oUP9SK3j8/s320/100_0319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345868066609087570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Broken knee and wrist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWrWYvTDI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Svf6HE5nU1Q/s1600-h/100_0320.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWrWYvTDI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Svf6HE5nU1Q/s320/100_0320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345868060432485426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Broken ankle, wrist, and arm. Missing ear and punctures on the head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWqTgxWfI/AAAAAAAAAGU/rBdQd-kKuyk/s1600-h/100_0321.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWqTgxWfI/AAAAAAAAAGU/rBdQd-kKuyk/s320/100_0321.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345868042480998898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Broken arm and leg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;They all listed their ailments (which were many with all the added injuries before they were done playing), but I only remember how a few of the injuries happened. Eli got bit by an American Alligator on his head, and Smeigel bit his thumb off. Notice here that the doctor isn't the only one missing from these pictures, we're also missing Jack. He didn't want to be a patient on Friday. He was saving that for Monday.&lt;br /&gt;Jack was standing on a chair trying to reach candy on the table. Somehow he slipped and fell, smacking his chin on the chair on the way down. I took him to the clinic and he got 5 stitches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBXF0yz9jI/AAAAAAAAAGs/765vb-_lwM0/s1600-h/100_0365.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBXF0yz9jI/AAAAAAAAAGs/765vb-_lwM0/s320/100_0365.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345868515271505458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;He likes showing off his bandaid beard. (and messy face)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBXGLrjMLI/AAAAAAAAAG0/yuM0kYZ-_Vk/s1600-h/100_0369.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBXGLrjMLI/AAAAAAAAAG0/yuM0kYZ-_Vk/s320/100_0369.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345868521415061682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Poor baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The youngest of five and the first to get stitches. We always knew it would be him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-6354400424365120783?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/6354400424365120783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=6354400424365120783' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6354400424365120783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6354400424365120783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-make-believe-meets-reality.html' title='When Make Believe Meets Reality'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SjBWU_RJsnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/cAvuDi3DfiU/s72-c/100_0318.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-39124117309623355</id><published>2009-06-02T09:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T10:14:45.171-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Alison</title><content type='html'>Alison....&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SiVcv77UdRI/AAAAAAAAAF8/tgto1u9tLFQ/s1600-h/DSC_0344.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SiVcv77UdRI/AAAAAAAAAF8/tgto1u9tLFQ/s320/DSC_0344.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342778511555065106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Alison is probably the quietest kid you will ever meet. She just doesn't like to talk. It makes her uncomfortable. If you try to get her to talk, she becomes even more quiet. Talking just doesn't happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, you won't believe what she did yesterday. We were all out shopping and I decided to get all the kids a new shirt. Hollee, Eli, Andrew and Jack all picked shirts that were very typical of what they wear and Alison picked this.....&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SiVc_aobAdI/AAAAAAAAAGE/0UmPGk80ODI/s1600-h/100_0314.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SiVc_aobAdI/AAAAAAAAAGE/0UmPGk80ODI/s400/100_0314.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342778777495339474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(I GOT AN A+ IN TALKING)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;She held it up and I just laughed! I didn't know how much I should laugh so I held back a bit. Then she said, "I think it's funny, because I don't talk very much". I lost it at that point. So funny! Nice to know Alison has such a great sense of humor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-39124117309623355?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/39124117309623355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=39124117309623355' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/39124117309623355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/39124117309623355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-alison.html' title='My Alison'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SiVcv77UdRI/AAAAAAAAAF8/tgto1u9tLFQ/s72-c/DSC_0344.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-3223449243851696938</id><published>2009-04-14T19:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T19:28:01.411-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MY HEAD IS BEEPING!