<?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-4572670717183701069</id><updated>2011-07-30T07:49:32.081-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SAHM I AM</title><subtitle type='html'>Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mom.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>72</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-789601595378520677</id><published>2010-03-20T22:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-20T23:00:39.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How can I not post this?</title><content type='html'>It would be wrong to NOT post this. Today Tylo finally learned to pose for the camera! For a while now she's been smiling on cue, if you can call her one eye wink, tilted head, showing all her teeth face a smile, but once the camera comes out she just wants to grab at it and push the buttons. Which means we hardly ever take pictures or videos of her an more. Today I tried again and, big surprise, she actually stood still and smiled!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's that award-winning smile:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/S6W18YG81-I/AAAAAAAAAL4/bQJ7liPq_4o/s1600-h/best+smile+ever.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450962972870236130" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/S6W18YG81-I/AAAAAAAAAL4/bQJ7liPq_4o/s400/best+smile+ever.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-789601595378520677?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/789601595378520677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=789601595378520677&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/789601595378520677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/789601595378520677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/how-can-i-not-post-this.html' title='How can I not post this?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/S6W18YG81-I/AAAAAAAAAL4/bQJ7liPq_4o/s72-c/best+smile+ever.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-4413121194514271306</id><published>2010-03-10T16:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T16:44:06.415-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Awaiting baby #2</title><content type='html'>That's right - I'm pregnant!  15 weeks to be exact.  That means I'm just big enough to look like I put on weight but no one can tell why.  And, unlike the first round, my belly didn't nicely pop out into an obvious baby bump.  It just kinda turned flabbier, protruded more, and looks more jelly-like.  Oh, how fun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are looking up.  The worst of the nausea seems to be over, which was way better than last time any way, thanks to some great medication prescribed by my new doctor.  (The awful side effects are a different story.)  I'm still exhausted all the time but a lot less than before.  I actually get up to play with Tylo now, instead of letting her watch endless hours of tv while I sleep on the couch.  I'm in no way back to supermom, but there's an inkling of hope that will come back one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Tylo - my how she's grown!  The little terror is now 21 months old.  She is all over the place with her crooked walk that looks like she's going to fall any second.  She's still incredibly cautious, but must be less so because it seems she's falling more than normal.  Which also means a lot more tears and boo-boos than I'm used to.  A few times a day I'm consoling her.  Mostly because she tried to run, falls flat on her face.  Or tries to climb into her chair and loses her balance. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tylo has an incredible, fun, loving personality.  She loves to semi-run toward me for a hug with arms outstretched, mouth open, smiling eyes.  She picks up objects and pretends they're microphones.  She imitates my silly songs, and holds her arms to her sides like a chicken and twists when she dances.  She loves pretty shirts but refuses to wear hair clips in her hair (won't let me wear them either).  She also has become quite attached to her current pair of shoes and cries when I try other pairs on her.  What is up with that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, her shyness has taken a turn for the worse.  Whereas before she would just stare wearily at strangers, making sure they didn't come too close, now she completely shuts down, freezes her little body, and hide her face against mommy.  Or turn away and try her best not to look.  If they did come too close, she would burst into tears.  Makes it really difficult to be social or to even think about leaving her at a daycare to make new friends while mommy gets some rest.  Funny, strangers don't seem to bother her until they are paying attention to her.  When we're at the mall she will get within 2 feet of other people walking around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the girl knows SOOO much.  Things I've taught her maybe once a week ago she actually remembers.  Sure, there are lots of times you can't tell what she's saying, but SHE knows.  Try to correct her, and it's just the same odd sound you heard before.  "Thank you" will forever be "doo-doo".  "Milk" will remain  "muck". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tylo's favorite word of the moment?  "Stuck".  She can apply it to anything.  Can't pull the toy out of the box?  "Stuck".  Can't reach something mommy intentionally put on a high shelf and out of reach?  "Stuck".   Tired of sitting in her high chair?  "Stuck". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waiting for baby #2 and being completely unprepared is interesting.  We are currently looking again for our new and permanent home, hopefully before I'm due in August.  I find out if it's a boy or girl April 12th.  If you know me, you know I HATE HATE HATE being pregnant.  So needless to say, I'm rooting for a boy so I never have to be pregnant ever again.  Though it sure would be fun for Tylo to have a little sister.  I have no idea yet if I'm going to get a double stroller, turn in the RX for a momvan, or how I'm going to manage two little ones at the same time.  Right now I'm too busy making sure I get my rest and not neglect Tylo completely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-4413121194514271306?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4413121194514271306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=4413121194514271306&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4413121194514271306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4413121194514271306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/awaiting-baby-2.html' title='Awaiting baby #2'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7748068644566799156</id><published>2009-12-12T12:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T11:15:37.585-08:00</updated><title type='text'>18 months . . . and counting</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Happy Holidays!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Peppermint bark, singing snoopy, tap-dancing snowmen, candy cane mylar balloons that Tylo can wrestle with. These are some of my favorite things this season. My husband and I have gone through at least 3 batches of homemade peppermint bark already this month. I'm just glad I'm not paying $20 a box at Williams-Sonoma for it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;After finally (kinda) cleaning out the unpacked boxes in our two spare bedrooms, we came across an old memory chip that contained never before seen videos and pictures of Tylo from early 2009. AMAZING how much a baby can change. Seeing her all baby-faced and chubby almost makes me yearn for those days where she couldn't yet move around and was perfectly content to just lay there and stare at my face. Now she is all over the place, crawling on me, reaching for whatever I have in my hand, pulling at my hair, asking asking for more more more (one of the six or so words she now knows). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's a pic we just found. The accompanying video of her with shirt on head is so adorable I must have watched it 10 times since finding it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SyU85qbmjDI/AAAAAAAAALk/99vDcNdlETs/s1600-h/happy+pirate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414801088323161138" style="WIDTH: 338px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 319px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SyU85qbmjDI/AAAAAAAAALk/99vDcNdlETs/s400/happy+pirate.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is a current list of words that I've determined Tylo can say and truly understands the meaning of:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;More&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Eat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;What's That?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;No&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Owl&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Tylo still isn't an expert walker yet, and we are concerned (her pediatrician recommends seeing a neurologist at this point), but hopefully she will be running around here in no time. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Happy Holidays everyone!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SyU9Lqa7WQI/AAAAAAAAALs/iQxgAUm02Yg/s1600-h/gilead+holiday+party+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414801397557975298" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SyU9Lqa7WQI/AAAAAAAAALs/iQxgAUm02Yg/s400/gilead+holiday+party+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;(our would-be holiday card pic if only Tylo looked)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;_&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&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/4572670717183701069-7748068644566799156?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7748068644566799156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7748068644566799156&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7748068644566799156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7748068644566799156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/18-months-and-counting.html' title='18 months . . . and counting'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SyU85qbmjDI/AAAAAAAAALk/99vDcNdlETs/s72-c/happy+pirate.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-3297598101828463812</id><published>2009-08-05T13:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T13:50:30.125-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Geez Mom, what happened???</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Sigh. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tylo will one day read this blog (if she cares) and wonder why I stopped posting. "Did I get uninteresting?" she will wonder. "Did you stop caring?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course not, honey. Mommy just got, well busy. You always wanted to play with me. I stopped staying up until 3 in the morning so I wouldn't sleep on the couch at 8 in the morning while you watched your 3rd episode of Wonder Pets. I wanted to be a good mom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realize though that I would have liked to know what the first three years of my life were like, because those are the ones we can't remember. I would like to know what my mom's life was like, brand new to the country, dirt poor, watching three kids under the age of 3. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I vow to keep this going, no matter how sporadiacly, until Tylo is old enough to have her own memories. I have to keep this one short and somewhat bulleted, because I have lots to do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;With that said, let's see what has been going on with us lately. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We are moving! We found a 4 bed/2 bath house to rent in Foster City, and I am sooo excited. Space, space and more space!!! Storage room! A garage! Tylo gets her own room! An open floor plan that allows me to fence Tylo in the living area while I cook/clean/do laundry in the kitchen! A backyard! The park just 4 houses down! (Can you tell how excited I am?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Packing has been a long slow process because 1) we have a lot of sh*t (and I must call it that because it really is just that - there is no better name for it); 2) Tylo still needs to eat, go out and get fresh air, nap (which means I can't make too much noise). I can't exactly live off of take-out for the next few weeks because I still need to cook healthy, well-balanced meals for her; 3) Tylo doesn't like it when she can't see me in the room so packing with her in it is out of the question because she likes to climb in boxes and being away from her isn't an option either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo still isn't walking. When she started standing on her own at about 11 months, everyone predicted it would just be a matter of weeks before she was toddling around. Well, at 14 months she refuses to even practice walking. Oh well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And really exciting - I won a dinner for two at Morton's! How cool is that? Don't you wish you had the time to read blogs and enter contests? This is perfect because HP and I just celebrated the 7 year anniversary of the day we met. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.foodgal.com/2009/08/food-gal-contest-winner-of-the-mortons-steakhouse-dinner-plus-a-new-dinner-prize-up-for-grabs/#more-4926"&gt;http://www.foodgal.com/2009/08/food-gal-contest-winner-of-the-mortons-steakhouse-dinner-plus-a-new-dinner-prize-up-for-grabs/#more-4926&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And here's a pic of Tylo - with just enough hair to throw a clip in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SnnwdzcMajI/AAAAAAAAALc/QWA0Tv6R-N8/s1600-h/IMG_2624.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366584825803991602" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SnnwdzcMajI/AAAAAAAAALc/QWA0Tv6R-N8/s400/IMG_2624.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whew - wrote this post in under 10 minutes. Back to work!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&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/4572670717183701069-3297598101828463812?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3297598101828463812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=3297598101828463812&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3297598101828463812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3297598101828463812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/geez-mom-what-happened.html' title='Geez Mom, what happened???'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SnnwdzcMajI/AAAAAAAAALc/QWA0Tv6R-N8/s72-c/IMG_2624.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5117529555002537660</id><published>2009-07-14T11:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T12:00:23.861-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Such sweet pillow talk</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo is 13 months now, just learned to stand on her own a week ago, and wants to have conversations now more than ever. Used to be that she would just repeat what I said, maybe point and say a few words on her own. Now she likes to babble back to me when I ask her questions. Yesterday she started saying "yah" whenever I ask her a question. What's cuter than a conversation that goes like this?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: So what do you want to do today, Tylo? Want to go to the park?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo: YAH&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Ok, let's get ready. Can we go change your diaper? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo: YAH&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Oh no, you stinky girl. Did you poo-poo? (She really didn't, I'm just randomly asking questions at this point.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo: YAH&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Are you a poo-poo monster? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo: YAH&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Forget it, let's just stay home and take nap. Want to take a nap?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tylo: YAH&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good thing she doesn't know the word no, huh? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finally had a chance to take Tylo for her first swim recently.  I can't think of much cuter than a baby girl in a bathing suit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUltxt0KI/AAAAAAAAALE/vUlhsdGCNzA/s1600-h/swimsuit-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358391401072414882" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUltxt0KI/AAAAAAAAALE/vUlhsdGCNzA/s400/swimsuit-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was really scared at first, and did not want to go in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUtS93HlI/AAAAAAAAALM/l8TvdMjW3vY/s1600-h/swimming+with+mommy-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358391531314552402" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUtS93HlI/AAAAAAAAALM/l8TvdMjW3vY/s400/swimming+with+mommy-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She loved it in the end because her daddy glided her back and forth through the water.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUzetzIJI/AAAAAAAAALU/WnELh8lQAEg/s1600-h/swimming+with+daddy-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358391637547622546" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUzetzIJI/AAAAAAAAALU/WnELh8lQAEg/s400/swimming+with+daddy-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&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;/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/4572670717183701069-5117529555002537660?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5117529555002537660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5117529555002537660&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5117529555002537660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5117529555002537660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/such-sweet-pillow-talk.html' title='Such sweet pillow talk'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SlzUltxt0KI/AAAAAAAAALE/vUlhsdGCNzA/s72-c/swimsuit-small.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-9004201538620955471</id><published>2009-06-12T02:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T11:27:19.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tylo turns one!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I feel a little like I climbed a mountain (I know, how would I know what climbing a mountain feels like?). My daughter turned 1 last week. It flew by fast and all that (the last few months did anyway) but it was hard. And somehow, she's still alive, breathing, and very happy. I managed to get through the first year without forgetting her at the mall, dropping her on the floor, or leaving her in the bathtub. We even learned long ago how to avoid leaky diapers. I practically forgot all the struggles of the early months and conquered the 12 month mark with flying colors. I'm a pro at packing for our day trips, I know exactly what snacks or what drinks at what moments will avoid melt-downs. I know which shopping center has acceptable changing areas and when to just change her in the backseat of the car. My daughter only got a hint of diaper rash once in the entire 12 months, and that ended within a day. She eats almost anything I put in front of her (too much, if you ask me) and sleeps through the night most nights. Yup, I'm a bonafide pro at this point. Which isn't to say by next week I'll once again be the amateur mother of the 12 1/2 month old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Before I had Tylo I never understood why parents have these obscenely lavish parties for their 1 year olds that are so obviously oblivious to everything going on around them. Usually they're even afraid of all the unfamiliar faces. But I get it now. The first few months are so hard, especially if it is your first, that having your child survive to age one is truly an accomplishment. It means we parents managed to not screw up royally. After we first brought Tylo home from the hospital, HP kept saying over and over how amazing it is that the hospital actually let us take her home (HP and I have no baby experience whatsoever). Um, hello? Did I not carry her for 9 months, barf every day, several times a day for 8 months, and push her out of MY you-know-what? How could they stop us from taking her home? But I got what he was saying. We had no clue what to do with a baby. Luckily, it really wasn't that hard to figure out what needed to be done and when. Doing it without going crazy is a whole other story . . . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So even though we didn't have a huge bash for Tylo's first birthday (just grandparents, siblings, and cousins), I really wanted to make it special for her. I prepped for the entire week.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Thursday was spent making my first decorated sugar cookies ever. I was so disappointed when they got all fat and ambiguous after baking. I mean, do these look like ducks to you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKaZaCiAwI/AAAAAAAAAK8/XW-xMYSBbdI/s1600-h/before+they+were+ducks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346505468919546626" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKaZaCiAwI/AAAAAAAAAK8/XW-xMYSBbdI/s400/before+they+were+ducks.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Luckily it came together after the frosting was put on. It was time-consuming, but surprisingly easy to paint on the frosting. Before you knew it, I had (both skinny and fat) ducks! I found a heart cutter hidden in my cabinets and played with those too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKW6KPYloI/AAAAAAAAAKE/60iNCj218KM/s1600-h/ducky+cookies+-+small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346501633567659650" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKW6KPYloI/AAAAAAAAAKE/60iNCj218KM/s400/ducky+cookies+-+small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKXFtx-oOI/AAAAAAAAAKM/qvVKEwT4IiE/s1600-h/heart+cookie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346501832086560994" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKXFtx-oOI/AAAAAAAAAKM/qvVKEwT4IiE/s400/heart+cookie.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Friday was set aside for making the cake and cupcakes. It was so important for me to make my daughter's first cake. I wanted to make a cake that Tylo could actually eat too, and I'm not ready to give her chocolate. So we did a doctored yellow cake and I simply bought frosting to make it easier. It really wasn't smart to buy whipped frosting. Easier to spread, sure, but none of the frosting decorations held their shape. Once out of the fridge it was only a matter of time before it started dripping. It took me weeks to come up with a design that I could easily do that was still appealing to a one year old. I wanted to add flowers and such, but the frosting was not cutting it. Not sure she cared how it looked, but she LOVED eating it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKZd45FyxI/AAAAAAAAAKk/ILdyBCKT1IE/s1600-h/duck+pond+cake+-+small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346504446409296658" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKZd45FyxI/AAAAAAAAAKk/ILdyBCKT1IE/s400/duck+pond+cake+-+small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've never seen the girl eat so seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKYpPT1bRI/AAAAAAAAAKU/VflXlFEOQ44/s1600-h/tylo+eating+cake+2-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346503541893983506" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKYpPT1bRI/AAAAAAAAAKU/VflXlFEOQ44/s400/tylo+eating+cake+2-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Leave me alone Mommy, I'm busy here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKaCvm8QpI/AAAAAAAAAK0/PRl2N4Cj7nk/s1600-h/unwanted+kiss+-+small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346505079572415122" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKaCvm8QpI/AAAAAAAAAK0/PRl2N4Cj7nk/s400/unwanted+kiss+-+small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's a pic of her playing with her older cousins:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKW0IZ4qHI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/WBf_Ag45phw/s1600-h/cousins.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346501529995618418" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKW0IZ4qHI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/WBf_Ag45phw/s400/cousins.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And Tylo, refusing to wear her new hat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKZ8oDo1OI/AAAAAAAAAKs/2pwJeGhEXBE/s1600-h/tylo%27s+new+hat-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346504974466077922" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKZ8oDo1OI/AAAAAAAAAKs/2pwJeGhEXBE/s400/tylo%27s+new+hat-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The best (and only) family picture we could get. With all the excitement going on, Tylo did not want to stay seated for pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKYwNSShEI/AAAAAAAAAKc/CSuplyp7gFw/s1600-h/tylo%27s+1st+bday-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346503661609714754" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 303px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKYwNSShEI/AAAAAAAAAKc/CSuplyp7gFw/s400/tylo%27s+1st+bday-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't have asked for a better birthday for her. She really did enjoy herself. Hopefully next year we can invite little friends for her too! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&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/4572670717183701069-9004201538620955471?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/9004201538620955471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=9004201538620955471&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/9004201538620955471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/9004201538620955471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/tylo-turns-one.html' title='Tylo turns one!'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SjKaZaCiAwI/AAAAAAAAAK8/XW-xMYSBbdI/s72-c/before+they+were+ducks.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2573303852058936610</id><published>2009-05-28T01:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T01:53:23.629-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Better find a house before the baby comes . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So yesterday I was at Bed Bath &amp;amp; Beyond chatting with the lady at the check-out, telling her we were trying to find a house.  She says, "oh yeah - you want to find a house before the baby comes".  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I said "I already have a baby - she's almost one!". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady proceeds to look at my mid-section and changes the subject because she realized she just called me pregnant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, I knew the babydoll shirt I was wearing would make me look pregnant, but I didn't have much else clean that didn't need ironing.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;You would think that would scare me into getting my butt in shape, but nope, not really.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I deserve it.  Almost one year later and I am the same weight I was two weeks after giving birth.  Lost five, gained it all back.  Sigh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Once I was in the kitchen with four of HP's friends' wives and I said, "Oh, I'm the only one here not pregnant!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;One of the girls said, "I'm not pregnant."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Duh - I just passed her one-month old baby in the hallway.  But she did look 6 months pregnant, to be perfectly honest.  But that's also totally allowed.  What's not allowed is looking 6 months pregnant one year later.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;At least the lady thought I was pregnant and not just fat!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;_&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2573303852058936610?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2573303852058936610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2573303852058936610&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2573303852058936610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2573303852058936610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/better-find-house-before-baby-comes.html' title='Better find a house before the baby comes . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2514455433177360278</id><published>2009-05-12T15:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T16:08:28.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer also means Kettle Corn</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seems a bit silly to write about kettle corn, I admit. But I love love love kettle corn so much that I think it does deserve to be written about. Especially since I just found out that I can have THE BEST kettle corn any time that I want. