<?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-2008066227324198827</id><updated>2012-01-16T13:11:41.621-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mom Blog</title><subtitle type='html'>. . . by Suzy A. Richardson</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>64</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-968582272026362381</id><published>2008-10-27T20:54:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T21:09:20.012-04:00</updated><title type='text'>58: Can I leave you with some chocolate?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQZmODrfWFI/AAAAAAAAAPA/0-C8bd6v9TU/s1600-h/Chocolate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 249px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQZmODrfWFI/AAAAAAAAAPA/0-C8bd6v9TU/s320/Chocolate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262005606320920658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My girlfriend in Ohio sent me a delicious little link today and now, I pass it on to you: (Just click the yum.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.haydeechocolatier.com/sample.php"&gt;Yum.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that brings me to this: I have decided not to blog every day right now. There is so much going on in my life--I am negotiating a book deal with a publishing firm; my husband has just started training to become a fire fighter; I'm working full time; I am planning to launch a Web site in the near future; Oh, yes, and that other thing: I have four kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there's the blog--If I have to take one thing off of my plate right now, it is the blog. Although, I am not abandoning my blog. Oh no. Never that. I will still be blogging--though definitely not daily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, I have to go change my home page blurbs now ... no longer the 365-day journey. You guys understand, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-968582272026362381?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/968582272026362381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=968582272026362381' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/968582272026362381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/968582272026362381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/58-can-i-leave-you-with-some-chocolate.html' title='58: Can I leave you with some chocolate?'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQZmODrfWFI/AAAAAAAAAPA/0-C8bd6v9TU/s72-c/Chocolate.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5475148058193649051</id><published>2008-10-26T21:41:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T21:57:47.635-04:00</updated><title type='text'>57: Baby, don't go ...</title><content type='html'>Well, tomorrow is the big day--my hubby starts as a recruit firefighter tomorrow. We are thrilled. So, this evening, we are getting things ready for tomorrow: his social security card, clothes ... oh, and the two little ones have their first day of school tomorrow. So, there's a lot to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, you wouldn't have known that by the way my hubby was acting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, I need the paper work for the day care," I tell him. "I need to get all their stuff ready. I need their list of stuff to bring."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you just bring them," he tells me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Umm, you do realize that I have done this day care thing so, so many times, right? No, you don't just drop your kids off. They need items, diapers, food, changes of clothing, wipes, already prepared bottles, lunch, snacks, shot records...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, they didn't give me a list, so I didn't think we needed to worry about it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, he is such a ... guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I can deal with that. But, what I am having a really hard time with tonight is the thought of leaving my little-bitty baby, Rock. He is so sweet, so nice, so loving and so innocent. And he's never been away from mommy and daddy. He's always been cared for by us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually think my 2-year-old needs the experience. He screams when we take him out of Sunday School and the gym nursery. I think he is really craving some more interaction with children in his age group. That, and he's so rough. He just kind of takes care of himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, the baby ... he's my little baby. My last. I am really having a hard time leaving him tomorrow. I might just have to shed a tear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ALSO:&lt;br /&gt;Please go visit my personal Web site. I just updated it. I wanted everyone to know that no matter where I go online, you can always, always find me at &lt;a href="http://suzyrichardson.com"&gt;www.suzyrichardson.com&lt;/a&gt;. I have posted quite a few of my clips. Feel free to peruse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-5475148058193649051?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5475148058193649051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=5475148058193649051' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5475148058193649051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5475148058193649051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/57-baby-dont-go.html' title='57: Baby, don&apos;t go ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-8242943571368008465</id><published>2008-10-26T09:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T09:19:16.560-04:00</updated><title type='text'>56: A Freebie!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQRuAtmsGPI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ry0moruJBy8/s1600-h/disney041.