</title><content type='html'>My cute, cut&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;e boy&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(I am writing this in the knowledge that he will be reading this so keep up.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Eli was three years old we lived in Oregon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SeVD53SdP2I/AAAAAAAAAFU/tgnt0cs022Q/s1600-h/KICX0728.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 332px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SeVD53SdP2I/AAAAAAAAAFU/tgnt0cs022Q/s400/KICX0728.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324736795808448354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;His most favorite thing in the world to do was to go to Grandma's house. Unfortunately, some odd things happened over at Grandma's. I mean really odd things, like his head would  beep. Really high pitched kind of shrill beeping. Kind of like some type of alarm. We all heard the beeping. It usually happened when it was smoky in the kitchen, like if we burned something or the wood stove was smoking. The beeping would start and then he would exclaim to us, "My head is beeping!" Then, he would plug his nose to make it stop. The nose plug seemed to magically work.&lt;br /&gt;It was all very inexplicable.&lt;br /&gt;How cute is that to have a kid with a beeping head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well Eli is now seven years old.&lt;br /&gt;I had all but forgotten about his beeping head until the other day when he came home from school.&lt;br /&gt;Eli: "Mommy? Remember when my head would beep when we were at Grandmas?"&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(suppressing a smile) &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;"Yes, I remember."&lt;br /&gt;Eli: " It happened again today at school."&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(getting harder not to smile at this point)&lt;/span&gt; "It did? Weird!"&lt;br /&gt;Eli: " I know, huh."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SeVEIWaLAEI/AAAAAAAAAFc/9y0Xt8-ur2o/s1600-h/KICX3204.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SeVEIWaLAEI/AAAAAAAAAFc/9y0Xt8-ur2o/s400/KICX3204.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324737044680474690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Eli leaves the room like this is all no big deal and Mommy quickly calls Daddy while giggling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again I have to say...&lt;br /&gt;...My cute, cute boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-3223449243851696938?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/3223449243851696938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=3223449243851696938' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3223449243851696938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3223449243851696938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-head-is-beeping.html' title='MY HEAD IS BEEPING!'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SeVD53SdP2I/AAAAAAAAAFU/tgnt0cs022Q/s72-c/KICX0728.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-5269938320356760908</id><published>2009-03-23T13:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T14:06:56.074-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ladies and Gentlemen, Presenting......</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;CRACKERS BIGPANTS!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf2VI3AThI/AAAAAAAAAEk/eFVnMm4zcf8/s1600-h/Crackers.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf2VI3AThI/AAAAAAAAAEk/eFVnMm4zcf8/s400/Crackers.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316488728150035986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you recognize this clown? This is Andrew doing what he does. Notice how the pants are too small? Those are the little touches he makes, and yes, he named himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf2kb9IDNI/AAAAAAAAAEs/cvzzf1FZiNA/s1600-h/closeup.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf2kb9IDNI/AAAAAAAAAEs/cvzzf1FZiNA/s320/closeup.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316488990974020818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crackers here has made a few public appearances. The grocery store, Target and general errands around town. Last Wednesday was his first party. Crackers was the entertainment at our Relief Society birthday social.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf20GmrdeI/AAAAAAAAAE0/wHwzIBsdITM/s1600-h/Bigpants.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf20GmrdeI/AAAAAAAAAE0/wHwzIBsdITM/s320/Bigpants.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316489260120634850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was the hit of the party, if I do say so myself. He was adorable. He passed out balloons, he took pictures...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf3C-FeplI/AAAAAAAAAE8/bPqvSdN7ITk/s1600-h/bunnyears.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf3C-FeplI/AAAAAAAAAE8/bPqvSdN7ITk/s320/bunnyears.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316489515531937362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(here he is giving one of the Young Women bunny ears)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;even played a few jokes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf3OLOUmEI/AAAAAAAAAFE/sO-K2EWjZbA/s1600-h/wacking.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf3OLOUmEI/AAAAAAAAAFE/sO-K2EWjZbA/s320/wacking.