<?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-5825873182301500372</id><updated>2011-07-30T10:14:28.927-07:00</updated><category term='childhood'/><category term='frugality'/><category term='kid funny'/><category term='Technology'/><category term='Thankful'/><category term='funny'/><category term='craft'/><category term='scrapbook'/><category term='Parenting'/><category term='child&apos;s prayer'/><category term='points to ponder'/><category term='cleaning'/><category term='stay-at-home mom'/><title type='text'>My Train of Thought Has Derailed</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>40</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-8891407115743459139</id><published>2009-09-25T12:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T13:00:43.577-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Library Misadventures</title><content type='html'>Background Info:  Paid $30 for a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PLAC&lt;/span&gt; (Public Library Access Card) so we're able to use any library in the state.&lt;br /&gt;Reason:  We live 7 minutes from a library which we are not allowed to use because we live on the wrong side of the tracks.  We live 25 minutes from our county library.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now on with the post:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we went to the library nearest our home.  There is never anyone in the library except the librarian.  She just sits behind her desk waiting for patrons who rarely come in.  It has the potential for a Stephen King book.  It is a brand new library in a very nice, new building with about 300 books that are about 100 years old.  It still has a paper card catalog.  It is housed in one room with a librarian desk about 8 foot from the front door.  On one side of her desk is the "Children's Library" (I use that title loosely) and the other side is the adult side.  I was looking at books while my children ages 9, 6, and 3 were looking at books and playing on the large structure decorated like a pirate ship.  The 3 year old picked up a "Clifford" dog that made a barking noise off of one of the shelves.  Of course, he pressed the button to make the dog bark about 10 times in a row.  By this time, a young man probably 19 or 20 had walked in to the library to use the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt;.   I took the three year old across the library to look for a certain book on the adult side.  My three year old was still happily playing with "Clifford".  The librarian stood and walked over to where we were standing and asked my son if he could pretend that "Clifford" was taking a nap because there were "other's" using the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; and we needed to be quiet.  I looked for the "off" button, but there wasn't one, so I had to trust that he wouldn't push the button anymore.  The young man got up from his chair and walked out of the library. We walked the 12 steps back over to the "Children's Library".  I see my daughter frantically picking up white chunks of what appeared to be chalk off of the floor.  One of the flags off of the pirate ship had been housed in a beer "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;coozie&lt;/span&gt;" with plaster of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;paris&lt;/span&gt; in it to hold the flag up.  Well, it fell and broke into a million pieces.  I decided it was time to go.  I took her and the three year old to the librarian's desk to leave our books and to ask for a broom.  I explained that she had knocked over the flag.  She insisted that she would clean it up.  I told her I was happy to do it, but she stated that she would need to &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;vacuum&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; it up. (What is this 'vacuum' you speak of?  That concept is unfamiliar to me)   She then &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;proceeded to ask me how old my oldest son was.  I stated that he was nine.  I asked her why she was asking, thinking that there might possibly be a program at the library for kids his age.  She then says to me, "The library has a policy to not leave children under a certain age unattended."    So I in return say to her, "So what you're saying is that I shouldn't have left those two over there while I walked across the room to look at another book."  She says to me, "Well, we really can't see them over there and there are a lot of displays and things."  Keep in mind that my children were within 12 feet of me. I said to her, "You know the thing that she knocked over is on the children's play area right?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;She says to me, "Yes, I know &lt;em&gt;exactly &lt;/em&gt;what you're talking about."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;OK. Glad we had this little talk.  This woman made me feel like I dropped them off at the library and ran to Starbucks for a latte!  I could feel my heart beating fast and my face turning red.  My judgment and good sense had been called into question in the one-room, empty library with the lone librarian and 300, 100 year old books! I had violated their "policy" and left my child out of arm's reach.  I need invisible fencing so I know where my boundaries are.  I clearly cannot be trusted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-8891407115743459139?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/8891407115743459139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=8891407115743459139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/8891407115743459139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/8891407115743459139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/09/library-misadventures.html' title='Library Misadventures'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-6184223451488239200</id><published>2009-09-22T12:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T12:51:12.211-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something I read today</title><content type='html'>"There was a man all alone;&lt;br /&gt;he had neither son nor brother.&lt;br /&gt;There was no end to his toil,&lt;br /&gt;yet his eyes were not content with&lt;br /&gt;his wealth.&lt;br /&gt;"For whom am I toiling," he asked,&lt;br /&gt;"and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?"&lt;br /&gt;This too is meaningless-&lt;br /&gt;a miserable business!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two are better than one,&lt;br /&gt;because they have a good return for&lt;br /&gt;their work:&lt;br /&gt;If one falls down,&lt;br /&gt;his friend can help him up!&lt;br /&gt;Also, if two lie down together, they&lt;br /&gt;will keep warm.&lt;br /&gt;But how can one keep warm alone?&lt;br /&gt;Though one may be overpowered,&lt;br /&gt;two can defend themselves.&lt;br /&gt;A cord of three strands is not quickly&lt;br /&gt;broken.&lt;br /&gt;Ecclesiastes 5:8-12&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you Lord, for a loving husband and wonderful family and friends who lift me up. Thank you for helping me to realize that I wasn't meant to do this alone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-6184223451488239200?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/6184223451488239200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=6184223451488239200' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6184223451488239200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6184223451488239200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/09/something-i-read-today.html' title='Something I read today'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3308818469008566711</id><published>2009-06-15T06:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T06:17:11.431-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Six Pack</title><content type='html'>I was in the dining room working on something when my oldest comes out of the bathroom and says to me, "Mom, you can have a 2 pack, a 4 pack, or a 6 pack.  I told Jeremy that I have an 8 pack and he said 'you can't have an 8 pack' ."  Here's how the rest of the conversation went:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me:  "Is this something for a video game? I really have no idea what your talking about."&lt;br /&gt;          (At our home, we routinely begin conversations without prefacing them, just to keep everyone guessing)&lt;br /&gt;OS: " No, I'm talking about muscles!" (of course)&lt;br /&gt;me: "Oh, I see.  Does Jeremy have a '6 pack'?"&lt;br /&gt;OS: "Yeah, but so do I."&lt;br /&gt;me:  "Let me see."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He precedes to lift up his shirt and squish down his cute little belly. Well, let's just say, he takes after his momma and he has more of a 'case'.  How do I gently tell him the news without a future therapy bill?  I told him that most people don't have '6 packs' and that those who do are just really, really little or they have to do lots of exercise to get them.  He stand there with an animal cracker hanging out of his mouth and starts jogging in place.  Yes, son, that is precisely how one gets the '6pack' that you speak of.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3308818469008566711?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3308818469008566711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3308818469008566711' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3308818469008566711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3308818469008566711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/06/six-pack.html' title='The Six Pack'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-5698092226404353818</id><published>2009-06-02T21:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T21:51:02.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School Mascot</title><content type='html'>We were driving in a nearby town this afternoon when my daughter made a casual observation that all of the street signs were purple and had a bulldog on them.  I explained to her that the bulldog was the local high school's mascot.  Our children are home educated, so the concept is a little foreign. But I thought maybe they'd like to have a mascot.  I asked the kids what our mascot should be.  My daughter excitedly screams, "DADDY!!!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-5698092226404353818?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/5698092226404353818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=5698092226404353818' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5698092226404353818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5698092226404353818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/06/school-mascot.html' title='School Mascot'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1121661933904115449</id><published>2009-05-05T19:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T19:52:58.757-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All Boy</title><content type='html'>We pretty much have our kids figured out.  Yep, we're awesome like that.  Our oldest is going to be a missionary, our middle child will be in the performing arts, and our youngest will either be a stuntman or a comedian.  He's only two so we can't quite categorize him.  Maybe he'll be both.  