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQRuAtmsGPI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ry0moruJBy8/s320/disney041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261451223196506354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is just an FYI: &lt;a href="http://disneyparks.disney.go.com/disneyparks/en_US/WhatWillYouCelebrate/index?name=FreeOnYourBirthdayPage"&gt;Disney is giving free admissions for birthdays ... &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(You have to register before Dec. 31, 2008)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8242943571368008465?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8242943571368008465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8242943571368008465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8242943571368008465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8242943571368008465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/56-freebie.html' title='56: A Freebie!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQRuAtmsGPI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ry0moruJBy8/s72-c/disney041.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-3228642530633736782</id><published>2008-10-25T20:30:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T20:36:22.951-04:00</updated><title type='text'>55: Pumpkin Day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQO6vz4zKoI/AAAAAAAAAOo/rLVOKIGfj68/s1600-h/october2008+002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQO6vz4zKoI/AAAAAAAAAOo/rLVOKIGfj68/s320/october2008+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261254120243931778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQO7PkLflPI/AAAAAAAAAOw/FBfG_3GHNC8/s1600-h/october2008+003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQO7PkLflPI/AAAAAAAAAOw/FBfG_3GHNC8/s320/october2008+003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261254665783186674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This is the pumpkin we picked up at the Seafood Festival last week. We finally got around to carving it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-3228642530633736782?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3228642530633736782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=3228642530633736782' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3228642530633736782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3228642530633736782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/55-pumpkin-day.html' title='55: Pumpkin Day!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQO6vz4zKoI/AAAAAAAAAOo/rLVOKIGfj68/s72-c/october2008+002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-3137458951403005246</id><published>2008-10-24T23:58:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T00:01:18.928-04:00</updated><title type='text'>7th Graders Debate Obama vs. McCain</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param value="http://youtube.com/v/Zj5eWRzDhNI" name="movie"&gt;&lt;embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://youtube.com/v/Zj5eWRzDhNI" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Check out this video. It is a trip! (I'm digging the white dude!) Oh, and: this song WILL get stuck in your head!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-3137458951403005246?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3137458951403005246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=3137458951403005246' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3137458951403005246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3137458951403005246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/7th-graders-debate-obama-vs-mccain.html' title='7th Graders Debate Obama vs. McCain'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-4665369385488059733</id><published>2008-10-24T23:34:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T23:39:58.105-04:00</updated><title type='text'>54: Be more specific</title><content type='html'>I had a nice moment to myself earlier. I was sitting on my balcony, all alone. And, I started thinking about direction. That is the word that came to my mind: direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Direction, direction, direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I going in the right direction?&lt;br /&gt;Am I spending my time wisely?&lt;br /&gt;Should I keep doing the blog?&lt;br /&gt;Should I streamline things a bit?&lt;br /&gt;What about my Web site?&lt;br /&gt;Should I keep negotiating with the publisher?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much going on in my head. I just had to stop the noise and ask God what I should be focused on. So, there's that one word: direction. And there was His answer to me: focus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish it were easier than that. Now, I have to figure out what to focus on. (God, could you be a little more specific, please?)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-4665369385488059733?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4665369385488059733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=4665369385488059733' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4665369385488059733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4665369385488059733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/54-direction-focus.html' title='54: Be more specific'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-2044181702976808483</id><published>2008-10-23T20:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T20:29:34.956-04:00</updated><title type='text'>53: This is how my day went:</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQEWrieH-2I/AAAAAAAAAOg/ceKN1iyAi7E/s1600-h/dwight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQEWrieH-2I/AAAAAAAAAOg/ceKN1iyAi7E/s320/dwight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260510776988793698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, it's going to end with a good laugh. Thank God for The Office.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2044181702976808483?