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316489708037249090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(he's whacking his primary teacher) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't get a picture of it, but when the bishop came in to say "hi" he took his giant fly swatter and went over to the bishop and started whacking him. He whacked him over and over and said, "Am I bugging you?". The bishop replied, "yes". Crackers said, "Oh, I thought so" and kept right on whacking. The bishop knows Crackers only too well and laughed when he saw him and said, "His life's ambition right?" Yes, yes it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, here is the cute birthday cake I made for the party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf3nmbmP3I/AAAAAAAAAFM/a-rOXR43qd8/s1600-h/cake.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf3nmbmP3I/AAAAAAAAAFM/a-rOXR43qd8/s200/cake.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316490144837418866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-5269938320356760908?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/5269938320356760908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=5269938320356760908' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/5269938320356760908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/5269938320356760908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/03/ladies-and-gentlemen-presenting.html' title='Ladies and Gentlemen, Presenting......'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/Scf2VI3AThI/AAAAAAAAAEk/eFVnMm4zcf8/s72-c/Crackers.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-8277128837826517796</id><published>2009-02-10T13:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T14:26:31.955-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hollee vs. Jordan</title><content type='html'>Now you may have noticed that most of these posts have been about Andrew, with a few guest appearances from Jack. The reason for this is just, Andrew is home with me all day, every day and he is 5, just a silly age. So I decided to put up a few of my favorite stories of all my kids. &lt;br /&gt;Now I asked my sister if i could put up this story because it kind of makes Jordan sound like a bully, but he totally isn't. He's one of the sweetest boys ever! The keyword in that sentence is "boy" though, he's always been a boy through and through......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were some key differences between Hollee and Jordan when they were babies. Hollee a girl, Jordan a boy. Hollee a first child that was by herself most of the time, Jordan a second child. Not just any second child either, his older sister was the first grandchild on both sides of their family so she was spoiled as all get out! Hollee was quiet and quite frankly, a lazy baby, Jordan was a ball of energy. The kid didn't know how to walk, only run, run, run. Also, Jordan may have been 5 months younger, but he was bigger.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I couldn't put up a younger picture of Hollee, I really need to scan in some of her tiny baby pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SZH8UvM5QCI/AAAAAAAAAEU/pGBIDnHVZW4/s1600-h/plaid+Hollee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SZH8UvM5QCI/AAAAAAAAAEU/pGBIDnHVZW4/s320/plaid+Hollee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301295669589917730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hollee and Jordan got along for the most part, they crawled together for a little while, they saw each other all the time. One day Jordan discovered that he was bigger than Hollee and he liked it. She would come over to his house to be dragged around by his older sister (which I am sure was a welcome break for him) and he decided he wanted in on the action too. So he started pushing and hitting Hollee any time he had the chance. Hollee would just whimper. Seriously, she was too lazy to even cry. All of us parents watched this change come and wondered what to do. This continued for a couple of weeks until this fateful day.....&lt;br /&gt;Hollee was sitting on the floor of Jordan's living room. She was (lazily) playing with a toy similar to this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SZH85eeBn0I/AAAAAAAAAEc/fI5QTC2WgEs/s1600-h/11833.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SZH85eeBn0I/AAAAAAAAAEc/fI5QTC2WgEs/s200/11833.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301296300753526594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Do you remember it now Gabrielle?)&lt;br /&gt;She would hit the balls, slowly lean over to get them, put them back in and hit them again. Hollee had not yet seen Jordan and was having lots of fun. Jordan walked in the living room. He was in a good mood and he had no intentions of picking on his cousin at the moment. Hollee looked up at Jordan and something close to panic came into her eyes. She looked down and saw two little plastic balls. She picked them up, walked right over to Jordan and with one ball in each hand bashed him on either side of the head with the balls. Jordan was shocked! He started to cry and she walked away looking a little bit too satisfied. I didn't know what to do, I was more shocked than Jordan. Then Dave (Jordan's dad) busted up laughing and so did I. Later that day Hollee watched Jordan bite his older sister then proceeded to bite him twice, both times unprovoked. We quickly got that nipped in the bud and from that day forward they never fought again. Really, they NEVER fought again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. Did you notice my new background? kind of remind you of clown cars? Stay tuned...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-8277128837826517796?