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Used to be that I had to wait until the county fair came around during the summer, or sometimes if I got lucky, I might go to a ball game that was selling some. I know they sell it at the farmer's markets, but I sheepishly admit that I never get out of the house in time to make it there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Then suddenly, kettle corn was all over the supermarket shelves. I was very skeptical. How on earth could they keep the buttery, sweet goodness crisp if it's not freshly popped? I've had pre-popped pop corn in packages before, and they always disappointed. Not to mention they are usually over-priced.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One day at Whole Foods, I caved at the display and decided to try a bag. The brand was called Popcorn, Indiana, and was on sale for $3 from $4 so I thought, what the heck?  Turns out I was wrong about the sale and the bag rung up for $4 at check out. This better be some good stuff, I thought.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And it was. It was soooo good - better than any kettle corn I've ever tasted. Each and every kernel was crispy with the sweet/salty coating, something you don't get from the fresh popped stuff (as if they were skimpy with it or something), in which I usually have to pick out the browner and shiny kernels since those are usually the crispy ones. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Since then I've also tried the Trader Joe's Brand. It's half the price at $2 a bag, and pretty good too. The kernels are crispy but they don't have the same coating the Popcorn, Indiana bag does. I've also finally made it to the farmer's market and bought some of the fresh popped stuff (Gold Rush) at $5 for an enormous bag. What a disappointment.  And it was terrible compared to Popcorn, Indiana. Many of the kernels were stale, and I had to fish for the good pieces. And who needs that much popcorn anyway?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I no longer need to wait for special occasions, and I went out and bought another bag right away of Popcorn, Indiana.  So if you love kettle corn as much as I do, buy Popcorn, Indiana. Don't eat directly from the bag and wrap up air-tight each time and it will be just as good in two weeks. And trust me, it took a lot of will power to keep the bag around for that long.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sgn_2Q7KwgI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/lmZIsgJ2rRA/s1600-h/kettle+corn+pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335076541318218242" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 146px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sgn_2Q7KwgI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/lmZIsgJ2rRA/s400/kettle+corn+pic.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/4572670717183701069-2514455433177360278?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2514455433177360278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2514455433177360278&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2514455433177360278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2514455433177360278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/summer-also-means-kettle-corn.html' title='Summer also means Kettle Corn'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sgn_2Q7KwgI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/lmZIsgJ2rRA/s72-c/kettle+corn+pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7058238487386330993</id><published>2009-05-09T10:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T10:41:31.763-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know it's summer when you see the goats</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;They're here! At the beginning of every summer they bring out the goats here in the hills. I'm talking like 100+ goats, to eat down the shrubs and grass in the hills to prevent fires. It's a pretty neat thing to be exiting the freeway and seeing them right there along the street, chomping away. The next day they're on the otherside of the street, or in the hills by the parking lot, or wherever. I look forward to seeing them every year - it means the warm weather is here! One year someone actually tried to shoot at them and killed one or more. Isn't that awful? They're just innocent little goats. Poor things, probably get packed in a truck like sardines every night before they're schlepped off to another patch of overgrown weeds. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Summer also means I get to dress my baby in cute skimpy little baby clothes. And she finally looks less like a boy! Not that people still don't mistake her for one. The other day at dinner this older lady calls Tylo "cute little fella". She was wearing pastel yellow. And then after I repeated the name 3 times she started calling her Taylor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And, summer means shorts and endless slathering of stinky self-tanner on the whitest legs you will ever see. I told HP I needed to go buy shorts and he reminded me that when we first started dating I never wore shorts. Or sneakers for that matter. I was all about the skirts and sandals, or flip flops. Well, I can't exactly tumble around the park with my baby in a skirt and flip flops are too risky when carrying a squirmy 11 month old. Plus I have this fear that someone will try to steal my baby and I won't be able to run after them in flip flops. So, here I am, in shorts and sneakers. Yet I still have a full face of makeup on, even for a trip to the supermarket. Some things never change I guess. I have stopped wearing lipstick, so I can pepper Tylo with kisses all day long.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo and I had the best day today, and I manage to capture a few smiles. She was even in bed by 8. Incredible!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_8JWfQOI/AAAAAAAAAJo/DO6lQJjUuBU/s1600-h/tylo+laughing-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333880373713518818" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_8JWfQOI/AAAAAAAAAJo/DO6lQJjUuBU/s400/tylo+laughing-small.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_olAKo-I/AAAAAAAAAJg/zNGJzWkGQ3c/s1600-h/tylo%27s+house-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333880037538702306" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_olAKo-I/AAAAAAAAAJg/zNGJzWkGQ3c/s400/tylo%27s+house-small.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_Tf2EC7I/AAAAAAAAAJY/N1GRSXnv1W8/s1600-h/big+smile-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333879675376896946" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_Tf2EC7I/AAAAAAAAAJY/N1GRSXnv1W8/s400/big+smile-small.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&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/4572670717183701069-7058238487386330993?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7058238487386330993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7058238487386330993&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7058238487386330993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7058238487386330993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/you-know-its-summer-when-you-see-goats.html' title='You know it&apos;s summer when you see the goats'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SgW_8JWfQOI/AAAAAAAAAJo/DO6lQJjUuBU/s72-c/tylo+laughing-small.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-8313133726099777954</id><published>2009-05-06T01:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T01:49:06.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy First Mother's Day to you, Tylo</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I got this mass email today, giving activity ideas for Mother's Day. It said to write a letter to your baby, explaining what it's like to be a mother. What a great idea! This blog is for her, and someday I would love for her to read it, but to be honest, I don't trust the internet. I feel it's not tangible enough and can easily be wiped away in one fell swoop. I am all about greeting cards, so I dug one out and began writing . . . and writing . . . and writing. Before I knew it, I had a card and a full page of very messy handwriting. So what the hell, I'm going to type it up anyway, just so I can have two ways to keep this precious letter intact. It's my Happy 1st Mother's Day note to Tylo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dearest Tylo,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;This is my first Mother's Day, and I wanted to write you a note that one day you will read on your first Mother's Day. I hope when that day comes your baby will bring you all the joy and wonder that you have brought to me. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Each smile, each snuggle, each shriek - I cannot go a few minutes without smiling at the thought of the cute thing you did earlier in the day. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Today, you played with your gumball machine. Each time a ball rolled out, you would turn to Daddy and me, waiting for us to clap and cheer. Then you would clap and yell so loud, and grin the biggest grin. We finally got it on video! You're also crawling really fast, and you love to climb over Daddy on the floor. Today you must have pulled my glasses off about 20 times, getting them dirty with your tiny fingerprints. . Then you'd try to put them back on my face, but you can't quite get that part right yet. Oh well, at least you tried!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I was so proud when you ate a big pasta dinner, peas and chicken and all! You kept insisting that you hold the fork yourself, but if I didn't guide it toward your mouth, the food would fall off when you twisted it. Then you would complain when I tried to take the fork back to get another bite!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;My favorite part of the day is hearing you wake up. I open my eyes, and there you are, standing in your crib, watching me, very excited that your mommy is now awake. I wave and say "Hi!" and you wave back and say "Ahhh!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You know so many words now, and oddly enough, you stopped saying the words you used to know, like blow, wow, and dada. These days you say mom (a lot), bear, hi (ahhh), and baby. You give a lot of love taps. Daddy and I have learned to tap each other to say I love you too. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Each day, each week, is so different with you and I hope I've given you a glimpse of what my first mother's day was like. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Watching you grow is amazing - there is nothing worth more in the world. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Happy 1st Mother's Day to you.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Love,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mom&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-8313133726099777954?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8313133726099777954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=8313133726099777954&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8313133726099777954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8313133726099777954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/happy-first-mothers-day-to-you-tylo.html' title='Happy First Mother&apos;s Day to you, Tylo'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5097013130359202113</id><published>2009-04-16T00:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T01:09:02.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Snuggle Bear</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo is 10 1/2 months old! Just weeks away from the big 1 year old. It's so amazing how fast it went by. The first 6 months felt painfully slow, actually. I mean, nothing really happened. I would spend all day talking and making faces at her, and she would smile here and there, but really - it wasn't much. Then, POOF. It's like she started understanding everything, rolling all over, then crawling on her own, shouting out orders, mimicking several words, laughing at my silliness. Now it all seems to be happening so fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I last wrote about it, Tylo is still snuggling. For a few weeks now she and I play the "Where's Bear?" game. After she wakes up, I ask her "where's bear?" and she looks around her crib, finds it, and hands it to me to kiss hello. Then she takes it back and hugs it with a big smile, sometimes kisses it herself. Yesterday when I asked her "where's bear?" she went and snuggled with it. It was so darn cute! I caught it on video and got a sliver of it on camera too:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sebmm7XhndI/AAAAAAAAAJI/ggaDjVLmWKo/s1600-h/snuggle+bear.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325197165857971666" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sebmm7XhndI/AAAAAAAAAJI/ggaDjVLmWKo/s400/snuggle+bear.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I love watching her learn to do new things and knowing I was the one that taught her. We proudly show Daddy all her new tricks when he gets home, or all the cute moments I managed to capture on camera that day. After all, he only gets to see her for a couple of hours a day. I would never manage to get by on so little of Tylo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You know what the best part about being a mom to a 10 month old is? It's that she loves me so unconditionally. This little pint-sized girl thinks I'm the funniest, funnest, best mom in the world. You should see the way she laughs at me sometimes. And even when I leave her crying out and shrieking for me at night because I left her alone in her crib in the dark, she forgets about it the next day after a good night sleep and a morning bottle, and gives me the biggest 6-tooth grin there is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're not all made to be mothers. But if you are, and you choose to take the plunge, it's moments like those that make it so worth the pregnancy pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5097013130359202113?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5097013130359202113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5097013130359202113&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5097013130359202113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5097013130359202113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/snuggle-bear.html' title='Snuggle Bear'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sebmm7XhndI/AAAAAAAAAJI/ggaDjVLmWKo/s72-c/snuggle+bear.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-4621644807259178679</id><published>2009-04-10T01:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T01:46:58.183-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it that hard to get a good steak?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Wednesday was HP's birthday! We knew we totally deserved some extravagant high-end dinner, despite these economic times, but weren't sure what to do with our precious alone (no baby) time. Michael Minna and Chez Panisse were booked solid. So we saw Alexander's Steakhouse on Check Please, Bay Area and thought everything looked yummy, and interesting. It was like 75 miles of a drive each way, dropping off Tylo at the In-laws and all, but it would be worth it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Well, I might as well have flushed our $250 down the drain. It was the most expensive meal we had out together, nearly $400 if you include the wine. Somehow we convinced ourselves that we were deserving, tired, overworked parents we are. Alright, it was not that bad. But it was truly a disappointment. On a scale of 1 to 10, I would rate the steaks we had a 1 and a 2. My dried out, mushy, sad looking filet a 1, and his juicy and BBQ sauce-slathered 2 lb rib-eye a 2. I've had better steaks from Safeway. Much better. And those are usually like $8 each. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Outside of the steaks, the appetizers and desserts were just okay. HP said the best thing of the night were the truffled french fries. I thought they were good, but not $12 good. They did give complimentary homemade cotton candy at the end, which I was pretty happy about. I love me some cotton candy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;At least we got to have 6 hours to get dressed up and spend with each other, not watching over the baby's next meal, changing, nap, etc. So that was well worth it. But next time I'm craving a good steak, I think I'll just make it at home. I do not recommend Alexander's Steakhouse, even if you need a good date night. Go to Morton's or Ruth's Chris instead.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL5YAoVCpI/AAAAAAAAAIo/EqhZcwYb6Mc/s1600-h/Alexander%27s+Steakhouse.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324091900386675346" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL5YAoVCpI/AAAAAAAAAIo/EqhZcwYb6Mc/s400/Alexander%27s+Steakhouse.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here is HP's glistening Rib-Eye, which he ate about a quarter of. If it were any good, we probably could have polished it off between the two of us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL6GZoX_nI/AAAAAAAAAIw/fNc4AldvBgk/s1600-h/rib+eye.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324092697371737714" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL6GZoX_nI/AAAAAAAAAIw/fNc4AldvBgk/s400/rib+eye.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And here is my dried out excuse of a filet. See how it doesn't glisten, like, at all? No juices ever came out of that thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think it was the worst steak I've ever had.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL6jm9aPZI/AAAAAAAAAI4/u8upNY1uoEM/s1600-h/filet.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324093199165832594" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL6jm9aPZI/AAAAAAAAAI4/u8upNY1uoEM/s400/filet.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-4621644807259178679?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4621644807259178679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=4621644807259178679&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4621644807259178679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4621644807259178679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/is-it-that-hard-to-get-good-steak.html' title='Is it that hard to get a good steak?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SeL5YAoVCpI/AAAAAAAAAIo/EqhZcwYb6Mc/s72-c/Alexander%27s+Steakhouse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-3964280203477897880</id><published>2009-03-27T02:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T02:18:35.107-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Enough to make you melt</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo was never was much of a cuddler.  When she was real small, she never let me cradle her unless she was eating, and me, lazy mom that I am, didn't mind because cradling your baby is pretty tough on the biceps and forceps.  (Hence my still-very flabby arms.)  Even now that she's bigger she always wants me to pick her up, but once there she's turning and twisting every which way, trying to see what's exciting out there.  It's like I'm just a way for her to get off the ground, bed, whatever, so she can get a better view.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Imagine my delight when a few days ago she actually decided to lean her head down against my chest, cheek pressed against me, and stayed there!  Well, she actually stayed there for two seconds, sat up again to look at me and give the most adorable grin, then leaned into me again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I tell you, my heart just melted into a big puddle of goo.  In the middle of the night when separation anxiety reared it's ugly obnoxious head again, I cuddled her against my chest and she fell asleep right away.  Since then she's happy to snuggle with me before bed time, when she's done wreaking havoc around the living room.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think most moms probably get this warm fuzzy feeling right away with their babies.  I didn't breast feed so maybe that has something to do with the non-cuddling.  At least I know she's not just after food next time she snuggles against me.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-3964280203477897880?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3964280203477897880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=3964280203477897880&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3964280203477897880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3964280203477897880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/enough-to-make-you-melt.html' title='Enough to make you melt'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5363146845454111694</id><published>2009-03-23T00:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T00:50:48.545-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Did you say "blow"????</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo has been babbling nonstop lately, peppered with a lot of ear-piercing screams out of nowhere.  So darn cute.  So I've tried to take advantage by labeling everything, seeing what she can pick up.  She always stares at me and listens very intently while I teach her things like momma, dada, kitty, bear, lamb, book, drink, light, and on and on.  I also label actions like eat, change diaper, up (as in pick up), and her favorite: blow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;A couple of days ago I heard her repeat a new sound over and over and over.  Different from her usual bababa, dadada, eheheh.  "Bow . . . bow . . . bow".  I thought, "oh that's cute, a new sound".  Then it hit me as I was blowing a puff of air in her face to get her to smile.  She was saying "blow"!  Funny that of all the things I've been teaching her, she picks up that one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Since then she's been saying "blow" to herself all day long.  Sometimes she deviates and it sounds more like b-OW, instead of b-oh, but she gets it right once she hears me say it (minus the "l" sound).  I try to get her to make the connection and use it when I actually blow in her face, but she only says it when she's playing by herself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So if she doesn't understand the meaning, does it count as her first word?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Today I think she repeated "bye-bye" after me, but who can be sure.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;How do parents decide what their child's first word is?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5363146845454111694?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5363146845454111694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5363146845454111694&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5363146845454111694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5363146845454111694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/did-you-say-blow.html' title='Did you say &quot;blow&quot;????'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-8583430800983064838</id><published>2009-03-20T01:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T01:41:27.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Polaroids</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I loved those things. I remember digging out my parent's old camera and buying some film for it in my late high school years. It was so expensive! There's something very special and fun about watching the picture come out, sound effects and all, then waiting forever for that poopy-brown picture to come to life. I found this cool app online that lets you make a pseudo version:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/ScNWK0ntLxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7KTz6Gna1Uc/s1600-h/IMG_1299-pola.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315186729151180562" style="WIDTH: 329px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/ScNWK0ntLxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7KTz6Gna1Uc/s400/IMG_1299-pola.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/ScNWDq1MWaI/AAAAAAAAAIY/KqnEgeQZzI4/s1600-h/mommy+and+tylo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315186606264310178" style="WIDTH: 329px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/ScNWDq1MWaI/AAAAAAAAAIY/KqnEgeQZzI4/s400/mommy+and+tylo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, that's Tylo standing on her own, holding on to me for dear life.  Don't worry honey, I won't let go.  =)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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;/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/4572670717183701069-8583430800983064838?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8583430800983064838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=8583430800983064838&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8583430800983064838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8583430800983064838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/polaroids.html' title='Polaroids'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/ScNWK0ntLxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/7KTz6Gna1Uc/s72-c/IMG_1299-pola.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-759989809891773365</id><published>2009-03-17T01:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T01:49:08.781-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And while we're on the topic of food . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I love Girl Scout Cookies!  Love love love them.  I always get sad on the years that I miss out on the cookie season.  Somehow the year passes and I think, I didn't get any Girl Scout cookies this year.  That is, before I shopped at Whole Foods.  Those Girl Scouts sure know what type of people have extra cookie money to spend.  Though it seems a bit odd that people that eat Whole Foods food would indulge in Girl Scout cookies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Samoas are my favorite but I don't discriminate.  Shove a catalog in front of me, especially before lunch, and they all sound really good.  That's how I got tricked year after year to buy over ten boxes from a coworker's daughter.  I think the most I bought one year was 13 boxes.  I swear I give some away!  But mostly, they sit in my freezer waiting for the cravings to hit.  Frozen Thin Mints deserve a freezer shelf all to themselves.  But that job was years ago and the job after that had no workers with kids in the Scouts.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Anyway, over the weekend my husband ran into Whole Foods while I sat with sleeping Tylo in the car.  I had just finished a huge frozen yogurt so when HP brings me back one box of Samoas, I said "Great", but I was so stuffed I didn't even open the box.  Fast forward one day, and I'm like "Why the hell did you only get one box?"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now that I see I only have four left in the box, I think I might have to run back to Whole Foods tomorrow to stock up on the cookies before the season is over.  Better go make some room in my freezer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-759989809891773365?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/759989809891773365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=759989809891773365&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/759989809891773365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/759989809891773365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/and-while-were-on-topic-of-food.html' title='And while we&apos;re on the topic of food . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7532315491071085035</id><published>2009-03-13T02:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T02:51:28.094-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mmmmm . . . Meat</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;If you know my husband and I, you know we are meat lovers. I think early on in our dating, we knew we were perfect for one another because of our affinity for it. Heck, our first date was at Broadway Prime, and I proudly profess that I finished my entire largest cut, without any shame. He did beat me by requesting the complimentary second slice. He tells me later that he wanted so badly to pick up MY bone and gnaw on it, since it was his favorite part, but decided against it. After all, it was our first date. Since then we've shared numerous steakhouse meals together, and most of our pictures are of us with big glistening charred pieces of meat in front of us. I think most fine dining meals are a waste of money, but $50 for a porterhouse a la carte? Usually well worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, year after year I rack my brain trying to figure out what to get dear hubby for his birthday. I always think I am getting something HP will love, then he hides it away and forgets all about it, so I know I did a poor job with my selection (I was sure he would watch the Guns N Roses Greatest Hits DVD over and over). This year, I have a gift idea that I'm super excited about. Probably because I'll get to share in the gift too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to Carolyn at &lt;a href="http://www.foodgal.com/"&gt;Foodgal&lt;/a&gt; (great website for foodies - check it out), I have the perfect gift. A steak tasters pack. Like wine tasting, but with different varieties of the same cut of steak. Not at all cheap. We're talking over $100 for 4 steaks. That come frozen. Yes, I'm scared it will be a bust. I might be better off buying at Whole Foods (yum yum, see my earlier post) but it sure sounds like fun to cook a bunch of steaks at once and see if we can taste the difference. All I know is that when I'm cooking these babies you can bet I will not even glance the other way for fear of overcooking and turning a hundred bucks into sandwiches or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are interested, and you love meat as much as we do, check out the company here: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.oliverranch.