Yesterday, I caught him standing tip-toe on a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;barstool&lt;/span&gt;, clad only in a diaper and pajama top, scooping icing from the top of a piece of cake with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hotwheel&lt;/span&gt; and licking it off of the car.  When I said, "What are you doing?"(in my best surprised mother voice)  He replied,"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Nuffing&lt;/span&gt;" with the biggest grin on his face, sparkle in his eye, and a mischievous giggle.  He clamored down and ran off to perform his next act while I rinsed pink icing off of the hood scoop.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1121661933904115449?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1121661933904115449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1121661933904115449' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1121661933904115449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1121661933904115449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/05/all-boy.html' title='All Boy'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3733106168598214875</id><published>2009-03-24T06:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T06:05:04.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wun Fow Youw Wives!</title><content type='html'>Hewe awe a few of my favowite things my two yeaw owd says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wincoln Wogs&lt;br /&gt;When asked about his favowite pawt of Gweat Woof Wodge, he said:&lt;br /&gt;"The Wazy Wivew" (The Lazy River)&lt;br /&gt;I Wove you!&lt;br /&gt;When playing "Staw Waws"  with his bwothew and neighbow boy:&lt;br /&gt;"Wun Fow Youw Wives!!" (Run for Your Lives)&lt;br /&gt;"Mama, wiww you pway 'Wight Sabews' wif me?" (Light Sabers)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I bottle this time?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3733106168598214875?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3733106168598214875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3733106168598214875' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3733106168598214875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3733106168598214875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/03/wun-fow-youw-wives.html' title='Wun Fow Youw Wives!'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-2396128170813961805</id><published>2009-03-24T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T06:00:02.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Misunderstanding</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My children will sit for hours and draw on scrap paper. One day, I asked my daughter what she was drawing. She informed me that she was drawing pictures of me. I didn't ask to see them and went on about my day. While I was making dinner, I stumbled across this:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjXe9r-QzI/AAAAAAAAACw/C1Zg6EH7m6E/s1600-h/corinnedrawing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316736287065916210" style="WIDTH: 101px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjXe9r-QzI/AAAAAAAAACw/C1Zg6EH7m6E/s200/corinnedrawing.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Wow! I started thinking about the day. Had I yelled at them for something? Am I that menacing? This is an outrage and completely unjustified? Mature, huh? I marched into her room and asked her if this was the picture she drew of Mama? She said, "No, silly. That's a girl T-Rex! This one is you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjYoFoNRkI/AAAAAAAAAC4/u-_NeXx66VE/s1600-h/corinnedrawing2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316737543328056898" style="WIDTH: 92px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjYoFoNRkI/AAAAAAAAAC4/u-_NeXx66VE/s200/corinnedrawing2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Did I mention I really love that little girl?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-2396128170813961805?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/2396128170813961805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=2396128170813961805' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2396128170813961805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2396128170813961805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/03/misunderstanding_24.html' title='Misunderstanding'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjXe9r-QzI/AAAAAAAAACw/C1Zg6EH7m6E/s72-c/corinnedrawing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-4734670327505501725</id><published>2009-03-24T05:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T05:38:44.984-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jesus Loves Me</title><content type='html'>Last weekend, we went to Pizza Hut to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday.  My sister-in-law is 16 years younger than my husband.  She's 19 and... well, he's not.  All of the adults were eating and our older two asked if they could go look at the jukebox.  Of course, that's not what they call it because anyone born after 1985 doesn't know what a "jukebox" is.  Normally we don't allow our children to run amok in public places, but the place almost empty except for one other family who had three little boys.  Those three little boys were playing with our kids at the jukebox.  For about ten minutes, my daughter was trying to type in a song and the boys would hit the "delete" button when she would get near the end.  She let her irritation be known to everyone as is her style.   But she was persistent.  She kept trying and trying and still saying, "Ugh" (Charlie Brown style) each time. Finally, I went over to see what was going on.  She was typing in , "Jesus Loves Me" and couldn't understand why that song wasn't in the jukebox.   I really love that little girl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-4734670327505501725?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/4734670327505501725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=4734670327505501725' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/4734670327505501725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/4734670327505501725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/03/jesus-loves-me.html' title='Jesus Loves Me'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-6514853704765140537</id><published>2009-03-24T05:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T05:30:34.213-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard</title><content type='html'>My son and our neighbor boy were playing the other day.  I overheard their conversation about a young girl in our neighborhood.  This girl has some spunk (this is a nice way of saying "crazy").  She is about the size of a 4 year old, but she's 9, so she has to keep her defenses up.  Here's how the conversation went.&lt;br /&gt;(NB=neighbor boy, MS=my son)&lt;br /&gt;NB: "She is soooo mean!"&lt;br /&gt;MS: "She's not that bad."&lt;br /&gt;NB: "No, she's mean!"&lt;br /&gt;MS:  " I bet she wouldn't hurt a fly."&lt;br /&gt;NB:  "Hurt a fly!  Heck, I bet she'd kill a cat!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-6514853704765140537?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/6514853704765140537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=6514853704765140537' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6514853704765140537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6514853704765140537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2009/03/overheard.html' title='Overheard'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3285157392069905538</id><published>2008-12-28T19:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T20:37:26.235-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Merry Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SVhQ3DditqI/AAAAAAAAACE/KSnmsRo7waY/s1600-h/cv5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285063069471520418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 90px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 130px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SVhQ3DditqI/AAAAAAAAACE/KSnmsRo7waY/s200/cv5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SVhP3j82goI/AAAAAAAAAB8/c8T6jMowCaY/s1600-h/cv3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285061978681148034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 91px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 129px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SVhP3j82goI/AAAAAAAAAB8/c8T6jMowCaY/s200/cv3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285061711747703906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 121px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 94px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SVhPoBi9ZGI/AAAAAAAAAB0/zP8MVJSWBuI/s200/Christmas+vacation+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, the last of the Christmas gatherings was held today at our home. Our guests were supposed to arrive inbetween 2:30 and 3. So everyone rolled in around 4:45... These are a few things I overheard during the day.... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Comments about parenting...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As we were discussing the details of a 14 year old family member who had been caught drinking..."Well, it doesn't matter what you two shove down their throat, those kids are going to do what they want to and make their own decisions about religion." &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Always a pleasure&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Comments about the menu...from the very hard-of-hearing.....in a very loud voice...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know, if she'd put some instant potatoes in this soup, it'd thicken up better." &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Thank you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comments about what one should get for Christmas..."Well, I really wanted the Pineapple bread, but instead I got the Chocolate Zuchinni bread. I absolutely HATE Chocolate Zuchinni Bread! The label said 'Pineapple Bread', but I opened it up and it was Chocolate Zuchinni Bread!! I really hate Chocolate Zuchinni Bread" &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Hey do you hate Chocolate Zuchinni Bread? By the way, how many times can we say 'Chocolate Zuchinni Bread' in one sentence. There ought to be a limit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comments about how one should educate their children...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"How many children are in your class?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oldest child: "2"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"2!?!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, me and her. We're homeschooled." (saying with a nonchalant tone, like everyone else in the world is and it's not a big deal)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Do you follow any state guidelines? Do you think they'll have any trouble catching up if you put them in "regular" school? " &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;No, I think their classmates should do just fine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, Grandma...She's reading independently at 5."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;" So was I!.... &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;.