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/8277128837826517796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=8277128837826517796' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/8277128837826517796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/8277128837826517796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/02/hollee-vs-jordan.html' title='Hollee vs. Jordan'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SZH8UvM5QCI/AAAAAAAAAEU/pGBIDnHVZW4/s72-c/plaid+Hollee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-921506294511069826</id><published>2009-02-05T08:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-05T09:11:09.296-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Interfering With Babies</title><content type='html'>I babysit my niece Sam a couple times a week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SYsdi479ZmI/AAAAAAAAAEM/heSjGG7H0vk/s1600-h/bday7+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SYsdi479ZmI/AAAAAAAAAEM/heSjGG7H0vk/s320/bday7+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299361871768151650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I'm lucky I get a few precious moments of being her most favorite person in the whole world in the morning. Today I got a whole hour of being her favorite person. It was adorable. She wanted me to chase her, she giggled, she smiled, she even came up to me while I was sitting and moved my hand out of her way so she could climb on my lap and just cuddle. When this baby cuddles it's the sweetest thing ever. She puts her cheek right against mine and coos while she plays with my hair. ADORABLE!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, things change when Jack wakes up. I now come in a very far away second. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SYsdVrthWKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/sEpV0M0fKNE/s1600-h/DSC_0350+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SYsdVrthWKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/sEpV0M0fKNE/s320/DSC_0350+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299361644879632546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack walked in the room and she started giggling like she always does. Lucky for me Jack can't start his day until he has given me a good cuddle. So he smiled at Samantha and walked over to me and climbed on my lap. This ticked Sam off. She threw a full blown fit. She screamed, she kicked and the tears immediately started (she's really good at that). So I picked her up and put her next to Jack on my lap. The fit automatically turned off. She smiled, threw her arms around Jack's neck and was again the happiest little girl you have ever seen. They are now sitting on the floor eating her dry cereal. He leans over and eats it like a puppy dog (noises included) and she laughs her butt of every time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I like coming in second.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-921506294511069826?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/921506294511069826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=921506294511069826' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/921506294511069826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/921506294511069826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/02/interfering-with-babies.html' title='Interfering With Babies'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SYsdi479ZmI/AAAAAAAAAEM/heSjGG7H0vk/s72-c/bday7+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-1173934428145481438</id><published>2009-01-27T13:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T13:35:47.464-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Preconceived Notions</title><content type='html'>Don't worry, he's fine. (I have to put in these disclaimers before I tell the story or Grandma will have a panic attack!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andrew fell and split his head. There was all sorts of blood, because it was on his head, but it was very small. I told him I had to look at it so I could see if he needed stitches.&lt;br /&gt;He says, "I don't want stitches! Stitches hurt!"&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;the clock ticks...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;"What are stitches?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, he's fine, he didn't need stitches.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-1173934428145481438?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/1173934428145481438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=1173934428145481438' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/1173934428145481438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/1173934428145481438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/01/preconceived-notions.html' title='Preconceived Notions'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-3766205141902116101</id><published>2009-01-22T20:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T20:58:07.001-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dissapointed Already?</title><content type='html'>Some of my older kids came home from school today with a newspaper. On the cover was a very impressive picture of the National Mall during inauguration. The kids were fascinated by this. Andrew asked them what it was (we listened on the radio instead of watching so he hadn't seen). Hollee told him it was when President Obama was sworn in. &lt;br /&gt;He says, "Huh?" which is classic Andrew. Head cocked, eyebrow up and all.&lt;br /&gt;She says, "When he was swearing in to be the president".&lt;br /&gt;A look of complete devastation came across his face. He could not believe it. We got a brand new president and he already had broken this kids heart.