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2044181702976808483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2044181702976808483' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2044181702976808483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2044181702976808483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/53-this-is-how-my-day-went.html' title='53: This is how my day went:'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SQEWrieH-2I/AAAAAAAAAOg/ceKN1iyAi7E/s72-c/dwight.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-4681008026005029055</id><published>2008-10-22T21:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T22:08:01.960-04:00</updated><title type='text'>52: Waiting ...</title><content type='html'>So, I haven't heard anything back about the book contract, yet. It's cool--I need time to breathe. And at work, things are hectic. This is my company's busiest time of year. Which means that I am crazy busy right now at work. I actually love, love, love being busy. My days absolutely fly by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, hubby is also supposed to begin training with the Fire Department in less than a week. So, yeah, things are hectic. My prayer with the contract is that I get a deal that is good for my family and I. I mean, my time is spread so thinly these days that I really have to think about how I am getting paid for my time. And, so, if it's not a good deal, I will have to talk away--with my family in mind, of course.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-4681008026005029055?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4681008026005029055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=4681008026005029055' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4681008026005029055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4681008026005029055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/52-waiting.html' title='52: Waiting ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-553445916462881342</id><published>2008-10-21T20:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T20:44:59.329-04:00</updated><title type='text'>51: Re-negotiating ...</title><content type='html'>a contract tonight. I actually have to go through this thing carefully and make some revisions. Oh, and be willing to walk away if it's not a good deal for me. Yeah, that might be the hard part. But, either way ... if God means it to be. Okay, so I'll keep you posted on the deal--I'll say what I am able to say. You know ...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-553445916462881342?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/553445916462881342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=553445916462881342' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/553445916462881342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/553445916462881342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/51-re-negotiating.html' title='51: Re-negotiating ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-909326095621844840</id><published>2008-10-20T20:15:00.013-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T20:59:46.954-04:00</updated><title type='text'>50: Bats and boxing</title><content type='html'>This morning was cool, which made me realize that summer is now officially behind me ... always a bittersweet reality for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked through the brisk breeze and into the office before 9 a.m. this morning. Just moments later, I was happily sipping a mug of hot chocolate, in-between bites of home-made gingerbread cookies. Makes me long for the cool winds that wintertime blows through--though briefly--in Florida. So, this morning, Star Bucks was on the company and a co-worker brought some homemade treats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since this is our busy season, I think they're spoiling us a little. We had Happy Hour on  them last Friday and this Friday, were having a cookout at the office.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yummy days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, yummy days also mean forcing myself to work out and burn off those "yummy" days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, let me just tell you about my jog on Friday ... that ended with me dodging live, little flying bats! So, I was running about an hour late to J's house for our usual three-mile walk. But, I stopped by Happy Hour that evening for a drink with the co-workers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time J and I actually started our walk, which was to be our fist "jog", the sun was setting and the sky's warm colors were quickly become chilly, darker ones. We jogged--walked--jogged--walked--ran!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started out smoothly. We had planned to jog--walk--jog--walk ... the entire three miles. It all began with a spider web--I stepped right into it and felt something on my arm. Egh! And this dog started barking at us and running right into our direction. He was in someone's yard with a wide-open gate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we escaped the wrath of Fido and we started heading back. At that point, J and I saw these tiny little black things dive almost all the way to the ground and swoop back up. At first, we noticed two, maybe three. And then there were 20, maybe 30. "Run!" I said. And we did ... we ran until we got "through" the bats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a bit much. "It's a whole different walk at night," J said. She was absolutely right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that was my Friday evening scare. My Monday morning scare came in the form of an e-mail from L, a fellow editor, who is also a sports columnist. See, on Friday evening, my hubby had gone over to his house (although they had never met before then) so that he could watch a boxing match on TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw the subject line: "Odd question."