(&lt;strong&gt;78 years ago, sibling to 19...yes I said 19&lt;/strong&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt like Clark Griswold today. Dreams of a new pool and a happy family Christmas....Jelly-of-the-month club!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3285157392069905538?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3285157392069905538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3285157392069905538' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3285157392069905538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3285157392069905538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/12/well-last-of-christmas-gatherings-was.html' title='Merry Christmas'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SVhQ3DditqI/AAAAAAAAACE/KSnmsRo7waY/s72-c/cv5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1179707761334701624</id><published>2008-12-28T19:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T19:55:39.652-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a name="6776188485650245782"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://funandfaithful.blogspot.com/2008/12/fun-meme-aka-stolen-post-from-judy-d.html"&gt;A Fun MeMe (A.K.A. ... a stolen post from Judy!) :D&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I stole it from Mical...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In your entire life, have you ever ...........&lt;br /&gt;gone on a blind date? .... Once, against my will. I thought I was going to the movies with my friend, she had other plans for me. &lt;br /&gt;skipped school? .... Yes&lt;br /&gt;watched someone die ? .... Yes. Too many times.&lt;br /&gt;been to Canada? .... No&lt;br /&gt;been to Mexico? .... No.&lt;br /&gt;been to Florida? .... Yep.&lt;br /&gt;had your booze taken away by the cops? ....Not lately. Just kidding. No.&lt;br /&gt;lettered in high school sport? ....a couple&lt;br /&gt;cried yourself to sleep? .... Yes..many times.&lt;br /&gt;played cops and robbers? ....Yes!! &lt;br /&gt;played dolls? .... Yeah. :/ .... I was such a tomboy growing up ... how is it that I loved Barbies so much? "Ditto" for me Mical.&lt;br /&gt;sung Karaoke? .... No&lt;br /&gt;done something you said you  wouldn't? .... Oh, yes. Too many times.&lt;br /&gt;cheated on an exam? .... Yes.  But I didn't realize it.  A friend of mine had the class the semester before and she gave me some  "old tests" to study.  I barely glanced at the first one and went to take the test.  It was the exact same test.  So the next test came around and I barely glanced at the "practice test" because I thought, "Surely it wouldn't be the exact same test twice in a row!"  Alas, I was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;made prank phone calls? .... Yes, when I was 12.&lt;br /&gt;laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose? .... YES! Not good with carbonated beverages.  It hurst!&lt;br /&gt;caught a snowflake on your tongue? .... Every winter. :)&lt;br /&gt;danced in the rain? .... YES!!! It is so much fun! You MUST try it!&lt;br /&gt;written a letter to Santa Clause? .... I'm sure when I was in elementary school.&lt;br /&gt;watched the sunrise with someone you care about? .... Yes!&lt;br /&gt;been kissed under the mistletoe? ....Who needs mistletoe!? I'm married!&lt;br /&gt;Ever been arrested? .... Nope&lt;br /&gt;....blown bubbles? .... Oh, yeah! As a child...but nothing beats blowing bubbles with your own children.&lt;br /&gt;gone ice-skating? .... Yes, I love ice skating.&lt;br /&gt;been skinny dipping outdoors? ....No..well maybe when i was 5 in my grandma's back yard. does that count?&lt;br /&gt;had a nickname? .... Boo&lt;br /&gt;been to Africa? .... Nope&lt;br /&gt;eaten cookies for dinner? .... I don't think so ... but yummy!&lt;br /&gt;been on TV? .... No&lt;br /&gt;been in a car accident? .... Yep.&lt;br /&gt;What is your Mother's name? .... better not say, you know the witness protection program and all!  Just kidding!&lt;br /&gt;favorite drink? .... Diet Coke or sweet tea (too hard to choose)&lt;br /&gt;favorite alcohol? .... I don't drink alcohol very much, but I like some red wines.&lt;br /&gt;birthplace? .... Indy&lt;br /&gt;favorite vacation spot? .... anywhere with my family&lt;br /&gt;favorite salad dressing? ....  ranch.&lt;br /&gt;favorite pie? .... Apple pie&lt;br /&gt;favorite number? ....3&lt;br /&gt;favorite movie? ....Stand By Me&lt;br /&gt;favorite holiday? .... Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;favorite food? .... Pot roast, potatoes, and carrots&lt;br /&gt;day of the week? .... Sunday -&lt;br /&gt;favorite brand of body wash? .... No favorite&lt;br /&gt;favorite toothpaste? .... Whatever's in the drawer&lt;br /&gt;favorite smell? ....baby powder&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any tattoos? .... Nope.&lt;br /&gt;body piercings? .... Ears&lt;br /&gt;Do you drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? .... 4 doors. 12 passenger van, baby.&lt;br /&gt;What do you do to relax...I have 3 children and a husband.  The word is not in my vocabulary.&lt;br /&gt;How do you see yourself in 10 years? .... Loving the Lord, following Him, trusting Him...The parent of an 18 year old, almost 16 year old and 12 year old.  married to the love of my life.  running marathons...climbing mountains...we;ll see! Well, that was fun! You all should copy and paste this ... and add it to your blog! :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1179707761334701624?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1179707761334701624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1179707761334701624' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1179707761334701624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1179707761334701624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/12/fun.html' title='Fun'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-5206792154039041805</id><published>2008-11-28T02:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T02:35:19.144-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><title type='text'>Thankful</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;A Few Things I'm Thankful For....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;my salvation in Christ the Lord.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a messy house filled with children running and laughing (and sometimes fighting)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a smile from my youngest first thing in the morning with a greeting of, "Hi Momma" with so much enthusiasm. Like he hadn't seen me for days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;how God has given them each their own personalities and hearts for Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my husband and how he has given himself up for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the love of my family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that my mom survived and was completely restored so many years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that I had a grandmother who prayed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my church family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;watching my Grandpa dance with my niece yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;listening to my dad sing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my sisters and their families.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my mother-in-law who is my biggest fan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that I'm an American.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for God's creation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that I have so many examples of godly men and women in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that my oldest wants to be a missionary when he grows up (and a superhero!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that my daughter has a helpful spirit and reminds me that she's watching me each and every day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that God forgives and shows grace and mercy to me &lt;strong&gt;EVERY DAY&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for our soldiers who sacrifice so that you and I can be free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for God's sovereignty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that people love me enough to take the time to read this list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I am thankful for so much more and cannot put it into words for fear that my tears of joy and thankfulness will short out this keyboard and cause an electrical fire which would be bad and yes, I know this is a run-on sentence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Be joyful always. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-5206792154039041805?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/5206792154039041805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=5206792154039041805' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5206792154039041805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5206792154039041805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/11/thankful.html' title='Thankful'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1701329052398804556</id><published>2008-11-13T19:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T20:14:15.548-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frugality'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cleaning'/><title type='text'>Frugal Cleaning</title><content type='html'>I really enjoy cleaning. I also enjoy saving money. I thought I'd share a few things I've tried recently that have made cleaning easier and saved money. First off, I invested in some microfiber cleaning cloths. You can get 4 large cloths for $3 at your local Family Dollar. These cloths are so large, I cut them in half. I use these cloths for all of my cleaning. They can be used for dusting, cleaning showers, mirrors....pretty much everything. I use one of the cut cloths and attach it to my "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Swiffer&lt;/span&gt;". It works even better than the disposable cloths you pay $5 for. These cloths are amazing at removing soap scum. My showers get so smooth you have to be careful next time you get in. The next product I have recently been made aware of is lemon oil. I use it to dust and polish. You can use it to clean stainless steel. I also put a thin coat on the clean shower walls and fixtures. It can extend the time between cleanings. DO NOT PUT IT ON THE SHOWER FLOOR! Now on to the laundry. I started making my own laundry detergent. According to the recipe I use, it costs about $.01/load compared to "Tide" at $.25/load. It smells great and softens the load. I also started buying liquid fabric softener, putting it in a recycled spray bottle, and spraying it on one of my socks from the "Home for Wayward Socks" bag. I dilute the softener with an equal amount of water. I've had the same bottle of fabric softener for months and months. Here's the recipe for the laundry detergent:&lt;br /&gt;1 c. grated &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Fels&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Naptha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1/2 c. Arm &amp;amp; Hammer Washing Soda&lt;br /&gt;1/2 c. Mule Team Borax&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grate the bar soap with an old cheese grater and put all of the ingredients in a recycled ice cream bucket with a lid. You use 2 tbsp per load. All of the ingredients are available at Kroger. I hope anyone who reads this finds this helpful. For other hints, try out:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.everydaycheapskate.com/"&gt;http://www.everydaycheapskate.