&lt;br /&gt;He says, "He was swearing in"?&lt;br /&gt;"Yes".&lt;br /&gt;"Does he lie too"?&lt;br /&gt;After we had stopped laughing we told him that there are two types of swearing. Cussing, and promising, we told him it was the promising type. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXlN0SDHCzI/AAAAAAAAADY/vaHFl0cFjpQ/s1600-h/oath-cp-w6118666.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXlN0SDHCzI/AAAAAAAAADY/vaHFl0cFjpQ/s320/oath-cp-w6118666.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294348397544147762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His faith was automatically restored. How cute is he?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-3766205141902116101?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/3766205141902116101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=3766205141902116101' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3766205141902116101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/3766205141902116101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/01/dissapointed-already.html' title='Dissapointed Already?'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXlN0SDHCzI/AAAAAAAAADY/vaHFl0cFjpQ/s72-c/oath-cp-w6118666.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-6185642140613864108</id><published>2009-01-20T14:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T15:02:51.235-08:00</updated><title type='text'>At It Again!</title><content type='html'>A little while ago our friends Clint and Amber came over for dinner. Our kids have known Clint for over 4 years now so they are really comfortable and have lots of fun with him. Well one of the dishes at our dinner was balsamic apples with shallots. These were being passed around the table quite a bit. Clint was helping out and dished some up for Andrew. Some apples fell on the table cloth right in front of Andrew's plate. Andrew looked at the apples, Clint looked at the apples, then before Andrew could get to them Clint stuck his fork in them from across the table and stuffed them in his mouth. Andrew looked at Clint in utter disbelief. His expression quickly turned into disgust. &lt;br /&gt;Clint looks at him and says, "What?". Like he's all innocent. &lt;br /&gt;Andrew looks at him and says, with a tone of voice like- you should have looked-,"There was a hair on that". &lt;br /&gt;Clint looked a little something like this.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXZWjK6X5bI/AAAAAAAAADI/zkGUDN-jRn4/s1600-h/igg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXZWjK6X5bI/AAAAAAAAADI/zkGUDN-jRn4/s320/igg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293513574245197234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....pretty much everybody at the table (excluding Andrew, he was the perfect picture of seriousness) bust up laughing. &lt;br /&gt;Clint looks at him and says, "Why did you tell me? Couldn't you let me think it was ok?". &lt;br /&gt;We all continue laughing as Andrew just looks at him and shakes his head. &lt;br /&gt;Andrew took a few more bites of food, then calmly looked at Clint and says, "I was just kidding, there wasn't a hair". &lt;br /&gt;The delivery of Andrew's first practical joke was perfect. He's a mischievous little guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXZX--xn9KI/AAAAAAAAADQ/w-ZMFrWMY8Y/s1600-h/DSC_0321.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXZX--xn9KI/AAAAAAAAADQ/w-ZMFrWMY8Y/s320/DSC_0321.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293515151535240354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-6185642140613864108?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/6185642140613864108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=6185642140613864108' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6185642140613864108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6185642140613864108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/01/at-it-again.html' title='At It Again!'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SXZWjK6X5bI/AAAAAAAAADI/zkGUDN-jRn4/s72-c/igg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-93623400142113097</id><published>2009-01-12T07:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T08:02:15.869-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Does It Come From?</title><content type='html'>I don't remember much from when I was five, but I'm pretty sure that I did not have an endless fountain of quick witted remarks to everything that was said within a 2 mile radius. &lt;br /&gt;  It is almost impossible to argue with or get mad at Andrew (my five year old). No matter what we say he always has something to say back. Now I don't think this really counts as back-talk. He is not saying these things to be snotty or get out of trouble, he just can not let an opportunity to make somebody laugh pass. It's in his blood. &lt;br /&gt;  Yesterday in church he was sitting on Timm's lap and would not stop being a wiggle worm. Finally Timm tells him that if he doesn't stop wiggling he will sit on the floor. So, instead of just stopping, he freezes his face and says, "ok" out of the corner of his mouth. Timm then picks him up and puts him on his lap (he had wiggled his way off) and Andrew is in freeze frame. He had his arms out like a zombie, his face in a grimace, and his legs are oddly splayed like he was just about to sit when he was frozen. Of course this is when the bishopric looks over. Timm says they just looked confused. How do you not laugh at that?