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;www.oliverranch.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;. But you might want to wait until I post comments after we try them. HP's bday is next month, so stay tuned. (It would be just my luck if he starts reading my blog now and the bday surprise is ruined!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;By the way, HP has just been diagnosed with "fatty liver". Yeah, as in foie gras. He started having recurring tummy aches and has been told to cut out the saturated fats and wine. So I guess now he will actually have the cut the pieces of fat from his steak. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-7532315491071085035?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7532315491071085035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7532315491071085035&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7532315491071085035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7532315491071085035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/mmmmm-meat.html' title='Mmmmm . . . Meat'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5902547365956009697</id><published>2009-03-13T01:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T01:23:36.651-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Geez - Where have I been?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Out and about! The weather has been great and we've been all over town. Well, within 15 miles of home, but everywhere that is baby friendly within those 15 miles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, thanks to the time change, Tylo has been sleeping late again, so no time for blogging. The little bugger is moving around all over the place, so I can no longer leave her for twenty minutes at a time sitting happily with her toys. She goes from crawl position to sit and vice versa easily now. But she still can't really crawl. I think she can, I've seen her do it. She's a freakin lazy baby I tell ya. But she can get away with it because she's so darn cute these days. What? You just killed the cat? Mommy forgives you because you looked so cute doing it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The great thing is that she's learned some new tricks. She knows how to "Kiss kiss Bear" or "Nose kiss Mommy", and will unhappily hand off whatever is in her hand when I say "Give it to Mommy". She knows "Up" means she can lift her hands in the air and I will pick her up. But she only does these tricks when she wants to, and of course never in front of other people, so I'm pretty much a liar. When other people are around she sits quietly and stares. Sometimes cries from fear, and clings to me for dear life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying so hard to get her to walk and hopefully when the weather gets good and warm we can take our first trip to the zoo. She loves Kitty so much I know she'll love the animals at the petting zoo. I just haven't decided if I'll let her touch them yet. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SboX4nBm3YI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/2Vy5t4ymGXg/s1600-h/IMG_1305.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312584971752758658" style="WIDTH: 325px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SboX4nBm3YI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/2Vy5t4ymGXg/s400/IMG_1305.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5902547365956009697?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5902547365956009697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5902547365956009697&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5902547365956009697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5902547365956009697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/geez-where-have-i-been.html' title='Geez - Where have I been?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SboX4nBm3YI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/2Vy5t4ymGXg/s72-c/IMG_1305.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5829395735572942792</id><published>2009-03-04T00:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T23:19:39.942-08:00</updated><title type='text'>That deserves a round of applause . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seems like it's been raining forever. I've been cooped up inside the house for the last two days because it has been storming, sideways rain, lightning, thunder and all. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo hasn't minded that much, but I'm sure by tomorrow (another stormy day) she will start getting cranky. When we're home this much, it takes all my energy to entertain her. My brain is pretty fried, and I think my voice is stuck in this high-pitched sing song tone from doing it so much. Luckily we have a CPR class scheduled, rain or shine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The really great thing these days about taking Tylo out is that I get to pack really light. She no longer spits up, so no change of clothes needed, no burp cloths. She's too big for the bjorn, and I don't use a carrier. Her eating is very predictable, and she still drools like a leaky faucet, so I got one or two bottles and a bunch of bibs in my shoulder bag and I'm set. All my diaper changing stuff, blankets, strollers, etc. are in my car. It's been SOOO easy that I love taking her out. Except that there's really no where to go. Especially when we're trying not to spend money. You can usually find me at a Starbucks. We go to many different ones for a change of scenery.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So I've been trying to use my time wisely, and have her practice crawling, standing, signing, waving. All my hard work finally paid off when she started clapping. And once she started, it was like she couldn't stop those little hands from coming together:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dBf4eF0Kkg&amp;amp;feature=channel_page"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dBf4eF0Kkg&amp;amp;feature=channel_page&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Time to eat? Clap, clap, clap. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's bathtime? Clap, clap, clap.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Daddy's home! Clap, clap, clap.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh look, there's Kitty! Clap, clap, clap.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And we also found some long lost pictures from our my phone that I thought I'd post. Her age was still being counted in weeks at that point:.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sa956L9kBzI/AAAAAAAAAII/cyFEDnpDy00/s1600-h/fell+asleep+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309596526243481394" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sa956L9kBzI/AAAAAAAAAII/cyFEDnpDy00/s400/fell+asleep+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Newborns always get food coma. Here she is, asleep, AGAIN, after a bottle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sa950YGLMcI/AAAAAAAAAIA/72X2cM0TU-E/s1600-h/fell+asleep.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309596426421612994" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sa950YGLMcI/AAAAAAAAAIA/72X2cM0TU-E/s400/fell+asleep.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here she is, too exhausted for tummy time. (She has never fallen asleep in action since.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the risk of sounding cliche, they sure do grow up fast . . . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&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/4572670717183701069-5829395735572942792?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5829395735572942792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5829395735572942792&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5829395735572942792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5829395735572942792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/that-deserves-round-of-applause.html' title='That deserves a round of applause . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/Sa956L9kBzI/AAAAAAAAAII/cyFEDnpDy00/s72-c/fell+asleep+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5623221978324958504</id><published>2009-02-28T01:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T01:29:52.853-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It was like a car commercial . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo and I had a great but super long day at the mall (that's what SAHMs do on cold days, we go to the mall - I swear there were so many of us there today).  HP met up with us after work, we had a Burger King dinner while she napped in the car, did a little shopping, then went home.  I decided to let him drive our new car home with Tylo inside since he never gets to drive it and I took his car (which is actually the car that I bought, but seriously, who keeps track when you're married?).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Anyhoo, as I saw my speedometer go up to 80, as I accelerated and zipped through different lanes, around the slow-ass big rigs, I realized how long it's been since I've driven without Tylo in the car.  It felt so good to drive like a normal person.  I wasn't staying 1/2 a mile back from the car in front of me, stepping on the brakes as soon as anyone within sight showed brake lights, signaling for 30 seconds before making a move to the next lane.  Heck, I even turned the music on, because I wasn't singing "How will I know" (from Disney's Enchanted) at the top of my lungs because these days it's the only thing that will keep my baby from getting cranky.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I miss driving alone, with no traffic.  I used to make these long drives from OC to San Francisco when I lived down there with nothing but every Mariah Carey CD I owned and a can of whipped cream to keep me occupied (alright, there were also a lot of cigarettes and enough snacks to fill a concession stand at the movies).  The cruise control did most of the work and I was able to let my mind wander because it is the straightest road you'll ever drive.  It was pure meditation for me.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Don't take it for granted.  Enjoy your car, and your peaceful drives.   By the way, when we got home HP reported that Tylo cried the whole way home.  She was still crying when he parked.   Gee, I'm sorry I missed that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5623221978324958504?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5623221978324958504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5623221978324958504&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5623221978324958504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5623221978324958504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/it-was-like-car-commercial.html' title='It was like a car commercial . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5195118413446933206</id><published>2009-02-25T01:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T01:59:35.631-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Doomed to hold hands all night long</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today I was watching an episode of Supernanny (yeah yeah, you'll watch it too when you become a parent, just you wait and see) and I saw myself, in 3 years.  This couple coddles their two kids, let them have their way all the time, get no sleep.  Bedtime is a nightmare, and their 3 year old doesn't fall asleep unless Dad is there on the floor next to him, holding his hand until he falls asleep.  Sometimes it's 10 minutes, sometimes it's a few hours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;THAT IS SO ME.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo always reaches out for me and squeezes my fingers, strokes my hand or arm while falling sleep.  I know she's dead tired, her eyes are shut, but her little hands just want to keep squeezing, squeezing.  I am arched over her crib, back is killing me, both hands available for her to do her squeezing.  If I'm lucky it's 5 minutes.  But sometimes it's 30 minutes.  Sometimes I have to cough or my nose is running or my hair is in my face and I move my hands and she wakes up and we start all over again.  How did we get to this????&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I ask HP and he says his hands never get squeezed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I can just imagine in a few years I'll be the one laying on the floor at 2 in the morning, holding hands with my daughter until she finally falls sleep.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;My little Tylo is queen bee.  And I am a complete pushover of a mom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5195118413446933206?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5195118413446933206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5195118413446933206&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5195118413446933206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5195118413446933206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/doomed-to-hold-hands-all-night-long.html' title='Doomed to hold hands all night long'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5987396947134794806</id><published>2009-02-19T19:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T20:06:46.853-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Too cute!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SZ4qKgmWfsI/AAAAAAAAAHw/sRjM0IWi05I/s1600-h/bathtime.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304723771126873794" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SZ4qKgmWfsI/AAAAAAAAAHw/sRjM0IWi05I/s400/bathtime.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Mommy, stop telling me how cute I look and put some clothes on me already. It's cold in here!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5987396947134794806?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5987396947134794806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5987396947134794806&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5987396947134794806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5987396947134794806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/too-cute.html' title='Too cute!'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SZ4qKgmWfsI/AAAAAAAAAHw/sRjM0IWi05I/s72-c/bathtime.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6275758534125301272</id><published>2009-02-16T21:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T21:14:27.207-08:00</updated><title type='text'>There really ought to be a manual for situations like this.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today, with naked baby in tow, I was on my way from the changing table to the bath tub.  Don't ask me why, but the two places are in opposite ends of our condo.  I stopped off in the kitchen to stick my chicken in the oven when I start hearing what sounds like rain drops on the kitchen floor.  Oh Tylo - you've been spitting up all day.  I look at her mouth, and it's dry.  Heavier rain drops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize she's peeing.  All over me, all over the kitchen floor.  I had to wait until she was done, but what do I do after that? I decided to make the rest of the way to the bathroom trying my best not drip more pee all over the place.  I dunk her in the bathtub and try to figure out what I'm supposed to do, drenched in pee.  I can't go clean myself off and leave her in the bathtub unsupervised.  So I take off all my clothes, because every piece is dripping in pee at this point, wipe my skin off as best I can and proceed to bathe my daughter almost completely naked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I wasn't standing on carpet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6275758534125301272?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6275758534125301272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6275758534125301272&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6275758534125301272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6275758534125301272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/there-really-ought-to-be-manual-for.html' title='There really ought to be a manual for situations like this.'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2418731734455618272</id><published>2009-02-16T15:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T15:15:12.895-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If you'd only just pick up your dirty socks . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Do you think there are any perfect couples out there?  The ones that are truly in love, complement one another in their ways, that don't ever fight?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Not to make anyone vomit or anything, but I think HP and I are pretty darn close.  We say it all the time too.  We're so lucky because we're so happy and totally in love and don't fight and don't get sick or bored of one another.  When we went on our first long vacation with each other, I think we amazed ourselves by enjoying every moment of the 24 hours a day we spent together.  It was probably so great because the stress and cleaning at home wasn't there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Not sure how true that is, because we do fight.  It's always over something lame, like cleaning (his lack of it, and my bossiness about insisting that he do it), or me being a bad listener, (apparently I'm the person that 'waits to talk', not listen) but it feels bad nonetheless.  With the responsibility that is Tylo, it feels like the fighting is happening more often.  We always make up, but it's always the same thing.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have come to realize that people don't really change.  You make up at the end of each fight and apologize, but then the same problems happen again.  The issues that were there from the first time you moved in together are still there 5 years later, and will remain there 10 and 20 and 30 years later.  Does there come a time where you will no longer care and those things that bother you will stop bothering you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I certainly hope so.  But I bet all long-term couples go through the same gripes.  Luckily, you have the other 99.9% of your relationship that is all hunky-dory to think of.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2418731734455618272?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2418731734455618272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2418731734455618272&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2418731734455618272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2418731734455618272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/if-youd-only-just-pick-up-your-dirty.html' title='If you&apos;d only just pick up your dirty socks . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-3027528892753916579</id><published>2009-02-09T09:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T10:01:59.662-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How did we go so wrong?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think I am quite possibly the worst mother on earth.  Alright, I'm exagerating, but not when it comes to getting my baby to go to bed at night.  Maybe I'm just too fun of a mom, because Tylo refuses to go to bed at night.  She only wants to play play play.  She's not hungry, wet, is no longer sick.  But refuses to go to bed at night.  Even HP is snoring away before Tylo is ready, usually at 12:30 am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I can't blame it on her bad cold, because it was pretty much like this before.  Except she wouldn't be such a cry baby about it.  She would be content playing by herself in the crib until she exhausts herself.  Now she starts wailing if I even dim the lights and go near the bedroom area.  And she must play with me or HP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;We tried to let her cry it out, but decided over and over again that we're wimpy parents and cannot subject our daughter to such misery.  I definitely have no excuse.  I don't work, so why shouldn't I conform to her schedule, rather than the other way around?  Still, I wish it was like the old days when she would sleep at 6 pm, wake up once at 9 am to eat, then go right back to bed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;At this point, Tylo's sleep schedule is like this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;12:30 am - 7:30 am (or so), night sleep with 3-5 awakenings but is quickly soothed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;9:00 am -  10:00 am 1 hr nap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;1:00 pm 1 hr nap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;4:00 pm 1 hr nap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;8:00 pm 1 hr nap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm not sure if 11 hrs is enough for a little girl but all would be so great if she only went to bed at 10 pm.  Then I could actually have time to shower, get ready for bed, etc. without staying up until 3 in the morning.  Sigh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;On another note, I just realized that I spend most of my day walking around with my eyebrows lowered into a frown and it's giving me a major forehead wrinkle.  I'd better learn to relax them more.  I bet most people do that too, without even realizing it.  We'd better do all we can to stop those pre-mature wrinkles!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-3027528892753916579?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3027528892753916579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=3027528892753916579&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3027528892753916579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3027528892753916579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/how-did-we-go-so-wrong.html' title='How did we go so wrong?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-3696143847777907378</id><published>2009-02-05T02:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-05T02:16:09.409-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do SAHMs get sick days?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I really should be in bed, but my excuse is that I'm waiting for the NyQuil to kick in. Thank goodness Tylo is finally getting better. Tonight she was all smiles, there was no snot running down her nose (well, a little), there was only a little mucus rattle when she breathes and she drank a full bottle without a breathing treatment. I am hoping she will wake up tomorrow all better, and have a great doctor's follow-up visit. No more breathing machine necessary, because she starts screaming as soon as I switch it on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, I've taken a turn for the worst. My head feels like someone opened it up and poured lead in it, my eyes are all puffy and won't stop tearing, and I can't even cough as loud as I want to because I'm afraid of waking Tylo. I'm reminded of being sick and stifling a cough in a quiet lecture hall during college. You go all bug eyed from holding it in, right? Sucks. I can't taste a thing. And HP actually said dinner was good tonight (Chicken &amp;amp; Biscuits). Next time, I'm definitely going to keep Tylo's slimey germs off me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No honey, I know you're sick and miserable, but please don't touch mommy's face with your spit dripping hands."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to call in sick please. Let the rest of the home team fill in for me while I go crawl into bed and spend endless hours channel surfing. That would mean kitty would take the heat I guess. Better not get HP sick, or we'd really be screwed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-3696143847777907378?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3696143847777907378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=3696143847777907378&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3696143847777907378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3696143847777907378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/do-sahms-get-sick-days.html' title='Do SAHMs get sick days?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7520268207690915832</id><published>2009-02-01T16:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T16:58:38.950-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Rain before the Rainbow</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The mild cold has turned into a full blown terrible bad bad cold. And I think I'm starting to come down with it, because of course Tylo doesn't know how to not cough and give big wet sneezes right in my face and that it's rude to take her wet slobbery hands and play with my lips. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Last night was the worst of it. Tylo cried so hard and so long that HP and I were THIS close to taking her to the ER at 1 in the morning. There was just no logical reason to why she wouldn't stop wailing. God, I'd be one of those moms that calls the doctor in the middle of the night because her baby is crying. Her little body just kept shaking and shaking. I thought HP and I were both going to have a meltdown. Luckily, I remembered how much she loves reading and after 7 different versions of "Jingle Bell Christmas", she stopped crying and we were able to get her to bed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Poor baby is so unhappy. She barely cracks a smile and is constantly whining and rubbing her raw red nose. She is barely eating and nap time is a big fight. I really hope she gets better but every day it seems she's getting worse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I miss her happy smile so much, so I thought I'd post some pics from better days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sitting on her own now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDEkKfI8I/AAAAAAAAAHI/Aw4868RRAys/s1600-h/scary+tylo.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297995757354165186" style="WIDTH: 327px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 279px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDEkKfI8I/AAAAAAAAAHI/Aw4868RRAys/s400/scary+tylo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally got a pic of her little teeth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDOgLcJ9I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/-K-83nCdoNc/s1600-h/i%27ve+got+teeth.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297995928083113938" style="WIDTH: 314px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 252px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDOgLcJ9I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/-K-83nCdoNc/s400/i%27ve+got+teeth.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my favorite, cookie time (it is worth the mess!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDXCgy08I/AAAAAAAAAHY/bvoAvP8FGGo/s1600-h/cookie+time.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297996074738439106" style="WIDTH: 329px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 314px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDXCgy08I/AAAAAAAAAHY/bvoAvP8FGGo/s400/cookie+time.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&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/4572670717183701069-7520268207690915832?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7520268207690915832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7520268207690915832&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7520268207690915832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7520268207690915832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/02/rain-before-rainbow.html' title='The Rain before the Rainbow'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SYZDEkKfI8I/AAAAAAAAAHI/Aw4868RRAys/s72-c/scary+tylo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5421820981295687537</id><published>2009-01-31T00:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T00:35:09.301-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How's your Friday Night?