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.soapsgonebuy.com/"&gt;http://www.soapsgonebuy.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.womansday.com/"&gt;http://www.womansday.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1701329052398804556?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1701329052398804556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1701329052398804556' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1701329052398804556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1701329052398804556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/11/frugal-cleaning.html' title='Frugal Cleaning'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1837281117965860365</id><published>2008-11-06T05:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T05:39:57.048-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Be Careful Little Ears What You Hear</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SRLzcwonn7I/AAAAAAAAABk/EEu_Ukimj0U/s1600-h/evan+almighty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265538589766688690" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 122px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SRLzcwonn7I/AAAAAAAAABk/EEu_Ukimj0U/s320/evan+almighty.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My middle child is intensely funny. She keeps me in stitches and provides a heapin' helping of what I call "blog fodder". We were out of town a couple of weeks ago. The morning we were leaving the hotel to come home, we caught the end of the movie "Evan Almighty". Pretty cute movie. A few days after we came home, the kids and I went to the grocery store. I always park right by the "Cart Corral". This allows me to park my behemoth van with no fear that anyone will park beside me and we all have to enter through the drivers side and also none of my children will fall out of the vehicle and the door will not bang into one of my husband's patient's brand new white Cadillac! Not to mention any names (mason). After our shopping trip, I loaded up the van with kids and groceries and went to put the cart away. An elderly man with a long white beard is also putting his cart away right beside our van. I hear my daughter say, in her best news reporter voice, "The Weirdo with the Beardo". You know how you try to act like "whose kids are those and where is their mother?". Didn't work out so well. My two year old is smiling and waving at me. After I stopped secretly laughing, I gently informed my daughter that was not a nice thing to say. I got the usual and customary, "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Why do children pick out the most obscure things from something they've seen or heard and use them at the most inopportune times? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1837281117965860365?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1837281117965860365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1837281117965860365' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1837281117965860365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1837281117965860365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/11/be-careful-little-ears-what-you-hear.html' title='Be Careful Little Ears What You Hear'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SRLzcwonn7I/AAAAAAAAABk/EEu_Ukimj0U/s72-c/evan+almighty.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-4209865065450283192</id><published>2008-10-20T18:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T18:12:22.254-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Aggravation</title><content type='html'>Has anyone ever received a gift for your child that is age inappropriate?  My son received a board game for his third birthday that said on the box "ages 6 &amp;amp;up" .  We put it up in the top of his closet hoping he wouldn't notice.  That boy looked longingly up into the top of that closet for three years!  "Why can't I play this game?" "When can I play this game?"  Finally, the long awaited 6&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; birthday arrives.  Boy gets to play game.  Wouldn't you know it?  It was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;regift&lt;/span&gt;!  Half of the marbles were gone!  We could not play the game!  Isn't that life sometimes?  We put our hopes in something other than God.  "This will make me happy."  " If only I could do this, then I'd be fulfilled!"  Only to be letdown when we finally get what we coveted.  Oh, and by the way, the game was "Aggravation".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-4209865065450283192?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/4209865065450283192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=4209865065450283192' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/4209865065450283192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/4209865065450283192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/10/aggravation.html' title='Aggravation'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3016554608561925652</id><published>2008-10-20T18:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T21:21:28.649-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3016554608561925652?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3016554608561925652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3016554608561925652' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3016554608561925652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3016554608561925652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/10/country-pumpkins.html' title=''/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-5958008871957606437</id><published>2008-10-20T17:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T18:02:16.222-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finders Keepers</title><content type='html'>I love how enormous daily events are when you are a kid.  My daughter was helping me make my bed the other day.  When we shook out the covers, a penny flew out &amp;amp; hit the floor.  She gleefully picked it up and said, "Finders keepers, losers weepers!"  I smiled at her and we continued on with our day.  Later on, we were in the kitchen making dinner and she dropped her penny.  She screamed, "My Penny!!!" and dove on this thing like she had fumbled at the Super Bowl!  It was a sight to see.  She did beat both of her brothers to the penny, though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-5958008871957606437?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/5958008871957606437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=5958008871957606437' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5958008871957606437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5958008871957606437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/10/finders-keepers.html' title='Finders Keepers'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-2892469239215745026</id><published>2008-09-12T12:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T12:44:09.920-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Competitive</title><content type='html'>I'm learning a great deal about myself these days. Not all of it good. Apparently, I am a sexist and a hypocrite. Great!!!That being said, I'll begin to explain the events that have lead up to this great revelation. I'm sure I will lose a few style points on this one, but after all, recognizing the problem is the first step to recovery. A little background: I am a married, mother of 3( 2 boys/1 girl), thirty-something, former college athlete. My oldest is playing tackle football for the first time this year. He is the second biggest kid on the team and what they call a "striper" (he has a stripe on his helmet that indicates he is too big to run the ball for fear he might kill/maim someone). The problem is he runs like Shaggy off of Scooby Doo, but slower. He has an unbelievably tender heart and does not have an agressive bone in his body. I get so frustrated with him just out there messing around. I cannot watch practices because I'm afraid&lt;em&gt; &lt;strong&gt;I&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;will be charged with "facemasking" or "unnecessary roughness". It has brought out this primal instinct in me. I have to fight every urge not to yell, "Come on!" and "Hustle". The 'h' word is not in the vocabulary. I'm not one of those parents who thinks my son is going to be my meal ticket and get a college scholarship (this pretty much confirms it), but I do expect my children to give 100% effort. My mother-in-law was at one of my son's football games and was talking about how much my youngest son loves to dance and sing (he's 2). She said that we should think about putting him in tap dancing or ballet. I muttered under my breath (or so I thought) "Over my dead body!" She was appalled and called me a sexist. She explained to me that there is nothing effeminate about tap dancing and ballet. I have a male friend who does clogging, which is similar but he doesn't use "jazz hands". I have never once considered clogging effeminate. I also know a couple of male ballet dancers and I don't think they are effeminate. I'm not sure what my problem is. The third and most condemning piece of evidence came about earlier this week. My husband and I were watching, "America's Got Talent". The performer was a male baton twirler. Impressive, yes. Would I want my son to take it up? No.&lt;br /&gt;Now comes the reason I'm a hypocrite. I played on the boy's baseball team in high school because my school did not have a fast pitch softball team and I wanted to play in college. I never once thought that anyone would question my femininity/sexuality.&lt;br /&gt;Before I lose all style points, I will clarify this for you. I love my children intensely and will not be disappointed if they choose music/art over sports. As long as they don't pick up a baton. Unless it's in the 400M relay!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-2892469239215745026?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/2892469239215745026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=2892469239215745026' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2892469239215745026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2892469239215745026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/09/competitive.html' title='Competitive'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-4045678964015325089</id><published>2008-08-21T19:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T19:53:36.178-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kid funny'/><title type='text'>My Songbird</title><content type='html'>Anyone who has a child who puts her life to song will appreciate this.  My 5 year old daughter spends most of her days pretending and playing and making up songs to go along with whatever she is doing.  It truly is a delight.  But, as with anything that happens day after day, it can also get somewhat annoying.  I tune out most things.  This past weekend, we stopped off at the local hardware store.  