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it started out somewhat like this: "So, your husband is a good man and his friend was cool, too. But, I have a weird question to ask you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was immediately thinking ... "Oh no, what did hubby do? What's this guy about to ask me ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, can you tell me how to spell his name."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, whew. He wanted to get his name right because he was using him as a source in his column. Cool. A little while later, he had sent me a link, and then another and another. He writes a column that is picked up by multiple outlets. It was nice to read about someone other than me writing about him:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the link if you want to read: Oh, it's about boxing because you'll be confused if you don't know it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.miamiherald.com/sports/boxing/story/733700.html"&gt;http://www.miamiherald.com/sports/boxing/story/733700.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-909326095621844840?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/909326095621844840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=909326095621844840' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/909326095621844840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/909326095621844840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/50-bats-and-boxing.html' title='50: Bats and boxing'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1544374019434254402</id><published>2008-10-19T20:15:00.013-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T21:17:08.174-04:00</updated><title type='text'>49: Picture Sunday!</title><content type='html'>You know I love to pull a Picture Sunday when I have eventful pictures to post. And don't forget: I am working with a terrible camera that I despise these days. But anyway, here goes ... Picture Sunday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvPg3QXY8I/AAAAAAAAANg/0tH8bnoEsGE/s1600-h/blog+001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvPg3QXY8I/AAAAAAAAANg/0tH8bnoEsGE/s320/blog+001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259025153380541378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The baby is getting so big! He has such a sweet disposition. We just all love him so much. We call him our "special baby" since he is the last. (The kids actually came up with that.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvQGdsti5I/AAAAAAAAANo/vd-4y6UYYuc/s1600-h/blog+012.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvQGdsti5I/AAAAAAAAANo/vd-4y6UYYuc/s320/blog+012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259025799355141010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;When I take pictures like these, I cannot wait to get my new camera! But, anyway, this was at the Cedar Key Seafood Festival that my family and I attend every year. We went Saturday just after my daughter and I participated in the Heart Walk, a local walk for charity. It was so much fun doing something with my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;We took the 50-something-mile drive to Cedar Key and guess what happened?! We got totally rained out. And then, we got kicked out of a restaurant. Well sort of--they said we couldn't bring the (honking-big) double stroller in. And so we had to leave? Where were we going to put the thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvRIz5eAhI/AAAAAAAAANw/d1_gFA-yulI/s1600-h/blog+014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvRIz5eAhI/AAAAAAAAANw/d1_gFA-yulI/s320/blog+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259026939185594898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Yeah, Cedar Key was ... kind of wet and mopey this year. Just before we left, though, we picked up a perfect-looking pumpkin from a local church's 'pumpkin patch'. We also bought some of their homemade pumpkin cookies and pumpkin fudge! It was the best. I might go back &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;just&lt;/span&gt; for that. But, other than that, we didn't even get to eat lunch there because of the terribly long lines--not to mention those "stroller" rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvSFZbAOzI/AAAAAAAAAN4/gsRRlaViQMk/s1600-h/blog+020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvSFZbAOzI/AAAAAAAAAN4/gsRRlaViQMk/s320/blog+020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259027980050512690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Although, on the way home, the kids told me over and over again that they had so much fun. "Why?" I asked. Because really ... we got rained out, no food, etc. "Because we spent time as a family," my son replied--as if I should totally know that already. (Like, duh, mom.) It &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt; really sweet though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvS3-IkTpI/AAAAAAAAAOA/Qf_OXAjYPgY/s1600-h/blog+047.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvS3-IkTpI/AAAAAAAAAOA/Qf_OXAjYPgY/s320/blog+047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259028848898756242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Today, we celebrated Oktoberfest at my mother's church, the Catholic church down the street. Um, I still don't know what I was "celebrating," but it was a good one: free beer and wine (although, I don't drink either--can't stand the taste of most alcohol), all the free food you wanted, interesting entertainment. Sure, I could do a quick Google search, but I'd rather ask you. What exactly is Oktoberfest? Anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvT0nT0ZQI/AAAAAAAAAOI/rSFP80WyEg0/s1600-h/blog+044.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvT0nT0ZQI/AAAAAAAAAOI/rSFP80WyEg0/s320/blog+044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259029890743952642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But, what I loved about the atmosphere was that everyone seemingly wanted to simply eat, drink and be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvUbCxYFBI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/5fnpGuY_13w/s1600-h/blog+043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvUbCxYFBI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/5fnpGuY_13w/s320/blog+043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259030550950712338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;... so who was trying to rebel? Eat, drink and be happy it was!