&lt;br /&gt;  Of course that is just one of the dozens of things he does every single day. There is no way I could even remember let alone write all the things he says and does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I promised Dave that I would put in a blurb about Andrews underwear. I can't find any good pictures so it doesn't get it's own post. Dave saw Andrew running around in his unders (everybody has at some point, he doesn't like clothes) and finally somebody else thought they were as funny as I do. Andrew has these King Kong underwear, I cannot wash, fold, put away or lay out these underwear without laughing. On the back there is a big picture of King Kong destroying the city, but right on the front it says in big letters "KONG". A little funny right? But wait, look a little closer, is that a subtitle? Yes it is, it says "8th Wonder of the World". Seriously, it does.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-93623400142113097?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/93623400142113097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=93623400142113097' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/93623400142113097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/93623400142113097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2009/01/where-does-it-come-from.html' title='Where Does It Come From?'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-5645480638509628009</id><published>2008-11-15T15:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T16:19:37.449-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jack and the Donut</title><content type='html'>So we all know the story of &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Jack and the Beanstalk&lt;/span&gt;, but today we are going to tell the story of &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Jack and the Donut.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first Jack was a small, thin and hungry boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9lG4NnRxI/AAAAAAAAAB8/fdVWdxXeCXY/s1600-h/796.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9lG4NnRxI/AAAAAAAAAB8/fdVWdxXeCXY/s200/796.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269041257889875730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Jack was a small, fat and hungry boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9lY6eNitI/AAAAAAAAACE/YsKlMnbMXZc/s1600-h/IMG_1992.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9lY6eNitI/AAAAAAAAACE/YsKlMnbMXZc/s200/IMG_1992.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269041567734008530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first Jack wanted nothing more than to be able to feed himself and his mother.&lt;br /&gt;Our Jack wanted nothing more than to feed his fat belly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first Jack climbed a beanstalk finding a beautiful treasure that would buy anything his small family would ever need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9ltR1bAhI/AAAAAAAAACM/Ue5qnkdBr9Q/s1600-h/goldeggs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 165px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9ltR1bAhI/AAAAAAAAACM/Ue5qnkdBr9Q/s200/goldeggs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269041917602759186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Jack had a yummy donut. Ate every bite of it, but that wasn't enough for him. He wanted his sisters donut too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9l4_JZhhI/AAAAAAAAACU/n3-TgfdW_jM/s1600-h/DE777238C553F5B98499FED27CA4F.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 124px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9l4_JZhhI/AAAAAAAAACU/n3-TgfdW_jM/s200/DE777238C553F5B98499FED27CA4F.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269042118744704530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first Jack took the treasure and was chased by an angry giant. He ran down the beanstalk and chopped it down, thus getting away.&lt;br /&gt;Our Jack also took the treasure and was also chased by a giant (he was very tiny). Here is where we split paths for a moment. Instead of going down a beanstalk and getting out of reach of his giant he took his treasure and held it high above his head and ran away, but wait, isn't he smaller and just holding his treasure closer to the giant? Then how did he get away just like the first Jack? Luckily our giant was much nicer and thought that this was so funny that she let him have his treasure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Jack and the Beanstalk&lt;/span&gt;? Sometimes you can screw up so badly (trading your cow for beans for instance) yet still end up ok in the end.&lt;br /&gt;The moral of &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Jack and the Donut&lt;/span&gt;? It pays to be cute when you're not very smart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-5645480638509628009?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/5645480638509628009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=5645480638509628009' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/5645480638509628009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/5645480638509628009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2008/11/jack-and-donut.html' title='Jack and the Donut'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SR9lG4NnRxI/AAAAAAAAAB8/fdVWdxXeCXY/s72-c/796.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-8682796039799398649</id><published>2008-11-11T07:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T07:38:53.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ninjas</title><content type='html'>A Strange thing happens to my children while I sleep. They all become ninjas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRmkRaW_KRI/AAAAAAAAABU/7XSw1SPaD3c/s1600-h/ninja.