It was a quick trip, so my husband went in alone while we waited in the car.  A minivan pulls up beside us.  Out comes an elderly gentlemen about as round as he was tall.  The song she was currently singing was interrupted by, "I don't think that man is gonna fit in that door!"(set to music of course).  It took every fiber of my being to not bust out in laughter!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-4045678964015325089?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/4045678964015325089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=4045678964015325089' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/4045678964015325089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/4045678964015325089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/08/my-songbird.html' title='My Songbird'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-2944971108126582810</id><published>2008-06-30T18:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T19:06:42.264-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Freckles in Black &amp; White</title><content type='html'>Some of my friends are emailing back and forth funny things their children say.  I love reading them.  It gets me thinking, "do my kids ever say anything funny?" Then I think, "everything they say is funny!"  Anyway, here are a couple good ones:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My oldest who is almost 8:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've been watching the old Star Wars movies with him and getting out all of the old school action figures.  I was telling him about one of the movies we hadn't watched together yet.  I was so excited to talk with him about something that I was also interested in.  Halfway through the conversation, he looks up at me and says, "Mom, were you alive in the gray and white?" Translation:  Were you alive when there was no color in the world and everything was black and white? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My five year old daughter:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were outside playing and she was sitting in the grass.  Some little gnats were flying around and landing on her and then taking off again.  She said to me, "Hey, one of my freckles is flying around!!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too cute!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-2944971108126582810?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/2944971108126582810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=2944971108126582810' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2944971108126582810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2944971108126582810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/funny-freckles-in-black-white.html' title='Funny Freckles in Black &amp; White'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1439774058346564318</id><published>2008-06-26T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T18:59:42.027-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='child&apos;s prayer'/><title type='text'>Bedtime Prayers</title><content type='html'>I love to listen to my daughter pray.  She is my only child who likes to pray "with words".  Meaning she likes to pray out loud.  My oldest likes to pray "without words" because God knows what he's thinking.  My daughter holds nothing back when she prays.  This was her prayer tonight:  "Dear Lord,  Thank you for this day.  Please keep us safe from the lightning.  Please love us.  Please, please help us.  Please help my Mommy and Daddy to be nice. In Jesus name, Amen."  After she finished, I asked her, "Do you think that Mommy and Daddy are mean?" She replied, "Sometimes.  And sometimes your nice."  If you want the truth, ask a five year old.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1439774058346564318?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1439774058346564318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1439774058346564318' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1439774058346564318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1439774058346564318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/bedtime-prayers.html' title='Bedtime Prayers'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-6260655951819473583</id><published>2008-06-21T19:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T20:04:14.420-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood'/><title type='text'>Exercising Creative Authority</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I was  ironing in the hallway and listening to my children playing in the next room.  Those who know me will be questioning the veracity of this post because I began with, "I was ironing".  Anyway, the kids were playing "Rescue Heroes".   My oldest son has every one ever made and they were all on the kitchen floor.  This particular episode of Rescue Heroes was sort of like Barbie meets Rambo. My oldest son (OS)  was a fire chief named, "Billy Blazes".  My daughter  (D) was a dolphin named, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;".  My youngest son was, well, no one.  This is how the conversation went. (Names have been left out to protect the innocent)&lt;br /&gt;OS:  "We've got to get out of here!  Everyone get on the boat. There are sharks everywhere!"&lt;br /&gt;D:  "I'm not a shark, I'm a dolphin!  I won't hurt you."&lt;br /&gt;OS:  "C, dolphins can't talk!"&lt;br /&gt;D:  "Oh, yes I can. I'm a talking dolphin.&lt;br /&gt;OS: (moving on)  "Lookout!  There's a bomb in the boat!"&lt;br /&gt;D:  "We'll get out, but first...(breaking into song) "Do you want to go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Splashin&lt;/span&gt;' Safari, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Splashin&lt;/span&gt;' Safari, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Splashin&lt;/span&gt;' Safari)&lt;br /&gt;OS:  (obviously frustrated)  "C!"&lt;br /&gt; While this is going on, my youngest son is saying, "I want &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;, I want &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;, I want &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;, I want &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;"  over and over and over and....you get it.&lt;br /&gt;This reminded me of my childhood and how bossy I was with my sisters.  Every last detail had to be true to life.  There was no room for creativity.  If you want to be creative, go play elsewhere.  I was the child who never wanted a purple teddy bear.  Bears weren't purple.  They were white, black, or brown.  My dolls had to be dressed and their hair combed.  None of these ratty little hooligans with messy hair and no clothes.  Dolphins certainly didn't talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did enjoy listening to these funny kids.  I'm amazed at how different they are.  I am glad that God created them to be exactly who they are.   I am so glad that God has a plan for all of our lives and that no two look the same.  I am glad that my sisters still love me even after my reign as Playroom Dictator.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-6260655951819473583?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/6260655951819473583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=6260655951819473583' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6260655951819473583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6260655951819473583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/exercising-creative-authority.html' title='Exercising Creative Authority'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-6733101330547959321</id><published>2008-06-20T05:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T05:56:21.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mere Observation</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;I only subscribe to one magazine, "Family Fun", but I do get hand-me-downs from my husband's office and a couple from his grandma.  I've discovered that the editors of women's magazines really have a pretty low opinion of the American woman.   According to them we:   &lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Are Overweight&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Are Lousy parents&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Are Bad with money&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Love to eat&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Messy&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Need help with our intimate life&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;You need not even open the magazine.  It's all laid out for you right on the cover.  "Get your Body Beach Ready in 5 Days!",  "How to Behave So Your Children Will", "6 Steps to Financial Freedom", "Get Your Closet Organized in 7 Minutes",  "Dinner in under 30 minutes"  and the last topic will remain undiscussed as this blog is rated for general audiences.   All this surrounding the "average" American Supermodel.  My personal fave is the one on the cover of a fitness magazine that says "Bikini's for Every Body Type" .  You open it up and every model has washboard abs.  Somehow, my body type wasn't included in "every".  But, I digress.  I am just simply amazed at how they sell these magazines month after month.  They are the exact same thing with different pictures!  They put the articles about money right in the midst of all of these ads.  They put the ab workout at the beginning and all of the delectable recipes at the end.  But I'm on to them.  I'm sure that the title, "If you Don't Have the Cash, Put it Back" wouldn't sell magazines.  After all we're spending our hard-earned money buying the same magazine over and over each month! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-6733101330547959321?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/6733101330547959321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=6733101330547959321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6733101330547959321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6733101330547959321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/mere-observation.html' title='A Mere Observation'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-971893771949067946</id><published>2008-06-20T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T05:31:53.622-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On Butterflies and Birds</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SFujJlbOTDI/AAAAAAAAAA0/GCkPkGlTgTI/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213940378671926322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SFujJlbOTDI/AAAAAAAAAA0/GCkPkGlTgTI/s200/images.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In one of my earliest posts, I made mention of a mental list I keep of questions that I will ask God when I get to Heaven. I thought of a new one the other day when my son was giving me the butterfly tutorial. His first grade class raised "Painted Lady" butterflies from eggs. I was at school the day they released the new creations. It was so cool to see these butterflies whirl around and land on one of the kids noses. They all giggled with glee. God is so creative. My son was telling me all about these butterflies on the way home. He informed me that these butterflies are poisonous to birds. If the birds eat them, they will die. This got me thinking (lookout!). This is pretty much a lose-lose situation. The butterfly gets eaten, the bird dies. There are no survivors to warn others of the impending danger. I imagined in my mind a Gary Larson cartoon (The Far Side) of birds standing around looking at a warning poster with a bird with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;x's&lt;/span&gt; over his eyes laying under a half eaten butterfly. So this question really is on behalf of my son and his concern for the birds. How do birds know not to eat the butterflies? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-971893771949067946?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/971893771949067946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=971893771949067946' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/971893771949067946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/971893771949067946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/on-butterflies-and-birds.html' title='On Butterflies and Birds'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/SFujJlbOTDI/AAAAAAAAAA0/GCkPkGlTgTI/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-353975487782955567</id><published>2008-06-20T04:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T05:15:29.651-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scrapbook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stay-at-home mom'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='craft'/><title type='text'>Cancelled Due to Lack of Interest</title><content type='html'>No, not my blog.&lt;br /&gt;After reading this, any stay-at-home mom will sympathize. Anyone else will label me with two words, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;OVER REACTOR&lt;/span&gt;". I have a handful of things that I like to do that remind me that deep down inside, "I" still exist. I love to do crafts. I won't devote an entire blog to it as I also like to bathe, eat, and sleep. My friend invited me to a "Crop Night" on Friday from 5pm-midnight. That is 7 hours of pure &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;scrapbooking&lt;/span&gt; bliss! I got my permission slip signed and made the call to reserve my spot. They asked for my credit card number to reserve my spot. Wow, this must be a pretty big deal. I've never done anything like this before, so I assumed this must be an event. At this point, Friday was still a couple of days away. I was planning on which pictures I would take and when I would find the time to organize my supplies. Later on that day, I get in the car to go somewhere and I noticed that my cell phone had a voicemail. (It doesn't ring in the house out hear in the holler.) I'm driving along and I hear, "Mrs. B, we are going to cancel the crop night for Friday due to lack of interest. We hope you can join us in July!". WHAT!!! Lack of interest. I'm interested! Isn't my $10 worth anything! July? Maybe you could wait for your paycheck until July! For me, this was the equivalent of having your birthday party cancelled as a child.&lt;br /&gt;Well, here it is Friday. I'm finished with my tantrum. July will be here before I know it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-353975487782955567?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/353975487782955567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=353975487782955567' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/353975487782955567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/353975487782955567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/cancelled-due-to-lack-of-interest.html' title='Cancelled Due to Lack of Interest'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1395368701561616914</id><published>2008-06-06T05:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T05:50:01.950-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When The ______ Hits the Fan!</title><content type='html'>Before you read the title and think, "Raunchy!", read on. I'm not one of those people who have lots of weird things happen in my life. I have a friend who begins every conversation with, "You're &lt;strong&gt;not&lt;/strong&gt; going to believe what happened to me!" Things are pretty low key around here. After you read about my "weird thing", you'll agree. But I thought it was worth sharing. A couple of nights ago, I stayed up way past bedtime to do some testing online. When I was finished, I went to bed. I was just drifting off to sleep and I heard my daughter screaming. This is not the weird part. This is a common occurrence. I went downstairs and took her to the bathroom. I put her back to bed and went back upstairs. I crawled back into bed and thought to myself, "that fan is too loud". So I got up and turned the box fan down to low. On my way back to bed, I tripped over the "Total Gym" (which might as well be a coat hanger these days) stubbed my toe as quietly as I could so as not to wake up "Sleeping Beauty". I get back into bed again. I pull the covers up again and notice this blinking light crawling towards me. It was a really fast blink and really bright. I'm thinking, "I've never seen a lightning bug like that". I remembered that a few nights back, my husband pointed out this tiny spider on the floor that would light up every few seconds. So if that was a tiny spider that lit up, this must be a BIG spider that lit up! I sat straight up and fumbled for the light. Then, this creature flies straight up in the air, gets caught in the ceiling fan,(which sounded like an ostrich caught in the blades of a helicopter) blinking all the way, flies out of the ceiling fan and hits the box fan which sends it hurtling across the room. I felt like I was at an arcade. I had my very own Insect Pinball going on in the middle of my bedroom. I finally found the light and discovered it was only a harmless, large, disoriented, lightning bug. My husband kind of stirred and frowned when I turned on the light. Missed the show again. Back to sleep dear. All is well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1395368701561616914?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1395368701561616914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1395368701561616914' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1395368701561616914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1395368701561616914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/06/when-hits-fan.html' title='When The ______ Hits the Fan!'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3164100782591579883</id><published>2008-05-27T05:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T05:34:46.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Mr. and Mrs.</title><content type='html'>My husband and I always joke about being "average".  We really don't "stand out" in anything.  I have friends and relatives that can:   cook gourmet meals, run marathons, make scrapbook pages that would blow your mind, decorate beautiful homes, have flower gardens that are gorgeous, make a bookcase, paint masterpieces, sew wonderfully.....you get the idea.&lt;br /&gt;I suffer from "good, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;butnotasgood&lt;/span&gt;" disease.  We've given ourselves new names.  My husband and I are now, "Mr. and Mrs. Mediocre".  I can't speak for him, but there is one thing that I'm good at.  It is my gift .  It is the gift of silliness.  Those who don't have it, don't want it.  Those who have it, might choose something else, if they could.  I happen to like being silly.  It tends to make the career of parenthood a touch easier.  Even before I was a parent, you'd always find me a the "kid's table".  Little kids used to flock to me like I was the "Pied Piper".  I truly love them and I learn so much from them.  It's fun to be silly and it's not that hard. Besides, who wants to make a bookcase anyway?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3164100782591579883?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3164100782591579883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3164100782591579883' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3164100782591579883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3164100782591579883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/05/new-mr-and-mrs.html' title='The New Mr. and Mrs.'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-7024997588983919475</id><published>2008-05-09T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T06:28:12.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Signature</title><content type='html'>My oldest son has a cast on his right arm.  This is what I would sign on his cast if there was room:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear M- I was hoping that this cast would slow you down a bit.  Sort of like an imaginary shackle to keep you chained to me for awhile longer.  Then, I could hold you like I did when you were a baby.  I could look into your beautiful, striking blue eyes and enjoy your infectious smile.  You would say, "Mommy, I need you" or "Mommy,  I want you".  Everyone used to laugh at you because you would say those words so fast, it sounded like one word.  Well, you're not a baby anymore.  You're my big boy with a broken arm.  It hurts me to see you hurt because I love you so.  I love your tender, compassionate heart.  I love the way you view the world. I love how you would help the hungry, needy, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;oppressed&lt;/span&gt; by simply inviting them to our house so that we could care for them.  I love your spirit.  I love you.   Love- Momma"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I opted to write, "MOM" on his upper arm.  Like on of the old homemade tattoos.  He didn't like it though, because I put a heart in place of the letter "o".  Big boys don't have hearts on their casts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-7024997588983919475?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/7024997588983919475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=7024997588983919475' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/7024997588983919475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/7024997588983919475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-signature.html' title='My Signature'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-273403172542607867</id><published>2008-05-01T04:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T05:07:50.108-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Planned Obsolescence</title><content type='html'>Overnight, I became "Mom" instead of "Momma". I think my five year old tried to set a record by using the  word "mom" in a sentence as many times as she could to drive this point home.  She is through with the whole "Momma" thing.  She has been her own person since day one.  If I could write a sentence to describe her, it would be:  "I'll do it by myself!" *&lt;em&gt;emphasis not mine. &lt;/em&gt;  Most mothers would be thankful for her independence and self-motivation.  I am to a degree, but I start thinking, "what does she need me for?"  The truth is, she does need me.  She needs me to be an example to her.  To tame her little wild heart, to help her to realize God's plan and purpose for her life, to prepare her for marriage and parenthood. To teach her. There, I feel better already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God."    Titus 2:3-5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-273403172542607867?