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's been a rough tough day. Tylo got her first real cold because at 7 1/2 months, I've finally been exposing her to the outside world of germs. And she pretty much got sick right away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;First there was that gymboree class, sitting on the floor and touching community toys and all that. Then we went to Chinese New Year's Eve Dinner at my folks' house and I didn't force all the eager relatives to wash their hands before touching her or touching her toys. So, the poor baby is sick. Cranky, sniffly, snot oozing from her nose, coughing so hard she gets tears and starts to cry, and not eating or sleeping well at all. To top it all off, she throws up her entire dinner on me because she's furious that I tried to wipe her nose so it doesn't get crusted over and obstructs her breathing. Good thing I only fed her applesauce. See that happy baby in the pic to the right? That's not my little Tylo today. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I just hope today was the worst of it and she's all better soon. And that getting this cold will build up her immunity to ickier germs later on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm leaving her with HP tomorrow so I can get a much needed haircut. I guess I should go wash the puke out of my hair before I go to bed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It doesn't get much more glamourous than this, does it? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5421820981295687537?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5421820981295687537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5421820981295687537&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5421820981295687537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5421820981295687537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/hows-your-friday-night.html' title='How&apos;s your Friday Night?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6748024034186667486</id><published>2009-01-27T12:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T12:32:56.747-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I do IT"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hmmm, looking at the title of this post, you would totally get the wrong idea. I mean I-T, as in information technology.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, when I was working I would say about 20% of my job was IT. I managed our company's servers, network and all account/software users, internet setup, all equipment and software purchases, and offered pretty much all desktop support. Weird huh? If you knew me in my former life, you'd say, "you? IT? The person who can't even figure out how to send a text message?" Even my husband (who really does IT for a living) laughed at me. They put pretty much all of the company's IT related issues into my hands because, well, there was no one else. It was a heck of a lot of power I tell you.&lt;br /&gt;But I wasn't half bad, and I have an inner geek after all. I started spitting out phrases like "you have to make sure you deselect 'use the default gateway' when connecting to the network through VPN otherwise you are unable to access outside internet" and "I have to reboot the sonic wall because we've exceeded our number of allowed IP addresses".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well my point of all this is, HP decided to join Facebook last night. I have been avoiding it for quite some time because it was all a little intimidating and because I totally do not know what's cool out there in the world of internet, despite being called the IT department of our company. But I hear it's a great way to keep in touch, especially if you have a 7 and 1/2 month old that demands all your attention. So, I joined too! If you know my full name, look for me! As of now, I have no friends =(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6748024034186667486?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6748024034186667486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6748024034186667486&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6748024034186667486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6748024034186667486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-do-it.html' title='&quot;I do IT&quot;'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7687023042380219143</id><published>2009-01-24T01:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T02:04:22.695-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Take it Easy People - He ain't God</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Been catching up on my favorite blogs tonight, since I've had some time and HP was helping with the chores.  Of course with this week's inaugauration, Obama was the hot topic of the moment.  To be honest, all the talk of hope for the "Obama years" scares me a bit.  It's naive, to say the least.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was once super political and quite a lefty.  I remember how excited I was to vote in my first presidential election and how defeated I felt when time after time the candidate I voted for lost.  When Bush became president I was so upset I pretty much stopped watching the news all together.  I could not stand the sight of him with that smirk he would give when bullsh*t came out of his mouth.  I was rooting for Hilary, and I didn't mind McCain, and I do think Obama was the better candidate.  So this time around I wasn't really cheering for anyone, just glad it was election time and Bush couldn't possibly be reelected. I am really so pleased that the people of this nation finally voted someone of color into the office (this is literally the first time I can say I'm proud to be an American) but is Obama really that great???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;He's a smart guy and all that, and he has an effective rhythm and pause way of speaking that makes him seem all-knowing and important, but what's with all the hype on him anyway?  Are we really so glad to see Bush out of office that we'll glorify anyone else?  Obama just became a Senator and then started campaigning.  What exactly is his track record?  How effective is he at making policy and leading a nation, or leading any government body?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm sure he'll do fine as president, but I don't believe that any leader can take all the credit or the blame that comes from the actions of their people.  We'll survive this economic crisis and the US will thrive, but will Obama deserve the credit when that day comes?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Please don't get mad at me. I am glad he's president.  I think the occasion of a non-Caucasian being elected president is more significant to me than Obama the person.  Just wanted to share my thoughts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-7687023042380219143?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7687023042380219143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7687023042380219143&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7687023042380219143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7687023042380219143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/take-it-easy-people-he-aint-god.html' title='Take it Easy People - He ain&apos;t God'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5966440634434606232</id><published>2009-01-23T01:19:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T01:41:09.397-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Scary Cat"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;At 7 and 1/2 months old, Tylo is now a "scary cat". Let me explain . . . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Kitty, like all cats, is quite jumpy. Sometimes the tiniest noise will make her jump and go running, or fall off the couch. Sometimes she barely arches an eyebrow. Whenever she does this, HP goes, "Kitty is such a scary cat". &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Scare-&lt;u&gt;DY&lt;/u&gt; cat", I say. "Kitty is a scare-dy cat, not a scary cat."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now Tylo is like that. She's intensely afraid and cautious of strangers. She stares and watches their every move. And if the stranger smiles or gives eye contact, Tylo almost immediately goes into a loud mommy-save-me-now type wail. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I've always wanted one of those babies that is super friendly and will go up to anyone. I know that's not the safest, but aren't those babies so darn cute?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I took Tylo to her first baby class yesterday, where they basically just play music and sing songs as we bounce our babies in our laps and clap our hands. Tylo had this look of fear the entire time, with her little lip quivering. A few times when the decibel level went up, the tears started flowing. Poor thing. At least she wasn't the only one. And at least she wasn't the first one to cry =).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;This baby class and more future play dates are a way for me to expose her to more strangers and more germs at the same time. See? Look at us, sitting on the floor!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SXmN-QZsWfI/AAAAAAAAAHA/EzNa6paF5ro/s1600-h/14.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294418937644866034" style="WIDTH: 387px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 312px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SXmN-QZsWfI/AAAAAAAAAHA/EzNa6paF5ro/s400/14.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;(By the way, I fully admit to stretching out my pics lengthwise to make me look thinner, so don't worry if my baby looks thin too - she's really quite chubby!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5966440634434606232?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5966440634434606232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5966440634434606232&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5966440634434606232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5966440634434606232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/scary-cat.html' title='&quot;Scary Cat&quot;'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SXmN-QZsWfI/AAAAAAAAAHA/EzNa6paF5ro/s72-c/14.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6311641555461879626</id><published>2009-01-14T18:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T02:01:26.068-08:00</updated><title type='text'>TMI!  TMI!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hi Doctor,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter may be constipated. For over a week now she's been having these small bowel movements every time she eats. I see her going but when I check there is barely any poop, just a small dry hard nub stuck between her butt cheeks. Then I gave her some prunes and she had a real nasty blow out - it was all watery and a big mess. Now she's back to the same tiny nubs again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was me on the phone with the doctor earlier. It didn't sound odd coming out of my mouth at the time, but I think about it now and find it hilarious that we can be that explicit when explaining our children's bowel habits, but we wouldn't be caught dead speaking of ourselves like that. I mean, who hasn't been in the same situation at one time or another? But you would never give that much detail out loud, not even to your doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Tylo - I gave her prunes again. Doesn't seem to be helping today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're having a bad day, here are some funny faces to cheer you up:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SW8EKwEihHI/AAAAAAAAAG4/u3UnCQezE_o/s1600-h/funny+face+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291452669932766322" style="WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SW8EKwEihHI/AAAAAAAAAG4/u3UnCQezE_o/s400/funny+face+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SW8EGBDY7UI/AAAAAAAAAGw/fmGSnmrE9Ds/s1600-h/funny+face.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291452588592000322" style="WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 264px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SW8EGBDY7UI/AAAAAAAAAGw/fmGSnmrE9Ds/s400/funny+face.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(please ignore my seemingly nakedness - I swear I had a towel on)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if you have a couple of minutes - see my little munchkin in action . . . and sitting on her own too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWaAPs3chmE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWaAPs3chmE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6311641555461879626?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6311641555461879626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6311641555461879626&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6311641555461879626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6311641555461879626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/tmi-tmi.html' title='TMI!  TMI!'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SW8EKwEihHI/AAAAAAAAAG4/u3UnCQezE_o/s72-c/funny+face+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6792681261666776980</id><published>2009-01-14T00:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T00:51:54.581-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Isn't it 2009?</title><content type='html'>So HP and I have been searching for a new car to replace our 12 year old 4Runner.  That car is still in good shape, but well, sometimes it just doesn't start.  I've never been stranded or anything, it just takes some finesse with the gas pedal.  And one of the back seat belts is broken.  I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but maybe we were looking for a good reason to get a new car and with the economy the way it is, it's a buyer's market.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I'm not a new car virgin. I'm happy to say I did almost all the research and negotiation of purchasing our last car, an Avalon, all by myself.  Alright, so I bought the same exact car I already had before.  But I did pay for it with my own hard earned money.  This time around it's a bit of a tug of war because even though I'll be the main driver, HP has his heart set on something a little more luxurious.  He wants status.  I want a trunk that will fit Tylo's ginormous stroller and then some.  He wants speed and power.  I want to make sure the back seat accomodates two car seats for when Baby #2 comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhoo, we are thinking a Lexus RX350 because they are pretty nice, not too big, not too small, and are priced at rock bottom prices these days.  At first I was totally against it because I have seen their trunks and they are a joke.  Think Corolla.  But I guess the new ones are bigger and adequate.  A GX was a contender but they have this ridiculous door that swings super wide and seems so inconvienent and impractical should I ever be parallel parked, or in a small parking lot.  After a test drive of the RX, I was almost sold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except the entire time the freakin salesperson treated me like I was a NOBODY, despite us repeating over and over that I would be the driver.  In fact, he practically stepped right over me to walk 5 feet to shake the hand of my husband and introduce himself, even though I was right there next to him.  That really ticked me off.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP attributes it to the fact that 90% of the time the man makes the decision about the car.  You know what I think?  I think they know that women are more rational, thoughtful and practical consumers, and men purchase based on emotion.  Plus I've become quite the haggler and I have a million questions about how the car actually works.  Because yes, as they say in that one car commercial, I do care about the cup holders!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm happy to say I don't plan to buy from that guy. He needs to wake up and treat women buyers with more respect.  At this point we haven't narrowed out other options, but it sure would be nice to have a Lexus . . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6792681261666776980?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6792681261666776980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6792681261666776980&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6792681261666776980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6792681261666776980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/isnt-it-2009.html' title='Isn&apos;t it 2009?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5434698070898156043</id><published>2009-01-11T02:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T02:34:10.728-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It must be really hot in herrrrre . . .</title><content type='html'>I had a mini-heart attack today when I opened my PG&amp;E bill.  I was dreading the December bill because it started to get cold and with baby and all I have been running the heater on 65 degrees in the living room and using a space heater that runs intermittently in the bedroom, with a 24 hr a day warm mist humidifer as well to offset the dryness that results from all that hot air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it would be higher than my normal $35 per month, but oh my god.  It was $330!!!  I woke up my hubby to tell him the news.  He was in shock too, but quickly went back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now granted, we kept it warm enough so that we could get away with a t-shirt and light pj pants on the bottom.  From time to time HP even wandered around comfortably in just his boxers and no pants at all. I mean, after all, we wanted Tylo to be nice and comfy, but I was not prepared for this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was 1 in the morning but I had to call PG&amp;E to get to the bottom of this.  After waiting on hold for 20 minutes, I asked the kind lady if they offered relief for "first time offenders" who don't realize how much electricity could be used to keep a new baby warm.  I think I heard her muffle a laugh and she said "I'm sorry but we ACTUALLY don't have anything like that".  (Which translates to "Look Lady, you have to pay your bill just like every one else who is cold".)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon looking at the bill some more I realized that part of the outrageous total was my $78 bill from November that I missed payment on.  Oops, must have gotten lost in the world of ebills.  So the usage was $250 for December.  But STILL.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looks like I'll be back to my burning candles and wearing 10 lbs of clothes method to keep warm.  On the other hand, our gas usage was only $3.50 (despite all my wonderful cooking!).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'll just boil water all day long to keep our place warm and humidified from the steam . . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5434698070898156043?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5434698070898156043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5434698070898156043&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5434698070898156043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5434698070898156043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-must-be-really-hot-in-herrrrre.html' title='It must be really hot in herrrrre . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5983824720119460319</id><published>2009-01-09T00:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T01:05:58.136-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My little munchkin has teeth!</title><content type='html'>Tylo woke up from her morning nap today all smiles, as she usually does.  (Totally my favorite part of spending the day with her).  Amidst the smiles and head turns, I saw these two tiny white things sparkling from her mouth.  I knew it was coming soon, and today they just appeared!  Could have been a few days already, not sure - she's been in the habit of sticking out her tongue anytime her mouth is open.  I had to pry her jaw open to make sure.  I wish I could post a picture, but it was tough even to get her dad to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't say being a SAHM is ever boring.  Repetitive, sure.  But never "boring".  New exciting milestones occur almost every day.  She now sits pretty well propped up or on my lap, and even for a good ten seconds alone on the bed or anywhere else soft.  She stands well supported too, and I'm almost sure she understands my sign language for milk (alright, I might be reaching on that one).  Today someone said she's as big as his two year old neice.  Really, the girl is huge.  I am officially giving up the Baby Bjorn after one last stroll with her today.  My shoulders are still paying for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tylo's also eating like a pro.  I thought she'd be picky, but she likes veggies too, just like her mom. I thought she was ready for finger foods so I went out and bought a storm, but turns out I have to wait til ten months.  Darn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to admit, I bought into all the organic hype.  With the exception of a few early mispurchases and her formula, she's on an all-organic diet.  Once I get through all the food testing and determine she has no allergies, I plan to even make my own baby food.  I don't get why we have to wait a few days to introduce new foods.  I mean, seriously, do you know anyone allergic to green beans?  Or pears?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not sure why I care.  Maybe because all the parenting magazines make it seem like my child will die at the age of 3 if they ingest pesticides and drink from bottles with BPA (we're free of that in this household too).  I am the queen of processed foods, growing up on frozen pizzas and McDonalds, and a little trans-fat never bothered me.  I probably go through a pound of Splenda a month.  And I turned out fine, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I love the idea of cooking for my daughter for the first time, after the initial basic one-ingredient purees.  I hope she learns to enjoy food as much as her parents do.  And maybe, just maybe, she inherited some random gene combo that will allow her to eat as much as she wants to but never get fat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5983824720119460319?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5983824720119460319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5983824720119460319&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5983824720119460319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5983824720119460319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-little-munchkin-has-teeth.html' title='My little munchkin has teeth!'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-3354709676870243356</id><published>2009-01-08T02:23:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T19:22:45.403-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I recognized the hair . . .</title><content type='html'>I've been having trouble sleeping lately.  Driving me nuts.  There is nothing that drives me more nuts than tossing and turning in bed, watching the time go by, listening to the random sounds of the night.  I love staying up late, watching tv, surfing the net, cleaning the house, reconciling credit card bills, folding laundry, getting things done . . . but tossing and turning in bed listening to HP snore while trying not to wake Tylo, the lightest sleeping baby in the world? Well, nuts I tell you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's 2:30 in the morning and I refuse to go to bed, even though I am too tired to do anything else for the night and there is nothing on tv.  Because I don't want to toss and turn. I am running on under 5 hours a night these days.  The worst part is that I can snack all night like I used to!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Could it be the dreams?  Not really.  They are freakishly weird, but I don't mind them that much.  I won't even go into the other, weirder dreams I've been having.  Let's just say some involve a Patrick Swayze horse and driving a handicap service van.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, another exciting thing about the holidays being over and the new year: the house hunting is back on, full force.  We're going to find a home soon, I can feel it in my bones . . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-3354709676870243356?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3354709676870243356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=3354709676870243356&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3354709676870243356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3354709676870243356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-recognized-hair.html' title='I recognized the hair . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6890553222547621963</id><published>2009-01-07T02:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T02:10:23.785-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Vanity Kicks In</title><content type='html'>So it’s 2009!  Good grief.  I know it’s been said a million times over, but where do the years go?  And the hours in the day?  I think we don’t remember the past accurately, because I think back and say that I used to have tons of time to vegetate and give myself facials and pedicures, but it probably wasn’t true.  All I know is that nowadays, my list of “to dos” keeps getting longer with no end in sight.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The exciting thing is getting started on my diet.  My REAL one.  My “eat sensibly and healthy and try to fit in some exercise” diet.  It worked for me before, down 25 lbs.  No cabbage soup.  Just obsessive calorie counting to make sure I am within my limit.  I fill up on good, healthy, low cal food, and enjoy a small dessert at the end of the day (I skip breakfast so I can have dessert) and I don’t drink my calories.  Can’t guzzle half a 2-Liter of regular Pepsi over dinner like I used to.  I actually don’t drink much fluids at all these days.  Like a cup of coffee in the morning and one drink with dinner.  Maybe because I don’t talk much these days other than “good girl” and “did you go poopie?” but I’m rarely thirsty.  Plus my home is overly humidified and I have the condensation on my windows to prove it.  But I digress. . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So January is my warm up month.  Calorieking.com, which I LOVE because you can find out the calorie count of any food in any portion, tells me I must eat under 1200 calories a day to lose weight.  That is more than a bit ridiculous.  If you know calories, that is next to nothing.  I can’t starve myself because my body won’t allow it.  Seriously if I skip a meal I don’t even feel hungry and I just get nauseous.  So I am keeping it to 1500 for now, maybe down to 1400 by February.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven’t been able to fit in a workout yet (20 minutes of pilates) but I promise I will once I get this big tree packed away.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yup, vanity kicked in and has taken over.  I can proudly say that today I went to Target, spent over a hundred bucks, and didn’t buy a single bag of candy or other junk food item.  Now THAT is commitment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6890553222547621963?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6890553222547621963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6890553222547621963&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6890553222547621963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6890553222547621963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2009/01/vanity-kicks-in.html' title='Vanity Kicks In'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-8708000332283195757</id><published>2008-12-30T02:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T03:15:14.607-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not So Sweet Dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Last night I had the weirdest dream. I've had it on my mind all day. I was in college again, oddly, and I was going over to a good college girlfriend's house. Only I was driving up these creepy hills, straight out of a horror movie, and it was not where she lived in real life. When I got there, it was a huge spooky mansion, decked out in old velvet drapes and furniture. Then I ended up in a weird bathroom of some sort figuring out how to pee on some elaborate throne of a toilet and there was a bathtub with all this blood in it. Then the doorbell rang and it was a couple of detectives and we were trying to cover up the bathroom with the blood by distracting them. It felt like I was in a movie.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;What was all that blood anyway? I can't stop thinking about it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Throughout the day I also started remembering other fragments of the dream. Or perhaps a different dream all together in the same night. My favorite high school teacher - I ran into him in this huge lecture hall/auditorium, which had an open ceiling and we could see the stars through it. For some reason there was loud music blasting and people were in it like a party, but I swear it was supposed to be a college class of some sort. Not dance party music, like KOIT 96.5 soft rock kind of music. That's all I could remember of that one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yeah, I have the STRANGEST dreams. Always been the case. Some nights it's me having a secret affair with Usher (yeah, Raymond. That is the only recurring dream I have.). Once I gave birth to cupcakes. I've been stabbed and woke up screaming. I fall a lot and wake up with a kick, but I think a lot of people do that. I've actually died in my dream and woke up, so don't believe that you can't. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So that's been on my mind. Weird dream. Especially since my friend's house is nothing at all like that. She does live in the hills kinda, but it's in the suburbs, in the most WASPY community you can think of. Not at all creepy. I'm also trying to remember if maybe there was a dead body involved, but I can't recall. I do know that my friend seemed strangely stoic throughout it all, with me frantically trying to lead the detectives to another part of the house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Anyway, I hope you had a great Christmas and have a fun and safe New Years! May 2009 bring you more love, laughter and good fortune than you know what to do with!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;From our family to yours . . . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVn24m43ApI/AAAAAAAAAGg/w2Foh6jP6i0/s1600-h/marvin+3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285527090068128402" style="WIDTH: 303px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVn24m43ApI/AAAAAAAAAGg/w2Foh6jP6i0/s400/marvin+3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if you have a moment, you have got to see my little tantrum thrower in action. I anticipate tough days ahead . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3sSSdLP10k&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-8708000332283195757?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8708000332283195757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=8708000332283195757&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8708000332283195757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8708000332283195757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/not-so-sweet-dreams.html' title='Not So Sweet Dreams'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVn24m43ApI/AAAAAAAAAGg/w2Foh6jP6i0/s72-c/marvin+3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-438659473832757686</id><published>2008-12-23T14:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T14:29:49.897-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The happiest place on earth</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFk-hNUasI/AAAAAAAAAF4/JKbqx8ghA3g/s1600-h/jump+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283114863111203522" style="WIDTH: 334px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFk-hNUasI/AAAAAAAAAF4/JKbqx8ghA3g/s400/jump+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFlxYwabDI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ihtMuweHUjQ/s1600-h/jump+4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283115737015807026" style="WIDTH: 338px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 251px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFlxYwabDI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/ihtMuweHUjQ/s400/jump+4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFlIdYxFUI/AAAAAAAAAGI/JkxwrvhtdRc/s1600-h/jump+3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283115033884169538" style="WIDTH: 340px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 260px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFlIdYxFUI/AAAAAAAAAGI/JkxwrvhtdRc/s400/jump+3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFlDnQIamI/AAAAAAAAAGA/lesFtybZEPM/s1600-h/jump+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283114950632958562" style="WIDTH: 340px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFlDnQIamI/AAAAAAAAAGA/lesFtybZEPM/s400/jump+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Who needs Disneyland when you have a doorway jumper? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I doubt her Christmas gifts are going to live up to this one.&lt;/span&gt; &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/4572670717183701069-438659473832757686?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/438659473832757686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=438659473832757686&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/438659473832757686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/438659473832757686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/happiest-place-on-earth.html' title='The happiest place on earth'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SVFk-hNUasI/AAAAAAAAAF4/JKbqx8ghA3g/s72-c/jump+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-280636638297391694</id><published>2008-12-19T00:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-19T00:48:14.668-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crying it out, Part II &amp; some happier thoughts</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So I guess HP has been talking to all his parent friends and learning their CIO and sleep training methods.  He comes home tonight saying he knows how to "do it" now and is ready to let her cry it out again.  But we will not skip her feeding, just make sure not to play with her in any way.  Feed and back to bed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I wasn't so sure, but I was planning to go out shopping anyway, so he was on his own to try it.  Turns out he actually managed to let her cry, for an entire hour he said.  She was going crazy in the crib, going "MA, MA, MA" as she normally does when she cries, exhausting herself to the point where she would fall asleep for a few seconds then wake up and start wailing again.  Then he feeds her and she ends up pooping so that takes another 20 minutes to get her all clean.  I arrived home at that point.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Miraculously, she only cried for about 2 minutes and went right back to bed again.  So cute, arms spread eagle and limp on both sides.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I am so glad I wasn't here to listen to her.  But this CIO thing only works if you're consistent.  And tomorrow I'm designated baby watcher as HP goes out to the city.  Can I stick with it?  Guess we'll find out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;On a happier note, I thought I'd talk about something other than baby for a bit . . . It's the holiday season!  Ever since I met HP, and now more than ever with Tylo, I have really learned to love this time of year.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here are my top 3 favorite reasons to love the holiday season:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;1.  The lights!  I am in love with our xmas tree.  It's decked out with a couple hundred dollars worth of ornaments, but there's something very special about picking out that beautiful ornament when I take a trip somewhere and the anticipation of putting it up in the tree that year.  This year, I splurged on some Hallmark Keepsake ornaments, all for Tylo's first christmas.  I also love seeing the lights in malls and on homes.  Around here, only one in like 20 homes are decorated, but it still lifts your spirits a bit when you see it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;2.  Mint - Chocolate Combo.  I don't know how they decided mint and chocolate should only go together during the holidays, but that's what makes it extra special I guess.  I love seeing the Mint Mocha Latte up on the chalkboard "Specials" menu at Starbucks, the mint M&amp;amp;Ms on the shelves.  Oh what a wonderful flavor combination.  My favorites include mint malt balls at Harry &amp;amp; David (available year round actually), Brachs mint nougats and Minty Bells (which must be retired, because I haven't seen them in like 8 years. Yes, I check for them every year.).  I also learned how to make peppermint bark this year - sooo worth it to avoid paying $27 a box at Williams Sonoma.  Except I can't figure out how to layer both white and dark chocolate without it separating.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;3.  Food Gifts &amp;amp; The Fact that it's OKAY to indulge.  Maybe it's just me, but I love gourmet food gifts.  So much better than stuff I don't want, will never use, will never wear.  I love getting that gourmet chocolately popcorn (think Moosemunch), cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil in a pretty bottle, almond toffee made in Colorado that costs an arm and a leg (Thanks Jen!).  All stuff I wouldn't buy for myself unless it was on clearance after the holidays are over because it expires in a week.  I'll admit it, I'm the first one to raid the food gift baskets at work.  Alright, so I don't want the cheese, the smoked salmon, the pepper jellies or the fruit (seriously, gourmet pears??!!!), but if it is sweet and full of ingredients I can't afford myself, I will love you for it.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And during the holidays people always say "eat more, it's the holidays!"  Hopefully, no one is thinking "geez, 6 months and you still have all that baby weight?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-280636638297391694?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/280636638297391694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=280636638297391694&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/280636638297391694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/280636638297391694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/crying-it-out-part-ii-some-happier.html' title='Crying it out, Part II &amp; some happier thoughts'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-1860924635109200278</id><published>2008-12-17T00:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T01:18:50.457-08:00</updated><title type='text'>CRY IT OUT</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Wow, it's been a week since I've blogged. That flew by fast. Interestingly enough, I am at it again, just finishing up two days worth of dishes. This time it's 12:45 in the morning. Not quite as bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days Tylo hasn't been going to bed until very late. Like midnight. Which means me getting to clean up after dinner, showering, getting ready to bed, all gets pushed back until after she goes to bed. So I used to have the energy for a post after midnight when all is done and I'm ready for bed. But now it's like 2 am and I'm too tired. Straight to bed I go. Not that I can fall asleep. There's nothing I hate more than working then having to go straight to bed without the couch potato down time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last two days Tylo has been a nightmare come bedtime. She loves to play too much and fights being put to bed, even though she's rubbing her eyes and yawning like crazy. It started maybe a week ago. Usually she goes to bed between 5-6 for two hours, wakes up at 9 for a feeding, and is back to bed in an hour. These days that hour has stretched to three. For some reason, she wakes up earlier too. 5 am, instead of 7 am. I adore playing with her with her daddy around, but she can't be coping well with all that missed sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So her doctor suggested that Tylo was old enough to skip the 9 pm feeding and we should try to let her cry it out. She just turned 6 months and that's supposed to be old enough for the CIO method. I felt bold when I got home yesterday, and was ready to try it that night. Up until this point I pretty much gave in to every peep she's ever made. I rushed to satisfy her every need to eat, be held, be smiled at. Most of the time she was great anyway, and not like I had a job I needed the sleep for. I almost felt like I didn't deserve any normalcy, and I was obligated to make sure she got whatever she wanted. But it must be true - babies need their uninterrupted sleep, and lots of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, to start off slow, I didn't skip the feeding, but put her to bed right away. When Tylo first started crying around 12 last night, it was more like a frustrated yelling. I watched the clock for 5 minutes, amused really. Two more minutes and she was asleep. I couldn't believe how easy that was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, she started up again 15 minutes later. Then it got louder and louder. The wailing, high pitched cry. Then came the tears, and the hoarseness. I kept peeping in on her, making sure her blanket wasn't pulled over her face and suffocating her, or that her head wasn't trapped against her crib rail. None of those. It got worse and worse. Babies have this way of crying like they're in the worst pain in the world, completely abandoned and scared to death. I started watching the clock. I told myself to wait 10 minutes. I secretly wished HP would ask me to pick her up because he wanted to sleep. I managed to wait 12.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as I rushed to her crib and started patting her chest she stopped wailing but she was still shaking and sobbing. I picked her up and held her tight and it took a several minutes for her to calm down her sobs, even though she started smiling right away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I put her down again, she went to sleep pretty quickly. Probably tired herself out with all that crying. But she woke up several times later, and went to bed pretty easily each time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight we tried again, and the cry fest happened all over again. This time we rushed to her faster but it took a lot longer to calm her down. And she did not sleep quickly after that. It was probably 3 when she finally fell in a deep sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, after I watch a really sad movie, or have a bad fight with HP, I cry pretty hard. I get the worst headache afterward, my nose and ears are completely clogged. When I wake up my eyes are still swollen and the headache is still there. My skin is irritated from all the salty tears. And I'm not even wailing until my voice is gone like Tylo is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say the cry it out method can take an hour of wailing, sobbing uncontrollably, even choking and vomiting. But in three days or even less, your baby will sleep through the night. I haven't heard of a single case where it didn't work, when the parents stuck with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it would save me some sanity, and some much needed time to sleep and to myself. But I am definitely not ready to subject my baby to that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-1860924635109200278?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1860924635109200278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=1860924635109200278&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/1860924635109200278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/1860924635109200278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/cry-it-out.html' title='CRY IT OUT'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5241723234011115630</id><published>2008-12-09T01:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T01:43:31.245-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's 1:15 AM and I just finished washing a sh*tload of dishes so I started thinking . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Remember those days when you spent hours of your plentiful time just to save a buck?  I'm reminded of photocopying pages off of borrowed textbooks to avoid paying even the used price, or driving to three different grocery stores in one day to get the best prices at each.  Or how about eating at home first before going out to birthday dinners so you could just share an entree when you got there?  Some of us also remember taking shots of vodka, tequila, whatever, in the parking lot outside the club to avoid paying for drinks once inside.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Well, somewhere along the road time became money.  Anytime I bought something or did a chore, I thought about what that time meant in terms of hourly salary and how it just wasn't worth it anymore.   Should I pay a shipping fee, or spend an hour and a half driving to get that book?  Should I spend two hours washing my car, or eight bucks for someone else to do a better job?  And, now with baby and all, should I bite the bullet and get a housecleaner, or torture myself with a dirty house 28 days out of the month?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I know several people that have already gone that direction.  Maybe getting someone to do the deep clean once a month or so.  Most recently, I even know of someone that had a dinner party of 12 and had someone come and wash the dishes while we were eating!  (Yeah, that was a bit awkward. The guests didn't know if the Chinese lady in the kitchen was their mom or what, we were never introduced.)  It certainly makes sense - having the time to spend with my husband and child is well worth it, instead of driving HP crazy making him take full responsibility of Tylo while I run around like a mad woman, trying to dust, organize and disinfect every surface of my home every two weeks.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But of course, there lies the deeper reason behind me not wanting someone else to clean my home, touch my stuff.  I mean, even HP doesn't get to touch some of our things without me checking that his hands are washed first (I'm sure he does anyway when I'm not looking).  Yes, yes, you already know.  And of course, I'm working hard to reverse the mind workings of the germaphobe in me, and I've come a long way, but I'm not sure I'll ever shake it to the point where I can trust someone else to do my cleaning.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Let me tell you, I know someone that cleans houses for a living.  They don't come with an arsenal of washrags, one per surface.  That same towel goes from toilet to kitchen counter.  And it sure doesn't get washed out or even disinfected first.  I mean, I don't even use the same duster for the tv as I do for Tylo's stuff.  Can you imagine?  I'm reminded of HP's Taco Bell employee story.  He had the lovely job of cleaning up the blow-out mess left in the men's restrooms on certain occasions (and I'm sure you've all walked in a public restroom and seen that before), and he had no idea how to go about it.  Well, he took his trusty mop and swished it around the toilet, the rim, inside the bowl.  In and out of the mopping bucket it went.  Same mop that later goes to mop the restaurant floor.  So don't you even dare think about letting your kids eat off the floor.  ANYWHERE.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I guess I could go the route of providing all the supplies, require the use of paper towels versus cloths, listing my expectations clearly, then watching the cleaning person like a hawk as they went about the cleaning.  But yeah, they would last about 5 minutes before declaring me crazy and annoying as hell.  Or I could ask HP to help more, but then we'd have that same conversation again of "why don't we just hire a cleaning lady?".  Not that I like the results of his "cleaning" anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And I suppose there are some isolated cleaning chores that can be done without worry of too much contamination.  Like taking apart the stove and cleaning all the grooves (I can just surface disinfect afterward) or maybe scrubbing down the shower.  Cleaning the leaves and dirt from our neglected balcony.  But those items would last, oh 30 minutes, and I doubt anyone would come out for that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So, it's back to square one.  And I should quit complaining about all I have to do because I just brought it upon myself anyway.  I am jealous of those of you out there that have other people cleaning for  you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I gotta go fold the laundry because I promised myself I'd be in bed by 2.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5241723234011115630?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5241723234011115630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5241723234011115630&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5241723234011115630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5241723234011115630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-115-am-and-i-just-finished-washing.html' title='It&apos;s 1:15 AM and I just finished washing a sh*tload of dishes so I started thinking . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6728720989571832948</id><published>2008-12-05T01:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T01:45:02.922-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Baking a Warm Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I've been baking up a storm the last two days. I decided that baking 1) keeps our place warm, 2) is relatively cheap to do, depending on the recipe, and 3) satisfies my intense craving for carbs during the cold months. And, as much cleaning as I have to do afterward (muffin pans are a b*tch to wash!) it is very theraputic for me. I would love a career as a baker. Except that for some reason you have to bake in the wee hours of the early morning to have fresh goods for the day so that may not work out so well for a night owl like me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yesterday I made blueberry muffins, oat snack cakes, and bran muffins. I'm supposed to help HP lower his cholesterol and I thought he would hate the "healthy" muffins I made him. I love bran but the oat cakes weren't my style. Turns out he really likes them! Ate way more than he should have, which kinda defeated the purpose. I think on the next batch I'll sneak in the applesauce instead of butter and see if he even notices. If not, victory! These are great to freeze and have on hand when there is nothing else to eat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today I made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and chocolate cupcakes with caramel frosting, to take to a dinner party tomorrow. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STj333zXhVI/AAAAAAAAAFw/p4C4y3dXLdI/s1600-h/red+velvet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276239502708802898" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STj333zXhVI/AAAAAAAAAFw/p4C4y3dXLdI/s400/red+velvet.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You can't tell but inside they're a deep chocolately-red.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now, I'm not one to pat myself on the back (not in public, anyway) but I made some damn good red velvet cupcakes. The recipe is from Emeril Lagasse on I made a couple of changes to make it more chocolately (they had a wimpy 2 tsp cocoa versus my 1/3 cup) and using ingredients I had laying around. They are rich, dense, moist and have this odd crisp crust that is so yummy. The frosting is simple and goes perfectly on top. I am in love with these cupcakes. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;[I don't know if you care but if you make cupcakes, don't spend a fortune on pretty cupcake liners. They just end up taking on the color of your cake (my martha stewart pastel ones ended up brown) so look even worse than the cheap liners.]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So now our home is nice and toasty thanks to my baking. Kitty and Tylo thank me, I'm sure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6728720989571832948?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6728720989571832948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6728720989571832948&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6728720989571832948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6728720989571832948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/baking-warm-home.html' title='Baking a Warm Home'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STj333zXhVI/AAAAAAAAAFw/p4C4y3dXLdI/s72-c/red+velvet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7546065763165604522</id><published>2008-12-03T15:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T02:14:34.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The wrong way to put up christmas lights</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;What happens when you have a few extra strands of lights and a laundry list of chores you are trying to avoid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, if you're me, you get a 5 foot tall gaudy as hell neon candy cane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't want to do any more cleaning. I wanted to "take a break" during Tylo's nap and watch a movie. Usually during Tylo's nap I'm trying to decide if I should get dinner ready, do the laundry, or do some other type of cleaning. But I really wanted to avoid all that, just for a few hours. The tree was already set up (and GORGEOUS, I might add), and somehow I got the notion that instead of stringing the remaining strands of lights around the window, I would create some sort of holiday shape. A candy cane seemed easy enough. I thought I had red and white lights and it would be perfect.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Well, turns out I only had the multi-color and the white. No problem, it would be a colorful candy cane. I knew they sold things like this, pre-made, but I figured it wouldn't be so hard and what else would I do with the extra lights. I got to work. A little over an hour, lots of little strips of packing tape, and many re-dos later, I had a big bright candy cane. I was so proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STcU_DzBH6I/AAAAAAAAAFg/bc29gSt3QW8/s1600-h/candy+cane.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275708562071429026" style="WIDTH: 276px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 373px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STcU_DzBH6I/AAAAAAAAAFg/bc29gSt3QW8/s400/candy+cane.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I thought this big giant candy cane would bring so much joy and warm the hearts of all the people that would drive by on their way home from work. I thought HP would enjoy it the most as he got home after a long commute each day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, he got home and called it gaudy. He noticed it right away when he pulled in the complex and was surprised it turned out to be our window displaying what looked like a giant question mark. Not just surprised, kinda embarassed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was right. That night we had the blinds pulled up and that giant 5 foot tall candy cane was always bright in the corner of my eye. Then today when out with Tylo on our walk, I look up at our window and realized that the damn candy cane was backward! I didn't think to put it in the direction for the outsiders looking in. Now every freakin person is looking at a backward candy cane. I mean, you don't see candy canes that look like this, do you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STcVldB1tEI/AAAAAAAAAFo/6vz3juB4vxg/s1600-h/candy+cane+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275709221679510594" style="WIDTH: 277px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 371px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STcVldB1tEI/AAAAAAAAAFo/6vz3juB4vxg/s400/candy+cane+2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You don't see any multi-colored candy canes either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh. I haven't taken it down yet, but I am too embarassed to turn it on again. I should have just stuck to doing the laundry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-7546065763165604522?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7546065763165604522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7546065763165604522&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7546065763165604522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7546065763165604522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/wrong-way-to-put-up-christmas-lights.html' title='The wrong way to put up christmas lights'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STcU_DzBH6I/AAAAAAAAAFg/bc29gSt3QW8/s72-c/candy+cane.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-535536767239859518</id><published>2008-12-03T01:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T01:10:55.852-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Wow, I was forwarded this article and I'd like to plaster it on my forehead. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STZMup7W6RI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/LQAmXHHg3Cw/s1600-h/Parents+have+no+time.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275488377923627282" style="WIDTH: 537px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 479px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STZMup7W6RI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/LQAmXHHg3Cw/s400/Parents+have+no+time.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I admit it, I didn't get it either. I didn't necessarily complain when I saw friends become mothers and disappear off the face of the earth, I thought we simply stopped having things in common.