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvU7SXHSDI/AAAAAAAAAOY/FtH8r1WcPfg/s1600-h/blog+050.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvU7SXHSDI/AAAAAAAAAOY/FtH8r1WcPfg/s320/blog+050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259031104891340850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My dear daughter even got to go rock climbing! And she made it to the top. Go, N!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://daisypath.com"&gt;&lt;img src="http://dv.daisypath.com/FMcbm4.png" alt="Daisypath Vacation Ticker" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1544374019434254402?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1544374019434254402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1544374019434254402' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1544374019434254402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1544374019434254402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/49-picture-sunday.html' title='49: Picture Sunday!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPvPg3QXY8I/AAAAAAAAANg/0tH8bnoEsGE/s72-c/blog+001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2936946656021580879</id><published>2008-10-18T21:08:00.012-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T21:33:30.677-04:00</updated><title type='text'>48: "The meeting" becomes "the deal"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPqOZKzQoUI/AAAAAAAAANY/wKLLLMsINB0/s1600-h/bookdeal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPqOZKzQoUI/AAAAAAAAANY/wKLLLMsINB0/s320/bookdeal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258672077955703106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, remember that I was uber nervous about the meeting with the book publisher--until I prayed my way out of that, realizing that God, ultimately, is in control? Oh yeah, and He is bigger than all of us so who is there to be nervous in front of? No one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told God a long time ago that the only way I wanted to write a book was if it found me. In other words, it couldn't be &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt; doing &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; thing. I want to do His thing and I always have wanted that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, on the day of my meeting, I pulled into the Red Lobster parking lot and as soon as I made it to the front door, I was greeted by three people from the publishing firm. I was immediately comfortable--and I even sat on the inside. Any one who knows me knows that I am a bit claustrophobic, which always leaves me forcing myself to sit on the outside of any aisle or seating arrangement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, even on  the inside, I was comfortable. (And that can be taken two ways.) So, long story short, they offered me a book deal, with a manuscript deadline of April 1, which means I would be--if I sign the contract--writing and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;completing&lt;/span&gt; my first book in just six months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is even an option to do a second book if this first one sells well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow. I am trying to wrap my mind around this. I have just been offered a book deal--the very thing that I have been praying about for a few years now. I currently have my brother, the lawyer, who also doubles as my legal counsel, combing over the contract this weekend. As soon as I hear from him, I can move forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But ... yeah ... exciting times around the corner ... no, wait, not around the corner--in my face right now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2936946656021580879?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2936946656021580879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2936946656021580879' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2936946656021580879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2936946656021580879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/48-book-meeting.html' title='48: &quot;The meeting&quot; becomes &quot;the deal&quot;'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPqOZKzQoUI/AAAAAAAAANY/wKLLLMsINB0/s72-c/bookdeal.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1702126654229787240</id><published>2008-10-17T23:32:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T23:41:37.534-04:00</updated><title type='text'>47: "Get over here, now, E-mail!"</title><content type='html'>Um, I just called my kid "E-mail".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was sitting at my computer, checking me e-mail, as my 2-year-old, Eli, was running around making this high-pitch sound that should be banned in all 50 states.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew that I needed to get my message across to him loud and clear ... and immediatley. So, with a stern voice, I said "Get over here now, E-mail."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stopped what he was doing and imitated me--but with a question in his voice. "E-mail?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1702126654229787240?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1702126654229787240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1702126654229787240' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1702126654229787240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1702126654229787240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/47-get-over-here-now-e-mail.html' title='47: &quot;Get over here, now, E-mail!