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/273403172542607867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=273403172542607867' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/273403172542607867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/273403172542607867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/05/planned-obsolescence.html' title='Planned Obsolescence'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-155392482156283539</id><published>2008-04-28T17:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T18:22:15.732-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Parenting'/><title type='text'>Motherhood</title><content type='html'>I remember being normal at one point in my life.  It didn't last too long. Probably less than 2 years.  Then, I became a mother.  While I was pregnant, I had the same delusions that every mother-to-be has.  Our new little family would be like a magazine ad.  You know the ones where everyone is wearing white and they have perfect bodies, teeth, and hair.  We would be smiling and looking lovingly down at our perfect bundle of joy we had created.  He/she would be sleeping in their perfectly decorated nursery and would wake up smiling; eager for another day.  If I could make a screeching halt noise with my computer, here is where it would be inserted.   We did have our little bundle of joy, but I stayed in my pajamas for 3 months.  I'm pretty sure I brushed my teeth and hair, but have no real proof.  I woke up one morning, my gown soaked with milk.  As soon as I picked up the baby, he peed all over me.  It seems "Luvs" don't stop "Leaks".  I fed him and he spit up on me.  It's 7 am, I'm covered in three bodily fluids and only one belongs to me.  Where are the white clothes and the perfect teeth and hair? Where's the perfect nursery?  And while I'm asking, where's my perfect body I was promised if I chose to breastfeed? &lt;br /&gt;   Now there are three perfect bundles of joy.  I am no longer delusional (atleast, about motherhood). I have realized that my children, are just that; "my" children.  Not the ones in the magazine ads.   I wouldn't trade them for the world.  I wouldn't trade sticky kisses,  my good underwear that was washed and dried with orange crayon,  my Bible that my daughter decided needed some pictures, "tuckling" them in at night.  I am so overwhelmed with the job I have before me.  It is only because I want to do this right.  God has promised me that "His grace is sufficient for me" and I believe that He will make up for my shortcomings. I am so unbelievably thankful to God for these blessings.    There is no greater profession than motherhood.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-155392482156283539?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/155392482156283539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=155392482156283539' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/155392482156283539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/155392482156283539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/04/motherhood.html' title='Motherhood'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3949900121562550537</id><published>2008-04-21T20:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-21T20:51:23.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All Before 10 AM</title><content type='html'>All before 10 AM today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My oldest wrote a story&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter cut her own hair with scissors I left out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby pooped in the potty for the first time and shredded half a roll of toilet paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just things I wanted to remember about today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3949900121562550537?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3949900121562550537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3949900121562550537' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3949900121562550537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3949900121562550537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/04/all-before-10-am.html' title='All Before 10 AM'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-2787204093520821716</id><published>2008-04-05T18:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-05T18:57:32.474-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><title type='text'>Seek Professional Help</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gtZv3tc7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/PtJjsLk2v_g/s1600-h/DumbandDumber002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185944891287237554" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gtZv3tc7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/PtJjsLk2v_g/s200/DumbandDumber002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gtZ_3tc8I/AAAAAAAAAAk/YZD-Z4WmOOY/s1600-h/DumbandDumber004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185944895582204866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gtZ_3tc8I/AAAAAAAAAAk/YZD-Z4WmOOY/s200/DumbandDumber004.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gs9f3tc5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/amxxX9YQB_g/s1600-h/DumbandDumber002.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gs9v3tc6I/AAAAAAAAAAU/9gx-HntCPO0/s1600-h/DumbandDumber004.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is an adjunct to "Replace All Divots"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Get that kid a haircut!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"That boy needs a haircut!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;These are statements I've been hearing for a couple of months now. I realize that it needs done, but I'm hesitant to do so. For one, he's the baby. Two, he's the only one of my children to have any hair to speak of before age 2. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;mul-let: "hairstyle short on top and long in back." &lt;em&gt;online etymology dictionary&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once this terminology was used, I had no choice. I was looking at his blonde curls from behind. Beautiful....if you're a girl. I was at my parent's house, so I asked my mom if she had any scissors I could use. I'm not usually so impulsive, but I thought, "how hard can it be?" When will I learn? Afterward, I couldn't look at the poor child without conjuring up images from "Dumb and Dumber".  My husband came home and said to me, "What happened here?"  and then quoted a line from the movie, "Dumb and Dumber".  I was hoping he wouldn't notice.  Oh well!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All's well that ends well.  The professionals at "Cookie Cutters" fixed my disaster.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-2787204093520821716?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/2787204093520821716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=2787204093520821716' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2787204093520821716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2787204093520821716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/04/seek-professional-help.html' title='Seek Professional Help'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h2jPWUYXU6s/R_gtZv3tc7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/PtJjsLk2v_g/s72-c/DumbandDumber002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3337739986110566182</id><published>2008-03-14T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T11:11:10.541-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Replace All Divots</title><content type='html'>In an effort to save a little money, I decided that I would try my hand at shaping my own eyebrows.  (For those of you who see me in person, resist the urge to stare and go on about your business!)   While preparing my little "kit", my daughter asks me, "Mommy, what is that?&lt;br /&gt;"It's wax, dear."&lt;br /&gt;"Well, what's it for?"&lt;br /&gt;"It's so mommy can fix her eyebrows so it doesn't look like there are two fuzzy caterpillars crawling above my eyes." (Humor is lost on children, or so I thought)&lt;br /&gt;"Well, it looks like there are and they're gonna kiss!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you say "Unibrow"?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3337739986110566182?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3337739986110566182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3337739986110566182' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3337739986110566182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3337739986110566182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/03/replace-all-divots.html' title='Replace All Divots'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-6400124168847816507</id><published>2008-03-13T18:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T18:34:36.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Minimalist</title><content type='html'>I am a minimalist.  I prefer not to label myself as anything other than "Christian wife and mother", but if I must put a name to it, "minimalist" would be it.  I would rather call it "resourceful, creative, and a good steward of things", but that would be too wordy.  I don't belong to any extremist groups (Yet!  Although, I am considering starting one.  It would be called "Mothers Against Toys" M.A.T for short).  Anyone with children knows that being a mother and a minimalist do not go hand-in-hand.  We have toys like the Israelites had quail.  Coming out of our noses (quite literally, in some cases).  The other day I was wading through a sea of megablocks to get to my stove.  My two older children had taken the baby's 200 piece set (not 100, 200) and scattered them everywhere and (guess what) left with my husband.  I'm cooking dinner and watch as the baby forgoes the blocks and gets out a metal mixing bowl, a can of olives, a can of spinach, and a can of coconut milk, and proceeds to stack them. I started thinking, "Finally, someone gets me!".  I'm not sure what that says about me, that an eighteen month old "gets me".  Oh well.  Let's see if I can get away with that refrigerator box I've been eyeing for his second birthday!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-6400124168847816507?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/6400124168847816507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=6400124168847816507' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6400124168847816507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/6400124168847816507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/03/minimalist.html' title='Minimalist'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-2449280375507288782</id><published>2008-02-29T04:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T04:59:21.658-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing Possum</title><content type='html'>When the snow started to melt away, our 7 yr.  old son noticed that we had a new lawn fixture.  A frozen, giant, swollen dead possum.  Very attractive.  My husband and I agreed that while the younger ones were napping, we'd take the snow shovel and give this critter a proper burial (a flying leap into the woods across the street).  