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRmkRaW_KRI/AAAAAAAAABU/7XSw1SPaD3c/s320/ninja.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267421858226972946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I often wake up in the morning to find one or more children in my bed with me. Sometimes I will find them as I am falling off the bed because there is no room for me, but most of the time I don't see them until morning. I swear they are ninjas. We never hear them come in. We never see or feel them climb into our bed. Sometimes when I wake up sore from being cramped all night I swear they came, they slept, they left, all without us ever knowing. &lt;br /&gt;They also have this uncanny ability to ninja creep into my room while I am dead asleep and wait until they are inches from my face and ask... &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;"Mommy can we have breakfast?"   "Mommy, can I play on the computer?"   "Mommy, can we watch t.v.?"&lt;/span&gt; They never ask these question quietly. This scares me so bad I practically jump off the bed. I never hear them come in. Does this happen to all children or are mine just super elite night time ninjas?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-8682796039799398649?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/8682796039799398649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=8682796039799398649' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/8682796039799398649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/8682796039799398649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2008/11/ninjas.html' title='Ninjas'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRmkRaW_KRI/AAAAAAAAABU/7XSw1SPaD3c/s72-c/ninja.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-4881909677343297903</id><published>2008-11-07T20:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T20:59:33.670-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Defiling The Innocence</title><content type='html'>Yesterday Andrew went to his friend Porter's house for preschool. After preschool the boys spent a few hours together playing. During this time while they were downstairs Porter's mom Angie went downstairs and walked in on this conversation...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Porter: Aaahhh, I landed on my nards!&lt;br /&gt;Andrew: Porter? What are nards?&lt;br /&gt;Porter: They're your balls.&lt;br /&gt;Angie: Stop! No more!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can just see them now, mischief on Porter's face, Andrew shaking his head and the horror on Angie's face (behind the giggles I'm sure she could not suppress).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRUaFtZM_-I/AAAAAAAAABE/QAhASAUgTlY/s1600-h/po.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRUaFtZM_-I/AAAAAAAAABE/QAhASAUgTlY/s200/po.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266144024666636258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRUaWev7YBI/AAAAAAAAABM/I4K5i-l498Q/s1600-h/andrew.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRUaWev7YBI/AAAAAAAAABM/I4K5i-l498Q/s200/andrew.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266144312793194514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would now like to take this moment to thank one of our favorite families for either directly or indirectly teaching my children and my husband these phrases...&lt;br /&gt;Nards&lt;br /&gt;Nuts&lt;br /&gt;Butt Munch&lt;br /&gt;Short Bus&lt;br /&gt;Chim Chim Cookie&lt;br /&gt;Pinching a Loaf&lt;br /&gt;Pimpin&lt;br /&gt;"Don't punch me in the balls!"&lt;br /&gt;_____ Nazi (fill in the blank with whatever is being withheld at the time)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(ok so I'm sure you didn't teach Timm, but you reminded him)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We love you guys!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-4881909677343297903?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/4881909677343297903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=4881909677343297903' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/4881909677343297903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/4881909677343297903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2008/11/defiling-innocence.html' title='Defiling The Innocence'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRUaFtZM_-I/AAAAAAAAABE/QAhASAUgTlY/s72-c/po.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-6851945796354699758</id><published>2008-11-04T13:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T14:12:00.075-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not The Brightest Bulb?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRDCxFGMAtI/AAAAAAAAAA0/bw0dlzf9vAM/s1600-h/popup-light2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRDCxFGMAtI/AAAAAAAAAA0/bw0dlzf9vAM/s320/popup-light2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264922112833618642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how people keep all their cleaning supplies under their kitchen sink? Not me, I can't. My kids like to play under my sink, especially while I am doing dishes. The little ones fit in there perfectly. Well today while I was watching my niece Sam I had two boys under my sink. Sam thinks this is hilarious. She goes over to the cupboard, opens it up and giggles then closes it and laughs her head off. &lt;br /&gt;Now we come to the "dim light bulb" part. Sam is a 10 month old baby, she's tiny. Every time she opens up these average size cupboards to look inside she squats down as small as she can to see inside. Why? Who knows, there is no way she could possibly bonk her head standing straight up, but she doesn't seem to realize this and folds herself to half her size. This makes me laugh my butt off, I love it! Silly baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRDHYpAtjcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/kgM3mYa69V8/s1600-h/smallsam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRDHYpAtjcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/kgM3mYa69V8/s320/smallsam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264927190535736770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and speaking of the "dim bulb" remind me to tell you about Jack and the doughnuts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-6851945796354699758?