&quot;'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-6598552989924391218</id><published>2008-10-16T21:36:00.014-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T21:54:13.338-04:00</updated><title type='text'>46: Meet my boss</title><content type='html'>How fitting that today was National Boss' Day. (You know, since today is Thursday and Thursdays are my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Office &lt;/span&gt;days!) So, yesterday, my co-worker, R, and I, waited for our boss to leave the office. We snuck into his office and swiped his stapler so that we could give him the best Boss' Day gift ever -- what else? But, stapler in Jell-O, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Office&lt;/span&gt; style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if you didn't know, I have my own version of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Office&lt;/span&gt; going on at work--I am not kidding you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPfsxQDk7AI/AAAAAAAAANI/ZBUM2RLc7nU/s1600-h/scott.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPfsxQDk7AI/AAAAAAAAANI/ZBUM2RLc7nU/s320/scott.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257931420846058498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Office's "Michael S." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPfs3l9ttDI/AAAAAAAAANQ/tU4FeT3U0ws/s1600-h/jello.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPfs3l9ttDI/AAAAAAAAANQ/tU4FeT3U0ws/s320/jello.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257931529806263346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My "Michael S."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;So, &lt;/span&gt;Michael was so touched by our Jell-o gift that he kept that blue glob on his desk all day long. By the end of the day, the Jell-o had turned into a syrupy, soupy mess. He said he didn't want to move it because he liked the smell of the blue raspberry Jell-O. Sounds like something the other Michael S. might say. We all got a good laugh out of it.&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/2008066227324198827-6598552989924391218?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6598552989924391218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=6598552989924391218' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6598552989924391218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6598552989924391218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/46-meet-my-boss.html' title='46: Meet my boss'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPfsxQDk7AI/AAAAAAAAANI/ZBUM2RLc7nU/s72-c/scott.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8170206859215369936</id><published>2008-10-15T22:10:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T22:35:19.758-04:00</updated><title type='text'>45: Romantic dinner, tattoo parlor?</title><content type='html'>Today was special to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just before noon, I stopped by Pizza Hut and picked up two mini-me pizzas--one: no sauce, with pineapples; the other: good old cheese and pepperoni. Think you know me. Guess which was mine? No, really, guess:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just after noon, I was sitting at a lunch table packed with fourth graders. My niece, D, was thrilled to see me. She's always kind of quiet, but with me, a grown-up, sitting at the table, she was being extra shy ... and so were all of the other children. That lasted until I asked one question: "Who is the oldest kid in the class?" And they were off--chit-chatting about birthdays, whose was in the summer time and whose was ... not. It was totally cute and we spent the entire (brief) lunch break talking about everyone's birthdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at work--in front of a magazine--I remembered that I was in for a special treat tonight: my mother had volunteered to take the kids--ALL of the kids--to church with her. That meant...hubby and I would have a one-on-one date--something that rarely happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do you want to do for our hot date?" I e-mailed him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I typed those three, little letters, I envisioned ... romance over a candlelit dinner. And you want to know what he thought when I typed those three, little letters? Well, he was thinking about three other little (many-times annoying) letters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you guess what they are?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just laughed. I laughed because ... yeah right, I am going to stay home and have hot sex with you instead of going out on a kid-free date. Yeah. right. It was rather comical, and when I didn't respond, he knew what the deal was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is why ... when I walked in the door from worked, he asked where we were going to do &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;it&lt;/span&gt;. And by &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;it&lt;/span&gt;, I mean dinner! (Too much sex-talk in this post!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was hungry, but not famished. That greasy, cheesy mini-me pizza had me feeling yucky. We went for a small side dish of bang-bang shrimp and then we did something really romantic: we hit the tattoo parlor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked in to a little joint called Anthem, just off of University Avenue. Hubby talked to a burly, tattoo-covered guy about getting a cross. "Hey, where's the um, Jesus book?" the guys asked his co-workers. I thought that was so cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, let's see the Jesus book!