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I do. I think, quite possibly, my overpacking ways make it even worse (see previous Mother = Backpain post).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every waking moment with Tylo is work. When she's not awake I'm still planning, cleaning, packing. I coordinate my day to make sure she doesn't wait too long for the next feeding, the next diaper change, the next nap. I make sure I don't take her in and out of the car too much because god she hates being strapped in tight. I also have this constant need to teach my baby. Tell her about the world, explain what I do, describe everything around us. So she can pick up language and TALK to me. I want to have a conversation with my daughter and I can't wait for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't even begin to describe it but it is a lot of work, and it's exhausting. I was less tired when I was working 11 hours a day without a break and planning a wedding. And trust me, and trust us. We REALLY miss our friends. We miss talking about you and your lives. I want to hear about your dates, the loser guys, the work drama. Notice how you ask about Tylo and I quickly change the subject? Sure sometimes stuff happens and I like to tell you about her being constipated or how she started rolling over, but I think your life is way more interesting than mine. I really wish I had time to call everyone I cared and hear all about what's going on. (And if you're thinking about when I have time to blog, it's between midnight and two am. If you're up, let me know!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But hey, we SAHMs know better than to complain. We know we are getting the better deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-535536767239859518?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/535536767239859518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=535536767239859518&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/535536767239859518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/535536767239859518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-needing-45-minutes-to-do-what-takes.html' title='&quot;It&apos;s needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15&quot;'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STZMup7W6RI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/LQAmXHHg3Cw/s72-c/Parents+have+no+time.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7916704357725015688</id><published>2008-11-27T00:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T14:08:58.344-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The perfect gift</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;What do people buy for their baby's first Christmas? Seriously, you already buy every article of clothing, toy, book, chair, stroller accessory, jumper, exersaucer or other thingamajig they could want or not even know they wanted. What do you get them? Do you not get them anything?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So, I came up with the idea to buy my baby girl a cute mouse doll, since she is a mouse (sounds better than RAT). As I guessed, people don't really make mouse dolls. I searched all of the internet, avoiding Mickey and Minnie along the way, and these were the top two contenders. One is more cartoony, one is more organic looking (I was leaning toward the organic one). My goal is to make this doll her go-to doll when she gets a little older, and it will be dragged along with her everywhere. I had one of those. It was Nurse Bonnie the Bear. God I loved that thing. It was so ratty it might as well have been a rat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBq7PsD6sI/AAAAAAAAAFI/qdnhjyyrK-4/s1600-h/mouse+lily.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273832729707014850" style="WIDTH: 207px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBq7PsD6sI/AAAAAAAAAFI/qdnhjyyrK-4/s400/mouse+lily.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SS5VmSzh6JI/AAAAAAAAAEo/1vmnSyQBI8E/s1600-h/mouse+wild+dill.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273246330068789394" style="WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SS5VmSzh6JI/AAAAAAAAAEo/1vmnSyQBI8E/s400/mouse+wild+dill.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I really like the one below (if it had a girl version) but I can't buy it. It's simply a crochet pattern for sale that makes a mouse doll like the one below. Do you think I can pay the seller to make it? Or if I get the pattern, and miraculously learn to crochet, maybe I'll have it done in time for next Christmas. But that still doesn't solve the dilemma of what to get Tylo THIS Christmas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SS5YHaGf8cI/AAAAAAAAAEw/QiQ0AOn7NuI/s1600-h/mouse+etsy.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273249097986339266" style="WIDTH: 257px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 255px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SS5YHaGf8cI/AAAAAAAAAEw/QiQ0AOn7NuI/s400/mouse+etsy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, while online shopping today, I suddenly remembered - ETSY!  They have great handmade stuff and maybe just what I'm looking for.  I found this gem:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBp7OLgLiI/AAAAAAAAAE4/BBg09uLZpgY/s1600-h/Margie+the+Mouse.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273831629790391842" style="WIDTH: 279px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 291px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBp7OLgLiI/AAAAAAAAAE4/BBg09uLZpgY/s400/Margie+the+Mouse.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is Margie the Mouse and it is absolutely perfect, and one of a kind.  And, because I'm a sucker for sales, I ended up with a second one as HP's gift to Tylo, for half off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBp_4yhQVI/AAAAAAAAAFA/GeafnMiT4CA/s1600-h/Libby+the+Cat.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273831709947806034" style="WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBp_4yhQVI/AAAAAAAAAFA/GeafnMiT4CA/s400/Libby+the+Cat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meet Libby the Cat.  How cute are they?  If you're interested, search Tiddlywink's shop on etsy.com.  I am so excited!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This marks the first Black Friday that I "shopped".  Ever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&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/4572670717183701069-7916704357725015688?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7916704357725015688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7916704357725015688&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7916704357725015688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7916704357725015688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/perfect-gift.html' title='The perfect gift'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/STBq7PsD6sI/AAAAAAAAAFI/qdnhjyyrK-4/s72-c/mouse+lily.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-4010780358735818561</id><published>2008-11-26T23:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T23:36:15.518-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Season of Eating begins tomorrow</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I love Thanksgiving!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I really really do.  I LOVE Thanksgiving!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I like how my big crazy extended family gets together.  We all make a ton of food, probably more than 3 times what we could possibly eat.  Most of it is already cold, I hate cold food, but the newly cooked stuff was so yummy.  There's the adult table and the kids table.  I'm 28 years old and I have a daughter, but I'll probably still be sat at the kids' table.  Can't say I mind.  At least now I can have wine without my parents' watching over me.  Last year I didn't have any alcohol because I was pregnant, but no one knew anyway.  And then when we all proclaim how full we are and how we can't eat another bite, someone (usually me) declares it dessert time and we make sweet soup with sesame mochi dumplings and ginger.  YUM.  And then there's cake, homemade Chinese pastries and lately, cookies and brownies (courtesy of me).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Since I'm an "adult" now (adult in Chinese is married with baby) , I decided I should cook too, not just bake.  So, I slaved away all night making pot roast and mashed potatoes.  I had to cheat and make it the night before because we have to leave early tomorrow, far drive and all.  We'd be lucky to get out of the house by 11.  If it turns out good, I will bring it.  If not, HP and I will be eating it for the next month because I made a hell of a lot of pot roast!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Funny thing, how our Thanksgivings grew.  Used to be like 5 families, or 20 people.  Then it was 9 or even more families.  Like 40 or more people.  We started inviting everyone under the sun.  We'd cram into booths at my parents' restaurant, all eating at the same time but having a million different conversations, no one really listening to one another.  Maybe the loudest ones are heard.  This year we're all going to Sacramento to cram into my parents' new house, which I haven't seen.  It will be a small, intimate Thanksgiving this year, which are my favorite Thanksgivings anyway.  Just 5 families =)  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-4010780358735818561?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4010780358735818561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=4010780358735818561&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4010780358735818561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4010780358735818561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/season-of-eating-begins-tomorrow.html' title='The Season of Eating begins tomorrow'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2720317022136965511</id><published>2008-11-25T01:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T01:23:28.710-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother = Back Pain</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oh how I envy those moms that say they love their little diaper pods because all they need is a small pack of wipes, a couple of diapers, and they're off on their strolls, errands, whatever it may be.  Their kids must not drool.  Or spit up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that whenever I leave the house I carry like 3 different diaper bags and a gigantic stroller with me?  Ok, the stroller is because I don't think it's fair to put my baby in an uncomfortable umbrella stroller that has no padding and makes her sit upright while she naps.  I like the features of my freakin heavy 30 lb stroller that I can't weave through narrow aisles with.  But my back pays the price.  You'd think I would have lost more weight getting that thing in and out of the car every day.  But what excuse do I have for packing half her belongings each time we leave the house?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always been an over packer.  I bring at least one extra outfit, two pairs of underwear, a few extra days worth of toiletries. I have sensitive skin so I can't use hotel stuff.  I even bring snacks because there's nothing worse than not having chocolate in the middle of the night.  I refuse to raid the minibar and overpay for anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's no surprise that with daughter in tow, I am now an even worse offender.  I have to pack twice as many diapers as I think I need in case I change her diaper after she poops and then Tylo decides she's not done, which causes me to use more diapers than usual.  I pack an extra change of clothes because she might spit up all over the place or she might have a "blowout" (for those that don't know, it's when the poop gets EVERYWHERE and literally blows out of her diaper, up her back, through the leg openings, mashing into her pants, onesie, whatever.  I pack two extra pairs of socks in case they fall off or strangers touch them.  I pack enough formula and bottles so that she could eat every two hours if need be, even though she eats every 3-4 hours.  I pack one extra bottle on top of that in case something happens and I end up being out later than expected (even though I have spare ready-to-drink bottles in the car).  I pack one bib and one burp cloth for each feeding, with one extra of each.  I pack a book, a blanket, her giant spider toy, two extra backup toys in case she drops her spider toy.  I have two pacifiers in case one gets dirty.  Of course there are diaper wipes, tissues, antibacterial wipes and foam for me, and a washcloth just in case there's a really big mess.  The changing pad is a must, and a disposable liner for public changing tables.  And the biggest thing of all - her Baby Bjorn.  Because she gets fussy and won't sit in her stroller and I can't carry my baby and push the stroller so I have to strap that giant baby on.  Then there are separate Bjorn bibs.  That sucker is a lifesaver but it takes up a diaper bag on its own!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, this is to give you an idea of what it's like if I want to go to the mall or something.  If I go to grandma/grandpa's, then I add to that her infant chair and a swaddle blanket. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I pack a farm?  Because it's always what I didn't bring that I end up needing the most.  And I hate being unprepared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have a system when I'm running errands.  Once I get it packed most stuff can sit in a car.  I gave up carrying a purse and now carry a mini diaper bag with just one bottle, burp cloth, bib, paci, whatever.  Then I go back to the car between stores, change Tylo there, and replenish.  It's tougher when I can't keep going back to the car and I have two diaper bags in the gigantic stroller basket (it still isn't big enough).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you have it, a day in the life of a neurotic SAHM.  I hope you're not as bad as I am and you manage to take your baby out without looking like you're taking a week-long vacation!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2720317022136965511?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2720317022136965511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2720317022136965511&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2720317022136965511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2720317022136965511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/mother-back-pain.html' title='Mother = Back Pain'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5818307210124470483</id><published>2008-11-22T01:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T01:49:49.155-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Joys of Motherhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SSfVoQvrf0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/SZmj7ZN49N4/s1600-h/tylo+after+bath.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271416776526888770" style="WIDTH: 205px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SSfVoQvrf0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/SZmj7ZN49N4/s400/tylo+after+bath.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;(Tylo after bathtime)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today was a tough day on Tylo. I dragged her to an insanely long meeting with a real estate agent to sign the listing/disclosure papers for my parent's house. Sure, she enjoyed the first hour because I think she liked our agent, but two hours later, she cried harder than I ever heard her cry because she was exhausted and the 20 minute nap she had that day wasn't cutting it. Then we had dinner at grandma and grandpa's and when we finally got home she didn't even get her relaxing bath.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So tonight instead of trying to put her to sleep early, HP and I sat on the couch, making silly faces and noises to make her laugh. She laughed so hard and loud and was so happy from all the attention. And I thought to myself - how wonderful it is to have a little person who can be so angry with you one moment and then adore you the next. She really does love us so very much, even if we do occasionally (okay, more often than that) keep her up too long.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I love her big silly toothless smile. There's nothing I wouldn't do to get it out of her. There is no greater joy than to make your daughter REALLY laugh. Makes all those no-sleep nights totally worth it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;You know what else motherhood teaches you? To appreciate your own parents so much. Makes me want to do everything I can to help my own parents. Too bad now I have a baby attached to the hip and I don't have the time to do it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Do nice things for your parents while you have the time to put in the effort!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5818307210124470483?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5818307210124470483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5818307210124470483&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5818307210124470483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5818307210124470483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/joys-of-motherhood.html' title='The Joys of Motherhood'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SSfVoQvrf0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/SZmj7ZN49N4/s72-c/tylo+after+bath.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5666089439374352965</id><published>2008-11-19T01:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T01:56:44.832-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No time for a post, but . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Been super busy lately. Working on a couple of special projects. Yah, don't work, so I create special projects for myself =). Plus Tylo doesn't sleep, so that doesn't help.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Anyway, no real post, but I thought I would introduce Tylo's new friend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here's Na-Na, the organic stuffed banana. How cute is this?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SSPiXehCUmI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/CshLzmJRaxI/s1600-h/Na+Na.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270304881910108770" style="WIDTH: 169px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 333px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SSPiXehCUmI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/CshLzmJRaxI/s400/Na+Na.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I tried to take a pic with Tylo holding Na-Na because it's the perfect size for her cute but oddly gigantic baby hands, but she had this huge boogie in her nose and I can't let my baby be published that way =P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5666089439374352965?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5666089439374352965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5666089439374352965&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5666089439374352965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5666089439374352965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-time-for-post-but.html' title='No time for a post, but . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SSPiXehCUmI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/CshLzmJRaxI/s72-c/Na+Na.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6807645900906035057</id><published>2008-11-15T00:23:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T00:33:54.409-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What did we do before YouTube?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;My mom told me the other day that ever since I showed my dad how to look up Tylo's videos on YouTube, he's been watching them every night to see if I posted new ones.  And they ask why I haven't posted more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;That is so darn cute.  Being their first grandchild, I imagine they would miss Tylo quite a bit and wishes they could see her more.  Now that they're moving to Sacramento, it will be just once a month or even two before they get to see her.  I used to make a weekly trip to SF to see them.  Gave Tylo and I something to do and gave me some time to run errands without her if I had them.  Tylo is just starting to get stranger anxiety though, and the other day my mom said she wouldn't stop crying and went from "Ma, Ma, Ma" to "Ba, Ba, Ba".  It's great to pretend she was calling for HP and I, but no, those are just the noises easiest for babies to make.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So yes, YouTube saves us.  Even late at night, like now, when I miss my baby girl, I pull up the YouTube videos and watch (over and over and over).  I watch how much she's changed since her 1st, 2nd, 3rd month.  I guess it's my dad and I that make the "times viewed" number keep going up!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;For her grandparents, I will try to add more videos.  To find on YouTube, just search by Tylo's first and last name.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6807645900906035057?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6807645900906035057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6807645900906035057&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6807645900906035057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6807645900906035057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/what-did-we-do-before-youtube.html' title='What did we do before YouTube?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7676184809052748316</id><published>2008-11-12T01:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T01:27:56.345-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you're anal when . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today I was in line paying for my temporary (I hope) "fat" clothes at Old Navy when Tylo was getting frustrated sitting in her stroller waiting for me.  The kind lady behind me was trying to make her smile, and she was successful.  Tylo forgot she was in line forever and smiled a bit.  I thanked the lady for her help.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Then, GASP, she reached out and tickled Tylo's toes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now, mind you, this is not the first time it has happened, someone trying to touch my baby.  I have thought about making a big sign that says "It's flu season - PLEASE DON'T TOUCH" but I was worried it might seem assumptive, like everyone wants to touch my cute baby.  Then I thought I would make a sign that says "Please ask before you touch", but that might not be any better.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Every parenting magazine will tell you that it is ok to protect your baby and ask people not to touch.  Especially during flu season.  But so many people out there just want to touch my baby!  Don't they know babies put things in their mouths?  Don't they know babies can't get flu shots and have more vulnerable immune systems and can't handle the germs???!!!!  I tell myself every time that I would be brave enough to stop these well-intentioned people from touching Tylo.  I have a great excuse after all, it's flu season.  But some how I just fall dead silent as I see them reaching for her.  A couple of times I managed to duck away, or hold an object in front of her to block the hands.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today I cringed, but I didn't say anything.  I am such a wimp.  I let her toes get tickled and went to the car afterward to change her socks.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;A few minutes after a little toddler boy, maybe 1.5 yrs old, came at Tylo's stroller and tried to reach for her birdie toy, the one that she ALWAYS HAS IN HER MOUTH.  I didn't even think as I started pulling the stroller away from him, but he kept coming toward us.  We were still stuck in line and I felt genuinely silly and bad because his parents are probably thinking I'm a freak or just super mean for not letting their baby touch my baby's toy.  I ruined a perfectly cute baby moment and Tylo's chance of making any friends because I am a germaphobe.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;He managed to get a swipe at her stroller and I wasn't sure if he touched the birdie or not.  So I scrubbed down the front of the stroller with a diaper wipe and then switched out her toy (when I was out of sight of course).  Can't take any chances.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seriously, am I sick or what?  He was just a freakin kid.  I think I need help.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-7676184809052748316?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7676184809052748316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7676184809052748316&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7676184809052748316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7676184809052748316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/you-know-youre-anal-when.html' title='You know you&apos;re anal when . . .'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5764930152835519274</id><published>2008-11-10T23:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T00:04:46.102-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Election Aftermath</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;This post is a bit late, but I'd like to comment on last Tuesday's election.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's hard not to get emotional. I didn't run out and buy a newspaper the following day like many others, but I was glued to the tv and had to grab quite a few tissues when Obama was declared the victor. It was definitely an inspirational moment, and I look forward to telling my daughter all about that day. My husband asked me yesterday if I thought having a black president would change anything. Of course it does. Children, especially non-white children, will get to watch tv and see that someone of color is the president of our nation. It is going to change EVERYTHING. And I'm so glad. Because race is always in the foreground of all non-white people. We are always very aware of the fact that we are not white. We might not notice it so much living in California, but I am always reminded of my Asian skin anytime I step out of my comfort zone. Even if you're not an Obama supporter, your heartstrings probably still got tugged at a bit. Will we get universal healthcare and solve the economic crisis in the next four years? Probably not, but his victory has given new dreams to the next generation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The next big issue was not as clear cut. I watched the polls all night for the Prop 8 results and it wasn't clear until I checked again the next morning. It passed. In fact, it passed in almost all counties outside the bay area. It looked like a fight in most counties, but in the end, I saw people on tv cheering that same-sex couples will not be allowed to marry. How can you cheer to tramp on people's rights? Why are people so adamant about controlling the lives of others? What harm can two men or two women marrying possibly have on you, on your children? No argument against gay marriage makes any sense. I remember the very rainy weekend before the election. There were so many people out on in the pouring rain carrying signs for both sides. I understand the No signs, but surprisingly the Yes sign holders were in larger numbers. Why the passion over something that is not your business? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here is a link to an online petition to reopen Prop 8: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.petitiononline.com/seg5130/petition.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;http://www.petitiononline.com/seg5130/petition.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm glad Tylo isn't old enough to understand that this world still has so much to learn. I hope by the time she grows up this nation that claims to give independence and civil rights to all of its citizens actually lives up to it. I hope one day a president will actually have the nerve to speak up and give equal rights to gays and lesbians and all the in-betweens. I don't think they are even against it - they just are afraid of losing votes. It's disgusting and very sad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5764930152835519274?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5764930152835519274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5764930152835519274&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5764930152835519274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5764930152835519274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/election-aftermath.html' title='Election Aftermath'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-885492730828547093</id><published>2008-11-10T13:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T14:06:43.054-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Great Indoors</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Been a little busy lately, running around town trying to take advantage of the last few days  left of semi-warm weather.  