Well,  we were sidetracked and a couple of days went by.  The deceased started to attract gigantic turkey buzzards.  Also, very attractive.  When our son returned home from school one day, he asked us if we thought the possum was just pretending to be dead.  My husband mouthed the words, "Yeah, for three days!"  Well, the subject was dropped again and soon forgotten about.  The next day, I was coming home from the grocery store.  The younger children were asleep in the back seat. There was the frozen statue of what used to be a perfectly good possum lying at the edge of the yard.  I thought, "Here's my opportunity! I don't think I can wait for D to get home from work to take care of this."  I got the shovel and tried to scoop up the possum (and his insides that were now outside) .  He was frozen solid to the ground.  I had to scrape and scrape and finally, "JACKPOT".   I carried the possum to it's final resting place.  I was feeling pretty good about myself.  After all, I had taken care of our "little problem". All in a days work. And guess what.  No one even noticed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-2449280375507288782?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/2449280375507288782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=2449280375507288782' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2449280375507288782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/2449280375507288782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/02/playing-possum.html' title='Playing Possum'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-1308155671755778841</id><published>2008-02-12T04:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T05:02:37.634-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Listening and Obeying</title><content type='html'>I've been having some bad days lately. But who hasn't, right? Well, I just feel like God is calling me to so many things at one time that I'm completely overwhelmed and don't know where to start. A few days ago, I was having one of those days. The first three things on my "to do list" were crossed off for me. That doesn't sound so bad, but it left me with nothing to do. Now, everyone knows that as a stay-at home wife and mother, there's ALWAYS something to do. I'll rephrase, it left me with nothing I &lt;em&gt;wanted&lt;/em&gt; to do. I was going about my chores, when my 4 year old said to me, " Mommy, let's have a tea party with your tea set." I gently told her that today would not be a good day to do that. I would have to get it out and wash it up. ( My mom just gave me my old Holly Hobbie porcelain tea set that my Grandma had given me as a child.) After the words were out of my mouth, I felt the Holy Spirit telling me, "Five minutes ago, you were grumbling about not having anything to do. What was your excuse again?" So I told her, "Let's go ahead and have that tea party!" I washed up the tea set, made some hot tea and found a small box of chocolates that someone had given my husband (Shhhh!) I put the baby in his high chair and gave him his own tea cup and saucer (very masculine) and my daughter and I had our tea party. We had our version of "Oprah's Book Club" (Or what I assume it is. I've never actually seen it.) After sipping her tea, she says, "Mommy I want to tell you about a book that Daddy read to me at the library. It's called '&lt;u&gt;Underwear Does and Don'ts'."&lt;/u&gt; Well, now you've got my attention! I said to her, "What did it say?" She waits a couple of seconds as to build up what she's going to say and keep me on the edge of my seat and she bursts out, "Don't take your underwear to school for show 'n tell!" Hilarious laughter ensues. I'm just so thankful, that for once I listened and spent this precious, priceless time with her. In the blink of an eye this will all be gone and I truly will be left with nothing I want to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-1308155671755778841?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/1308155671755778841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=1308155671755778841' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1308155671755778841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/1308155671755778841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/02/listening-and-obeying.html' title='Listening and Obeying'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3831138464255173874</id><published>2008-01-22T14:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T14:14:11.667-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Technology'/><title type='text'>Technologically Challenged</title><content type='html'>I've been having trouble with my cell phone lately, so I called customer service and they told me to get a new "SIM" card.  OK, I can do that.  I go to the store and talk to the representative.  By the end of my visit, I had a new "SIM" card and an unhealthy dose of inadequacy.  There was a sign that read, "Tired of playing the same old games?  The demo games not good enough for you? Want to learn how to play your favorite song on your phone? "  and so on and so on.  I am all for things having multiple uses, but isn't this out of hand?  The lady was telling me that my phone can take pictures and videos that I can download, send text messages, and has internet access.  My first instinct was to scream out loud, "Yes, but it is not making and receiving phone calls! After all, it is a PHONE! "  But I calmly informed her that the phone shuts down in the middle of calls.  The explanation of all of the different possibilities of problems was way beyond my scope of practice.  Maybe I should get a carrier pigeon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3831138464255173874?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3831138464255173874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3831138464255173874' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3831138464255173874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3831138464255173874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/01/technologically-challenged.html' title='Technologically Challenged'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-5952842248140454944</id><published>2008-01-10T08:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T08:46:52.826-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='points to ponder'/><title type='text'>A Few Questions.....</title><content type='html'>I keep a mental list of questions that I will ask God when I get to heaven.  For example, how do locusts get out of their shell leaving the entire thing perfectly intact?  I thought of one yesterday.  Forgive me if the subject matter is crass or vulgar, but here it goes.  What would posess one to write on the walls of a bathroom stall?  I, personally, have never had that urge.  This persons "memoirs" or "manifesto" (I'm not sure which category to use) was written in black sharpie.  Which begs the question, did they go into the bathroom with the sole purpose to deface the doors? I don't carry a black sharpie with me in my back pocket.  Another point to ponder, is you're in the ladies restroom and you see, "For a good time, call ......" (presumably their current female foe).  Do they not realize that other women are their target audience? I don't know about you, but I've never entered a public restroom with the thought of having a good time or seeking one out.  How reliable could the source be? &lt;br /&gt;I have many more questions that are less pressing, but I had to get this one out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-5952842248140454944?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/5952842248140454944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=5952842248140454944' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5952842248140454944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/5952842248140454944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/01/few-questions.html' title='A Few Questions.....'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-684075470476953162</id><published>2008-01-04T12:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T12:55:37.136-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year, Well Maybe</title><content type='html'>The new year at our household was rung in with lots of puking.  Unfortunately for us, not for overindulging.  I had been nauseated all day, but managed to keep things down.   The baby woke up in the middle of the night covered in puke.  We got him downstairs and bathed him only for him to turn around and hurl all over the bathroom and his clean self.  Choking back my own urges, I started to feel sorry for myself.  I then decided to look for the good in this.  I started praising God that I wasn't a pioneer woman. That I had a bathtub with running water.  That my son had more than one pair of pajamas.  That I had a functioning washing machine, not a washboard and bucket. That he more than likely would not die from this illness.  That I was an American with access to healthcare.  That I was able to stay at home with him and not have to run off to work the next day (unfortunately daddy still had to!)  Suddenly, the putred stench was not quite as bad.  The work before me went quickly and three hours later we were tucked back into bed with only 46 loads of laundry left to do!  He is still sick today, but getting better.  One day at a time.  By the way, is it bad to consider letting your child sleep in the empty bathtub?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I will extol the Lord at all times; his praise will always be on my lips."&lt;br /&gt;Psalm 34:1&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-684075470476953162?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/684075470476953162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=684075470476953162' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/684075470476953162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/684075470476953162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-new-year-well-maybe.html' title='Happy New Year, Well Maybe'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5825873182301500372.post-3573532963242350624</id><published>2007-12-24T06:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-24T06:11:04.814-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Testing, Testing 1..2..</title><content type='html'>This is my first attempt at a "blog".  I have so much to say.  Better organize my thoughts first.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5825873182301500372-3573532963242350624?l=trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/feeds/3573532963242350624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5825873182301500372&amp;postID=3573532963242350624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3573532963242350624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5825873182301500372/posts/default/3573532963242350624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://trainofthoughthasderailed.blogspot.com/2007/12/testing-testing-12.html' title='Testing, Testing 1..2..'/><author><name>My Thoughts Exactly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05542528714234413992</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/_h2jPWUYXU6s/ScjVfJPtUEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/t6gIsrknzjo/S220/2009_0102boating080017.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