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/6851945796354699758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=6851945796354699758' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6851945796354699758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6851945796354699758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2008/11/not-brightest-bulb.html' title='Not The Brightest Bulb?'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SRDCxFGMAtI/AAAAAAAAAA0/bw0dlzf9vAM/s72-c/popup-light2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-6496986299302328015</id><published>2008-10-31T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T09:57:19.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Title</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SQs440BnLvI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZTBIrbtV6Hs/s1600-h/s41718cb108873_9+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SQs440BnLvI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZTBIrbtV6Hs/s320/s41718cb108873_9+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263363138201792242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This story is the straw that broke the camels back. After this happened I had to make a blog, too funny....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning Andrew was eating his breakfast and in between bites he was breathing pretty hard. &lt;br /&gt;I asked him, "you having a hard time breathing through your nose buddy?".&lt;br /&gt;He says, "Ya.............It's because of the worm that lives up there."&lt;br /&gt;"What worm?"&lt;br /&gt;"The worm that you told me lives in my nose"&lt;br /&gt;At this point I lose it, I'm laughing my butt off. My mind starts whirring. Did I tell him a worm lived in his nose? What is he talking about? Then I remember. A few weeks ago I was reading a book (can't remember what now, something like scary stories for kids) and I started laughing. Andrew and his cousin asked me what was funny so I told them.&lt;br /&gt;"Do you know that a worm lives in your nose and he'll bite your finger if you pick your nose?"&lt;br /&gt;Apparently at least Andrew believed me. So I told him that I was just kidding, there is no worm in your nose. (He's not a nose picker so I didn't keep up the farce.)&lt;br /&gt;The best part is, he wasn't in the least bit concerned that a worm lived in his nose all this time. So parents of nose pickers, this story is apparently believable. Oh, and Jessica, Braxton may think that a worm lives in his nose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-6496986299302328015?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/6496986299302328015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=6496986299302328015' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6496986299302328015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/6496986299302328015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2008/10/title.html' title='The Title'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/SQs440BnLvI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZTBIrbtV6Hs/s72-c/s41718cb108873_9+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404975521924856554.post-7179074261362143469</id><published>2008-10-31T09:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T09:11:31.406-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Creation</title><content type='html'>So my sister Gabrielle is a blogger. Not just a blogger like you would think, this woman actually writes on her blog and people enjoy reading it. She frequently changes the background, I can't even put up a picture. She may even stalk blogs once in awhile but you didn't hear that from me. So despite the fact that she is a true blogger she has never bugged me about starting one of my own......until last week. Last week Gabrielle decided she knew the perfect blog for me and I wrote it off, but the more I thought about it the more I thought she may be right. Gabrielle told me that I had to start a blog about the funny things people say. That may not sound that exciting, but if you think that you haven't met my 5 year old, Andrew.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1404975521924856554-7179074261362143469?l=theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/feeds/7179074261362143469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1404975521924856554&amp;postID=7179074261362143469' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/7179074261362143469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1404975521924856554/posts/default/7179074261362143469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theresaworminmynose.blogspot.com/2008/10/creation.html' title='The Creation'/><author><name>My name is Michelle.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09797030924559412568</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hqnsHHa6jsc/S4buFco2jUI/AAAAAAAAAK8/UPnQJvKXx8Q/S220/3151183595_efda8e2a90.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