Babies seem to love being outside -  the colors, movement, sounds, it stimulates them and all their senses.  I don't even have to move around - Tylo would be happy on the balcony looking out.  Anyway, it's getting pretty darn cold out and I worried about her our entire 30 min walk, even though she was bundled up well.  And if it's raining - forget about it.  Not that I'm afraid she'll get wet and cold, which I am, I'm more afraid of all the drivers out there.  Just like all the other dangers out there, drivers seem that much worse when you have a little one to protect.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The other day while I was walking around our complex a very large male boxer (dog) got away from its owner and came right toward us.  I had Tylo in my Bjorn and had enough sense to wrap my arms around her dangling limbs and turned my back to the approaching dog.  It seemed more playful than intimidating, but I wasn't taking my chances.  When it got to us, the dog actually stood up and placed its paws and tried to push me down!  I knew it didn't mean harm but this was a huge muscular dog and if it wanted to, it could knock me down and maul us both.  Luckily the owner caught up to us right away and pulled the dog away from us.  He was genuinely sorry.  Still, dog owners, no matter how well behaved you think your dog is, keep it leashed.  How bad would you feel if your dog tore a limb off a baby?  It doesn't help that I am NOT a dog lover.  Maybe because one of my earliest memories of a dog was this little tiny one with white curly fur that bit me right on the hand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Anyway, so I'm worried about what we will do every day during the colder months.  There's only so many times you can go to the mall.  And I'd go crazy if we stayed home more than two days in a row.  There's only so many times you can read "Mimi's Toes" to a baby.  Any suggestions?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-885492730828547093?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/885492730828547093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=885492730828547093&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/885492730828547093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/885492730828547093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/great-indoors.html' title='The Great Indoors'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-5102737892233885030</id><published>2008-11-04T09:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T09:33:18.461-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Homeless.  FOREVER.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So we didn't get the house.  We heard the seller wasn't willing to budge on his too-high list price, but we didn't know he would be so unreasonable.  He's probably stubborn because he bought it two years ago, at the top of the market, and put money into it for the remodel so he's in way too deep.  We bid a price that would be accurate if the market kept falling, even though comps in the past few months have been higher.  Oh well, let him deal with the additional mortgage payments even though he's long moved out.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Maybe in another 3 years HP and I will find another house we can both agree on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Time to go vote!!!!  NO ON 8!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-5102737892233885030?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5102737892233885030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=5102737892233885030&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5102737892233885030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/5102737892233885030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/homeless-forever_04.html' title='Homeless.  FOREVER.'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2649331363806559937</id><published>2008-11-03T00:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T00:21:01.344-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Homeless, forever?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So HP and I have been house shopping for, oh, 3 years. Of course we took a break here and there, during the winter months, when I was in the last few months of pregnancy. He is actively on all the MLS sites, and if I had to count, we've seen no fewer than 300 different homes in this time. No joke. Yet we're still homeless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blame all those people out there that drove up home prices. So don't get me started on whether I feel sorry for any one that has foreclosed on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prices have come down, but they didn't tell that to the sellers in our desired neighborhoods. Peninsula home prices are still so overinflated, you can't get two bathrooms for under a million. And if there is one thing I must have in a home, it's that second bathroom. I'd prefer 2.5, but will settle for 2 if need be. I just like the idea of keeping the guest bath clean and doing whatever I want to my own. I'll admit it. Since becoming a mom, I have let my bathroom get near gross before cleaning it. (I am THIS close to hiring a cleaning person but I think that would gross me out more.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know what I would REALLY love? What gets me more excited than square footage and even a well-manicured back yard? A walk-in pantry. Oh, to have an insane amount of kitchen space. To have the crockpot, the hand-mixer, the food processor, the waffle maker, the flour sifter, the potato ricer, and my "good" skillet, all within hand's reach, clean and ready to use. I am so sick of clearing out the 15 pots and pans from the oven when I feel like baking, piling them onto the counter just so I can preheat the darn thing. If only . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, that's what I want in life. So today we took a huge step - we put an offer in on a house! Our first offer on a home together (and my first ever). We actually both really like the house, not love. But if you knew how much trouble we've had finding a house we both liked, you would know this is such a rarity. The neighborhood is gorgeous, San Mateo Park. We are definitely one of the ten cheapest homes in the entire neighborhood, I would say. Tylo is going to be dirt poor compared to our neighbors, and I'll be the only one without a bugaboo at the park. I happily report that the neighborhood's Obama supporters outnumbered the McCain supporters, so I shouldn't become Republican any time soon. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQ6yssSuTgI/AAAAAAAAADg/ILxL4k_BSX4/s1600-h/home.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264341495316368898" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQ6yssSuTgI/AAAAAAAAADg/ILxL4k_BSX4/s400/home.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's a real charming house, very modest. Doesn't have much of a backyard, not an inch more square footage than the minimum that we need. It's been remodeled and is move-in ready, which is so wonderful, and I can imagine HP, Tylo, and Baby #2 there for a very long time, enjoying cozy family moments. So, keep your fingers crossed that we get the home, even though we did low-ball the offer. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;The kitchen is not my taste (I dream of a white airy kitchen with cornflower blue walls), but newish and well kept, and very functional. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQ60DnuWl0I/AAAAAAAAADo/oN1KQar0rXk/s1600-h/kitchen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264342988738697026" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQ60DnuWl0I/AAAAAAAAADo/oN1KQar0rXk/s400/kitchen.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&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/4572670717183701069-2649331363806559937?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2649331363806559937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2649331363806559937&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2649331363806559937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2649331363806559937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/11/homeless-forever.html' title='Homeless, forever?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQ6yssSuTgI/AAAAAAAAADg/ILxL4k_BSX4/s72-c/home.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-4557914604613091362</id><published>2008-10-31T14:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-01T03:35:02.398-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I wanted to have a fun day out today but the weather hasn't been so great and it's been wet. I can't risk getting Tylo all wet until my stroller rain cover comes in (they think of everything, don't they?) so we went for a quick walk when it stopped raining.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You can't see her Halloween outfit since she's all bundled up, but here she is, ready to face the cold:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt3W_RgVTI/AAAAAAAAADA/VNkM1umusSM/s1600-h/bundled+up-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263431826338239794" style="WIDTH: 333px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 335px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt3W_RgVTI/AAAAAAAAADA/VNkM1umusSM/s400/bundled+up-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was excited to put her in a coat for the first time. We have several of them and it hasn't been cold enough so she will outgrow them soon. Turns out that even though it was rainy, it was pretty warm outside, so she didn't really need the coat after all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Speaking of cute clothes, I would love a job creating them. There are some witty creative people out there. I mean, what mom can resist buying this for her baby? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt3le8W5II/AAAAAAAAADI/lxCTx8X1EKQ/s1600-h/lovemymummy-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263432075357643906" style="WIDTH: 324px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 231px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt3le8W5II/AAAAAAAAADI/lxCTx8X1EKQ/s400/lovemymummy-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I smile every time I see it. So darling. No one will even see her in it but me and HP because she only wears it to sleep. She'll get to wear it maybe four times before she outgrows it (yes, even past Halloween), but it is so worth it. Shopping for baby clothes is definitely one of my favorite motherly duties.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here are some more pics to share since I finally uploaded a few:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt36P62RjI/AAAAAAAAADQ/2mtJ92MsGQc/s1600-h/just+like+daddy-small.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263432432102032946" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt36P62RjI/AAAAAAAAADQ/2mtJ92MsGQc/s400/just+like+daddy-small.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;She is the splitting image of her dad here (soooo not a good thing for a girl). I feel like I'm staring right at him!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt4R8iBEJI/AAAAAAAAADY/cVYynisW20Y/s1600-h/loves+her+apple+bib.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263432839214469266" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt4R8iBEJI/AAAAAAAAADY/cVYynisW20Y/s400/loves+her+apple+bib.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Happy Halloween Everyone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-4557914604613091362?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4557914604613091362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=4557914604613091362&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4557914604613091362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4557914604613091362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/happy-halloween.html' title='Happy Halloween!'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQt3W_RgVTI/AAAAAAAAADA/VNkM1umusSM/s72-c/bundled+up-small.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-4520778026190951390</id><published>2008-10-29T01:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T01:41:06.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I like Tuesdays</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Today was supposed to be a bit more exciting.  Bottle Shock was supposed to play for baby night at the movies and I got Tylo all ready with an early bath so we could head out as soon as HP got home.  Right around 5 pm I checked the listing again and they were playing something else that didn't look the least bit interesting.  Bummer.  I was totally looking forward to it too.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Luckily, Tuesday is one of our favorite tv nights.  House is one of the two shows we enjoy watching together.  True Blood is the other one.  And, I'm so excited, 24 is coming back!  It's been a long, agonizing wait thanks to the writers' strike, but it should be worth the wait.  Tuesday is also 90210 night, which I'm just having the time to watch, at 1:30 in the morning.  I know, I know, don't give me grief.  It's my guilty pleasure and it's super addicting.  Even if I am like 15 years older than the characters (well, close!).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So what else exciting did I do tonight?  I cleaned out my pantry!  I had microwave popcorn, hot chocolate and gum from 2007.  Guess it's been a while since the last cleaning.  I had like another 3 boxes of popcorn that are going to expire by November 2008, from my pregnancy days.  Guess I'll be eating a lot of popcorn in the next few weeks.  It felt great to clear out the junk, and it really wasn't as bad as it has been.  I am super guilty of overstocking my pantry because I hate to run out of stuff and I these days I can't just run to the store that easily.  I just have to learn how to eat/use it all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I also realized that half a pantry shelf is full of tea/coffee products.  I don't know why, guess I used to be addicted to caffeine.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Other good news - Tylo has finally learned to use her arms and has better body control now.  So, bed time has been a million times better.  Last night, even though we dragged her out late to our anniversary dinner, she slept through the night without a peep, and didn't even try to roll over!  That was an entire 10.5 hours.  It was GLORIOUS.  Tonight so far hasn't been as great, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-4520778026190951390?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4520778026190951390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=4520778026190951390&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4520778026190951390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/4520778026190951390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-like-tuesdays.html' title='I like Tuesdays'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-8680499215491533624</id><published>2008-10-27T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T11:26:36.694-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One exciting year</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One year ago I married the man of my dreams. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One year ago I also found the words "PREGNANT" on my test at 5 am in the morning of the biggest day of my life so far.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's been the most life-changing year of my life, the hardest, and the happiest.  This post is dedicated to my dear husband:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Because I forget to say "I love you" when you first get home and I'm busy feeding or bathing Tylo, and instead I say "did you wash your hands?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because we don't get to say good night to one another, and I find you passed out in bed while you're "comforting" her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I almost never say "I love you" back at the end of our phone conversations and you are always so sweet to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I say I love you a million times over.  I hope you never fail to hear it even when I don't say it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you believe it's been an entire year since we've been married?  Tylo is the best thing to ever happen to us, but I do wish we had more happy you and me time alone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'll probably never read this because you're too busy reading your wine sites, but Happy Anniversary Honey-pie.  I love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-8680499215491533624?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8680499215491533624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=8680499215491533624&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8680499215491533624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8680499215491533624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/one-exciting-year.html' title='One exciting year'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6635700399078279223</id><published>2008-10-23T23:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T23:23:16.595-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hanging in there</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's been a tough week. Last night was the worst of it, with Tylo barely sleeping until 6 in the morning. I think I spent half the night putting her back to bed over and over again. I'm running on less sleep than the first month, because at least then I had HP to relieve me in the morning. Now, it's just me. Poor thing, I can't even get mad at her. She has no control over her little body, because her natural instinct is just to roll. She's probably just as frustrated as I am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So far tonight seems to be better. I tried to exhaust her during the day and she went to sleep without a peep at 6:30. She woke for her 9 pm feeding and it took 2 hours to get her down again but she's been quiet for about 20 mins now. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some sleep finally.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So some exciting news to share:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me preface by saying I never win ANYTHING from raffles or anything else where I'm picked from a drawing. NEVER. NOT A THING. It could be a drawing where there are 10 prizes for 12 people and I'll be one of the two people that leave prize-less. (Yes, that was from experience). I don't even bother with them anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I started following &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://coolmompicks.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;coolmompicks.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; for baby items to covet but can't afford and they always have these giveaways. The very first time I visited, I entered a drawing for this cute little apple bib: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQFo8dcqdTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/ii4NrM3tNYA/s1600-h/apple+bib.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260601227651740978" style="WIDTH: 173px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 190px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQFo8dcqdTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/ii4NrM3tNYA/s400/apple+bib.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And, I won! My name is on the website and everything "Congrats to XXX for winning the apple bib!" How cool is that? I guess you could say that it wasn't me winning it, it was Tylo. (Even HP wins stuff when I enter him in drawings)&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say I've been entering for more prizes ever since. If only I entered to get something bigger, and more expensive. =P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It came in the mail over the weekend - can't wait to give it to Tylo. She's mommy's lucky charm!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6635700399078279223?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6635700399078279223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6635700399078279223&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6635700399078279223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6635700399078279223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/hanging-in-there.html' title='Hanging in there'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SQFo8dcqdTI/AAAAAAAAAC4/ii4NrM3tNYA/s72-c/apple+bib.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-225554874065641739</id><published>2008-10-20T18:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T18:14:41.766-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The beginning of the end</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;They warned us, those parents that have already been through it. They said to enjoy the newborn phase because then they start getting into everything. Well, it's starting. And it's exhausting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodbye to the 3 hour morning naps. Somehow that got moved to the afternoon, meaning bedtime was almost midnight, meaning mommy got no time to herself to eat dinner, clean up, shower, catch up on my DVR recordings. Just like that, everything changed. Last week I was bragging about what a good sleeper Tylo was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week, she can roll over. On a whim. I set her down in her crib, the next second she's rolled to the edge on her tummy, with feet sticking through the rails. Practically stuck, then she starts wailing because she doesn't like being on her tummy all squished against the rail. Well then sweetie, why did you roll in the first place? I put her on her back again, she rolls right over again. We do this about 12 times. How do you get a rolling baby to sleep? You don't. It was 8 in the morning and I was not ready to give up a morning nap. So I let her exhaust herself on her tummy. Funny she rolls from back to front with almost no effort now, and once she gets there, she doesn't know what to do with her limp little arms. She doesn't even try to get back, even though she hates it on her tummy. And she's gone from front to back before, I've seen it. But all that knowledge goes out the window when you're cornered against the rail I guess. After about 5 mins crying on her tummy she fell asleep when I laid her on her back again. It's a little evil I know, but it's one of things you will understand when you're a mom (like when I let her cry to fish her boogers out).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So bed time is much more of a challenge and the middle of the night is a complete nightmare. It takes 30 mins to lay her to bed, instead of the usual 5-10. If she wakes up in the middle of the night? Another hour, minimum, instead of 5. Over and over and over. Cause when she wakes up, she just starts rolling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some one tell me this rolling thing is a novelty and they will tire of it. Soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-225554874065641739?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/225554874065641739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=225554874065641739&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/225554874065641739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/225554874065641739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/beginning-of-end.html' title='The beginning of the end'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-1148549030731074223</id><published>2008-10-19T01:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T01:56:18.115-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Donate for Free</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ugh - I'm so mad at myself.  I keep telling myself to remember to shop through &lt;a href="http://www.maatiam.com/Welcome.aspx"&gt;Maatiam.com &lt;/a&gt;so a portion of what I buy online is donated to my favorite donation recipient, the &lt;a href="http://www.summersearch.org/"&gt;Summer Search Foundation&lt;/a&gt;.  I just spent $250 at Macys online, which would have meant a $10.68 donation.  I also spent like $100 at Amazon this week too (there's always something to buy on that freakin website and the free shipping is the sinker).  That is no small potatoes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, if you're an online shopper, please shop through the Maatiam website.  It feels so good to know you're helping a good cause with your shopping habit.  Even if your favorite non-profit isn't one of the groups that work with them, you will have no problem choosing another worthy one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-1148549030731074223?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1148549030731074223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=1148549030731074223&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/1148549030731074223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/1148549030731074223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/donate-for-free.html' title='Donate for Free'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-3937464904092534920</id><published>2008-10-18T22:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T23:58:41.795-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just like the old days</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tylo, HP and I had a wonderful day today. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;We finally made it out of the house around 2:30, after I got to sleep in (as HP took care of Tylo) and enjoy a hot cup of coffee (I NEVER get to have hot drinks around Tylo. Nevermind the safety issue, by the time I get to it, whatever drink I have in hand is lukewarm at best). We went and walked for two hours around Piedmont Avenue strolling through independent gift and baby shops with Tylo in the Bjorn and stopping to eat things that looked yummy (fried potato balls, pizza, frozen yogurt). Then we visited Whole Foods (I'm so in love with that store even though I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SPrZVj8U3OI/AAAAAAAAACo/xU5fYfVms90/s1600-h/parenting+cover.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; can barely afford it) and got a delicious 21-day dry aged rib eye and asparagus to cook for beef and veggie day (we're still kinda on the diet), got brie for pre-dessert, and a huge carrot cupcake (a steal for $3) that I'm going to dig into in just a few minutes with some very expensive tea. I even had an entire glass of wine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;This is one of my favorite types of days. It is just like the type of day HP and I used to have pre-Tylo. Funny how it always revolves around food. I know it's no where near as exciting as the days most people have, but for me, it's just perfect. I'm a simple girl. That really likes food.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And by the way, it is totally worth paying $25 for ONE dry-aged steak. It tasted way better than most steakhouses! HP and I have mastered the way to make great steaks at home, thanks to America's Test Kitchen (love that show). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I should add that this must be a lucky day for us because we parked right in a "TOW AWAY" no parking construction zone because HP didn't read the right freakin sign when he got out of the car for the exact purpose of reading the sign and we didn't get towed!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I also got the coolest hologram bookmark that looks like the animals are moving to include in a certain person's upcoming bday card. I wish there was a way to show it here, it seriously is SO cool.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I hope there will always be days like this. Nice to know Tylo enjoyed it too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And, here's a cute little faux magazine cover I was able to create for Tylo:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SPrZnDQrIwI/AAAAAAAAACw/mI7lDo_a7vg/s1600-h/parenting+cover.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258754779821843202" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SPrZnDQrIwI/AAAAAAAAACw/mI7lDo_a7vg/s400/parenting+cover.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;_&lt;/span&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/4572670717183701069-3937464904092534920?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3937464904092534920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=3937464904092534920&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3937464904092534920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/3937464904092534920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/just-like-old-days.html' title='Just like the old days'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SPrZnDQrIwI/AAAAAAAAACw/mI7lDo_a7vg/s72-c/parenting+cover.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-576458788944439285</id><published>2008-10-15T23:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T23:43:35.508-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being a mom makes you no less vain</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So the diet didn't work.  I will worry about my weight later.  Tomorrow I have a 4 pm appointment to get my first cosmetic procedure done (and I truly do mean first because I plan to get more later): mole removal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I've always hated my moles.  I know it could be a lot worse but I always felt like people weren't looking at me, they were counting my moles, or connecting them.  I vowed to get them removed since I was like 14.  Never really found the time or did the research.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Then four years ago, two darker, larger ones sprouted up.  These suckers were awful.  I wanted so bad to get them removed before my wedding day but I was told that the scars would not be worth it and then I simply ran out of time.  HP said he didn't even notice them.  But I know Tylo would one day get to the age where she would innocently say something like "Mommy I'm going to count the moles on your face" and by then I'll be too wrinkled to get the work done.  So I made the appointment (it helps to not be working and being able to stay at home hiding from the world while I heal). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I have to be realistic.  I've had at least 3 consultations and everyone tells me there will be scarring.  They will be cut out and stitched.  Lasers will not work because the pigment runs deep.  I am prepared for the scarring.  Wish me luck that nothing goes horribly wrong.  No one seems to make mole removal their speciality, guess there's no money in it.  If it helps, Dr. Javaheri seems to do some amazing work with boobs.  Might come back to him after I'm done with baby #2.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So, since I can't make my body any more appealing, at least I can do something about my face. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-576458788944439285?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/576458788944439285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=576458788944439285&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/576458788944439285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/576458788944439285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/being-mom-makes-you-no-less-vain.html' title='Being a mom makes you no less vain'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2863115366219833181</id><published>2008-10-15T01:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T01:27:26.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It just wasn't meant to be</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;At approximately 3 pm today (Tues), the Cabbage Soup Diet that I tried so hard to adhere to, was no longer. I stuck with it for all of a day and a half.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think it was just the fact that I had to eat the same thing over and over. I was so sick all day. I can't believe my body reacted so badly to having no meat and no carbs, but it did. I was so miserable and I had no energy for Tylo, so I decided first to just cheat a little so I could feel better. I had some turkey, then some cheese, then some shrimp, then a big bowl of cheerios. I still didn't feel better. So I just blew it all entirely and went for cookies and milk. I think I'm finally my old self again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP had a couple of shrimp, but I convinced him not to give up. After all, I still have a ton of Cabbage Soup left. He is pretty tired of it all, but I said he couldn't quit until he was literally sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what I really want to do is make some brownies and red velvet cupcakes (which I don't even like, but I have an odd craving for), and go buy a shitload of ice cream, but I promise not to until day 7 is over and HP can eat indulge with me. All he wants is a steak, and lucky him, that day is just around the corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2863115366219833181?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2863115366219833181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2863115366219833181&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2863115366219833181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2863115366219833181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/it-just-wasnt-meant-to-be.html' title='It just wasn&apos;t meant to be'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-8017937959139828386</id><published>2008-10-14T01:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T01:33:34.195-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cabbage Soup - Day 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Last night I excitedly bought all the groceries I needed for the first 3 days of our diet plan.&lt;br /&gt;Day 1: Fruits and Cabbage Soup&lt;br /&gt;Day 2: Veggies and Cabbage Soup&lt;br /&gt;Day 3: Fruits and Veggies and Cabbage Soup&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took forever, but I made the Cabbage soup, which is actually a mix of many different veggies - lots of bulk. Cooked it for 3 hours. I made 2 huge pots and 1 smaller one, so I could try a curry version (not good). Bland, but edible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's 1 am on Day 1 (Day 2, technically) and I'm starving. I've been eating all day and I'm still starving. What does that tell you? I may not make it through the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it would be tough, for someone like me who so savors her variety, who eats based on cravings and can't plan meals more than a day in advance because on that day, even that hour, I might feel like something different. But I did not know exactly how tough it would be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm munching on a pear right now, which brings me no satisfaction. Today I've had 3 big bowls of soup, half a cantelope, half a watermelon, a bunch of grapes, a pear, an apple, a glass of juice, and now my second pear. I've peed like every 10 mins because I don't think my body is used to all the fluids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At around 10 pm I literally got sick. My head got whoozy and nausea overwhelmed me. I feebly laid across the couch and begged my husband to get me an apple. I fought urges to vomit and quickly ate half of it.  When I couldn't take it anymore, I went to bed and laid down, trying my darndest not to give in and throw up the fruit that is currently poisoning me. I managed to fall asleep for a couple of hours and then I woke to shower. Now I'm trying to stuff myself to get full (semi-satisfied) so I can make it through the night. This is totally like my second month of pregnancy, during our honeymoon in Japan where I got hungry every 20 mins and I made HP get me bland food. Miserable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not exaggerating. It really is that brutal. HP's friend sent him a text around 9:30: "I can't eat another bowl of cabbage soup". Man, that's how I feel. Who's going to give in first?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished my pear, still starving, and now I'm digging into the veggies I prepared for tomorrow: steamed broccoli, stir-fried broccoli, boiled carrots, sauteed spinach, sauteed tender greens. It is a depressing sea of green I tell ya. I always liked veggies and hated fruit, so maybe the worst is over? There is some light at the end of tomorrow's dark tunnel. We get to have baked potato and butter!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is HP holding up? He is pretty sick of fruit, but otherwise great. He has no qualms about eating the same meal daily. He decided he likes the soup after tons of pepper and garlic powder is added. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I would kill for a nutty, fudgy brownie right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will we make it through the week?  Stay tuned . . . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-8017937959139828386?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8017937959139828386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=8017937959139828386&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8017937959139828386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/8017937959139828386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/cabbage-soup-day-1.html' title='Cabbage Soup - Day 1'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-1971146424106342934</id><published>2008-10-10T21:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T00:22:49.469-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The rules we break.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;There are sooo many rules to keep our babies safe and healthy and sanitary. Last week I witnessed a mom of 4 feed her baby food that dropped on the ground. Not at home, mind you, but at a restaurant! Being a (former) germaphobe with ocd tendencies, of course I was shocked (that post is to come later). But really, by my 4th child, I might come around too. So, we laughed. But I was secretly mortified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People always say how anal they were with their first child. Then the second child is left eating off floors and from unsanitized bottles, sitting around in their wet diapers for hours at a time while mommy is chasing after the first one. Me? I decided not to wait before I broke a few.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #1. No bibs to sleep. I know they are a strangulation/suffocation hazard. But my baby was a spittup machine. Without the bibs she would have had to sleep with one or both shoulders wet. REALLY wet. And her neck. And her chest. I swear she used to move so little and was so well swaddled the bibs never would have moved very far. I have since stopped that. She ends up so far from the spot I set her down in I know it's not long before she knocks her head against the crib rail. Which brings me to -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #2. No bumpers. I blame this one on HP. I wanted nothing but a fitted crib sheet (elastic all around) and Tylo in the bed. He wanted a "prettier" crib, so I gave in and bought an adorable ladybug crib set. The bumpers aren't pillow-like and at least they have ties on the top and the bottoms. And, in my defense, they really have saved her from knocking her poor head against the railing. Another great side effect was that it kept the light out of her bumper and she can't see outside and get distracted by us walking around. I literally duck under them as I move past the crib so she can't see me. I promise to remove them soon. HP also wanted sleep positioners and to give her a nice soft pillow. I told him I would literally KILL him if he dared put a pillow in my daughter's crib.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #3. No Q-tips in ears. I don't know what it is, but cleaning out a dirty ear (or booger-filled nose for that matter) is super gratifying to me. And Tylo, like her daddy, has that crumbly dry wax, and sooo much of it! Twice a week I get out like 10 Q-tips and I clean all around the ear (don't worry, I don't push it in the hole) and I get so much stuff. I'm sure it doesn't bother her in the least but it makes me feel so good to get them clean. Then I go chase her daddy down with some Q-tips too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(That said, I will also now admit that I let her cry for a few minutes sometimes so her nose will get nice and wet and I can twist a tiny piece of tissue into a point to stick up her nose and "fish" for boogies. It's such an art - you gotta slant it just the right way. Words can't describe the feeling I get when I pull out that piece of tissue and see a big ol' booger stuck to the end of it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #4. Don't leave baby alone on changing table. Now this one I will NEVER do again. Why? Cuz my baby girl actually rolled over today! Back to front. BUT I DIDN'T SEE IT HAPPEN. Isn't that terrible? I take my eyes off her for like 1 minute and there she is, on her stomach, looking like "Whoa, how did I get here?". I was so worried that she might have twisted her arm I scooped her right up and we just sat there, staring at one another, amazed at what just happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that are not mandatory but we guiltily have stopped doing them to preserve our sanity:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Warm up her formula.  When that girl is hungry she will not wait even 2 minutes for us to warm her milk before she screams bloody murder. We were happy to stop that one, but you should see the looks of "what kind of mom are you" I get when I feed Tylo room temperature milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Boil her bottles after each use. This one lasted about a month and stopped when HP went back to work. I mean REALLY - who has the time? It is way too dangerous to be holding a baby near boiling water and the microwave sanitizer is a joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This list could totally be longer, but those are the ones that come to mind because I broke them today =P.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;By the way, I think Tylo must be on the cabbage soup diet. There is no other explanation for why a little baby girl has that much (super stinky) gas. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-1971146424106342934?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1971146424106342934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=1971146424106342934&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/1971146424106342934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/1971146424106342934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/rules-we-break.html' title='The rules we break.'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2300369210692493904</id><published>2008-10-10T10:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T10:36:06.430-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm not into working out.  My philosophy: No pain, no pain."</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm so excited I can barely contain myself. On Monday, HP and I are starting the cabbage soup diet.  (&lt;a href="http://www.cabbage-soup-diet.com/eating-plan.html"&gt;http://www.cabbage-soup-diet.com/eating-plan.html&lt;/a&gt;)  I've heard first-hand accounts that it really does work. Lose 10 lbs in a week? I'll take THREE of those please!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I've lost weight before. It took a lot of work. A lot of chicken breast and spinach, carrot sticks and whole wheat. It was slow going, but I successfully lost 25 lbs and was in the best shape of my life (snagged HP at that time too). I worked out almost daily, and had arms even Jennifer Aniston would be jealous of. But I still had dessert! And I did it the healthy way. I didn't starve myself and still indulged in one fantastic, calorie-loaded meal a week. I also allowed myself a pretty good dessert at the end of most days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's probably been 15 years since I went to bed without a big dessert (unless I was high, ate an entire bag of chips, and fell asleep by accident) so I never thought I had the willpower to commit to a fad diet that had so many restrictions. But with so little time on my hands to do it the "right" way, this is probably the best thing I can do to jump start the loss of all that leftover baby weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm using this weekend to eat whatever I please so I can commit well to the diet for the 7 required days and then work on a sensible diet/exercise routine to maintain the loss. So join me (if you need it). Let's make cabbage soup together and watch the scale!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Btw, I don't eat a lot of cabbage but I heard it has a pretty awful side effect of flatulence. Let's hope I'm an exception. I don't deal well with gas . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;_&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2300369210692493904?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2300369210692493904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2300369210692493904&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2300369210692493904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2300369210692493904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/im-not-into-working-out-my-philosophy.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m not into working out.  My philosophy: No pain, no pain.&quot;'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-6796382427155683879</id><published>2008-10-09T00:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T00:19:00.881-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hopes and Dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Toward the end of my pregnancy, HP and I were so excited about the unknown that was Tylo. At least once a week we would lay awake, 3 feet apart in our king bed, wondering what our little daughter would be like. Now, at 4 months, we're not any closer to the answer. Sure, we now know what she looks like, but even that seems to change each day. Her temperment is definitely demanding. She knows what she wants and puts up quite the fight until she gets it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dialogue was almost always the same, each and every time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME: I wonder what our daughter is going to be like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP: Yeah, me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME: I hope she's smart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP: I hope she's good looking. It's more important that a girl is good looking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME: I hope she's funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP: I hope she can be good at a sport. Maybe golf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME: I hope she's a nice person and good to her parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP: Tennis is good too. Girls can make a lot of money playing tennis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME: I want her to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HP: Yeah, I hope she's good looking. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Geez, shallow much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-6796382427155683879?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6796382427155683879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=6796382427155683879&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6796382427155683879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/6796382427155683879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/hopes-and-dreams.html' title='Hopes and Dreams'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2767650963470770672</id><published>2008-10-07T00:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T13:12:05.239-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hillary, come back!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Election Day is coming up. I used to be very political, passionate about so many different issues. I was always excited to vote and read through my booklets thoroughly, making sure I made a good decision with each. But that passion kind of died with two Bush victories. I felt so defeated when no presidential candidate I ever voted for made it to office. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so excited for this presidential election. A huge fan of the Clintons, I was excited to see Hillary come so darn close to the nomination. That lady sure is classy. If any woman was deserving of becoming president, it was her. And I'd love to see Bill back in the White House. Now that Hillary is out of the picture I have no idea who to vote for. I can't stand Obama. He strikes me as arrogant and naive. I came THIS close to siding with the McCain camp (despite Palin), but then I remembered the Republicans and what they stand for and came back to my senses. As much as I dislike Obama, it is a much greater evil to let the Republicans have office again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, feeling all political, I thought I would use up these iron-on transfer thingies I have to make witty little political onesies for Tylo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HILLARY,&lt;br /&gt;Come Back!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MY MAMA&lt;br /&gt;don't like&lt;br /&gt;OBAMA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO on PROP 8&lt;br /&gt;and mind your own f**king business!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUSH&lt;br /&gt;Get the F**K out of here!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;*****UPDATE*****&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Okay, just saw debate #2 and Obama isn't as bad as I thought.  Maybe I didn't give him a chance.  Makes me a feel just a bit better about our options.  He's no Hillary though (and yes, he does look like the little boy from MAD comics).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Does McCain seem mechanical to anyone else?  He's a funny looking stiff old man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2767650963470770672?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2767650963470770672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2767650963470770672&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2767650963470770672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2767650963470770672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/hillary-come-back.html' title='Hillary, come back!'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-2779784061502953298</id><published>2008-10-06T01:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T02:03:22.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Job Chae, any one?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SOnUQnAbR-I/AAAAAAAAACU/vPuLlph_LIc/s1600-h/lisa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253963822118160354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SOnUQnAbR-I/AAAAAAAAACU/vPuLlph_LIc/s200/lisa.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Do you have to be a good cook to be considered a SAHM? I've been trying to learn to cook since the beginning of time. My parents are in the restaurant business. I have been told I own more kitchen gadgets than most and my kitchen is overrun with garlic mincers, potato ricers, and a variety of spatulas to spread frosting or flip a whole fish. I try and I try and for the life of me I can't even make a handful of successful dishes to have a home cooked meal for my family each night of the week with one night remaining for going out or ordering in take-out (i.e. pizza), and one night to skip dinner and just eat cheese, crackers, and a lovely, 2000 calorie dessert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far I have been told these were semi-successful (in HP's order of "not bad" to "I'll eat it again"):&lt;br /&gt;1. Quiche (but that's not really dinner, is it?)&lt;br /&gt;2. Baked chicken (cheating, using Williams-Sonoma Marsala sauce, totally worth the 15 bucks)&lt;br /&gt;3. Most things covered in lots of cheese (not a healthy option)&lt;br /&gt;4. Garlic Pasta with Sausage and Salami (making this dish once a month has been deemed acceptable)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should add that a lot of things I make HP will eat and I will not. I don't even like my own cooking! And I'm running out of time. Tylo starts solid foods next month and it's only a matter of time when she realizes that Mommy's food tastes worse than Gerber "turkey" jarred baby food. Please help by sending me your super successful SIMPLE dishes in detail!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my defense, I am trying to cook healthy so usually take successful recipes and omit like half the butter and oil and that's why they don't taste good. Yep, that's my story and I'm stickin to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was semi-successful with a couple of Korean dishes I've tried recently thanks to my discovery of maangchi.com. This super cool Korean lady has videos of her making a variety of Korean fare. With the price of Korean restaurants these days (not to mention the smell that won't quit in your dry-clean only clothes) I thought, hey, why not? I made Job Chae and Korean Pancake. The Korean pancake was okay, but I didn't have a cast iron, so though tasty, didn't get crispy enough. And I am a lover of some darn crispy Korean pancake (see photo). I will fly to Vancouver and back to get some of my beloved Korean pancake, the best you will ever taste! Also, for the life of me I could not get the dipping sauce right. The Job Chae was more successful, I was told, but it was way too much prep work for the mother of a 4 month old. I'd rather pay $13 for less in the take-out greasier version that is mighty tastier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, those did not make it in the Fab Five (Five dinners). Again, please help!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-2779784061502953298?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2779784061502953298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=2779784061502953298&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2779784061502953298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/2779784061502953298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/job-chae-any-one.html' title='Job Chae, any one?'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pxxOc7ycAU/SOnUQnAbR-I/AAAAAAAAACU/vPuLlph_LIc/s72-c/lisa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572670717183701069.post-7809675331806088100</id><published>2008-10-06T00:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T01:52:21.568-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SAHM I AM - My first attempt at blogging</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I've been a stay at home mom (SAHM) for exactly 4 months now. Well, 4 months and 2 days to be exact because that's how long it's been since I've been at work (Yes, I'm crazy, I know, and got enough grief from the hubby already for that).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;What was I doing before I earned the SAHM title? I was an office manager and executive assistant for a very busy man at a property management company. I loved my job. I loved the people, I loved taking 4 hours to finish a salad while trying to meet a deadline that was 2 days ago, I loved being smart and feeling needed, like if I left, the gang would miss me. DEARLY. It's been 4 months and 2 days and sure enough, they moved on. I'm not as special as I thought. My kind boss tells me it ain't so, but he's just being kind. And, dorky and loser-ish as it sounds, I kinda miss the long hours!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Today I was at a birthday party for the kids of one of HP's friends (HP = the husband) and about a million and three people asked if I was still working. And I answered that I was a SAHM (again, Stay at Home Mom). Not that I feel deserving of the title. Somehow it seems you need 3 difficult labors and 3 screaming kids with soccer practices and piano lessons to drive to in order to deserve that title. One little baby girl? Not quite . . . more like lazy woman who doesn't want to work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Either way, deserving or not, it's a new title and I'm going to live it to the fullest. So, I decided today that I will start a blog. A blog to talk about my daily life, to talk about other things going on around me, to brag about my dear baby girl Tylo. I tried it once back in the day when Xanga was popular and got bored. What did I write about? I think Prime Rib and Fried Chicken and maybe a guy here and there. I think 2 people read it. Or maybe one person read it twice. Yup, life used to be about food and dating. Now it's about endless hours of folding tiny things that get used up in the next day anyway. (Jen, I'm still thinking about your advice on not folding Tylo's laundry, but the SAHM in me won't allow it!). Since being a SAHM I've been addicted to blogs by other funny, smart, interesting moms. (Did I just call myself a "funny, smart, interesting mom"?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So, I hope you will read this blog, to keep in touch with me, to learn about mom/baby stuff (if you care for it), to keep you from being bored if you have a horrible job or if you can't sleep late at night and sleeping pills aren't doing the job. I promise the future posts will be much, much shorter (fingers crossed).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4572670717183701069-7809675331806088100?l=tylosmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7809675331806088100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4572670717183701069&amp;postID=7809675331806088100&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7809675331806088100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4572670717183701069/posts/default/7809675331806088100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tylosmom.blogspot.com/2008/10/sahm-i-am-my-first-attempt-at-blogging.html' title='SAHM I AM - My first attempt at blogging'/><author><name>Tylo's Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13832985296055514866</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