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We found a cross that hubby liked and I began looking through books for a dove, which I want to represent my sister and at the same time, the Holy Spirit, who keeps me in line on a daily basis. *I love you*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the really cool thing is that these guys draw their tats; no off-the-wall flash tattoos. Mine is so special to my heart that no one else in the world can have it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that's how I spent my day and night--with people I love dearly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, tomorrow, I meet with the book publisher at 11:30 a.m. We are set to meet at Red Lobster. Why am I so nervous? It's mainly because I don't even really understand what this meeting is about. I know he wants to talk to me about Tebow. But, can I deliver Tebow? I don't really think so, because of legalities with UF.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I can deliver something else. You know what? No. No, I am not going to be nervous. He's just a guy; just like I'm just a girl. And God is bigger than the both of us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8170206859215369936?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8170206859215369936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8170206859215369936' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8170206859215369936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8170206859215369936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/45-romantic-dinner-tattoo-parlor.html' title='45: Romantic dinner, tattoo parlor?'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5228363020235904556</id><published>2008-10-14T20:01:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T22:50:29.756-04:00</updated><title type='text'>44: Slipping ...</title><content type='html'>I was sitting on the couch just a few moments ago, thinking about getting a part-time job. I was envisioning that I'd be an editor during the day and a waitress during the night. My thoughts can be so dramatic some times. But, hubby and I were going back and forth, back and forth--about the Web site that I have a specific vision for; that I have been praying about; that I have been wanting so badly that I can taste it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's just not going to happen," I finally said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moonlighting as a waitress is not going to make my dream come true, because oh--reality check--I can't even do that because of my four children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just really, really down tonight. I was so stressed that I went jogging today! That--and I barely touched my dinner. Hmmm ... maybe I need to stressed out a little more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The original plan was to launch the *secret* Web site in January. And part of the original plan was to use my freelance check from the Tebow issue to pay the down payment--right around $1,600. Oh, that figure has left me lightheaded tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing is happening the way it should be; I had to walk away from a business partner; two different checks that were both set aside for the Web site had to go towards bills. And tonight, it feels like my dream, my vision is slipping through my fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, there is nothing more frustrating when it comes down to just money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been faithful with the site; I walked away from my partner when I specifically heard God tell me to. I am doing everything I am supposed to be doing. But, ahhh, the money keeps slipping through my tired fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know ... does anyone have any money-raising tips? Has anyone ever needed to scramble for some money--and fast--to get something done?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, I feel like there is such a small window of opportunity here that if it doesn't happen by January, I will reluctantly throw in the towel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I am just praying that what I read in the Bible tonight with my hubby will happen--that He will turn water into wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow, I am going to have lunch with my niece (my sister's baby girl) for her birthday. Think of us as you're eating lunch!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Thank you, God, for my visions; Thank you for it all. Thank you ... just, Thank you!*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-5228363020235904556?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5228363020235904556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=5228363020235904556' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5228363020235904556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5228363020235904556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/44-im-here.html' title='44: Slipping ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1396579698931864212</id><published>2008-10-13T21:10:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T21:35:08.183-04:00</updated><title type='text'>43: Two messes, one day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPP2EabsLZI/AAAAAAAAAM4/TtdHC7Hunos/s1600-h/toenails-main_Full.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPP2EabsLZI/AAAAAAAAAM4/TtdHC7Hunos/s200/toenails-main_Full.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256815745746873746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My facebook status today makes me giggle like a little girl:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My hubby is so sweet for painting my toenails. And, I am trying to be sweet back by not grabbing the nail-polish remover. My toes are a mess:-)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, moving onto other things. I dealt with something this morning that absolutely broke my heart, and I am hoping to get some advice from you guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, just after 7:30 a.m., I was pulling up to the kids' school. My son hopped out of the car, followed by my daughter, who is in the 2nd grade. She hesitated as she stepped out and just started crying ... no, sobbing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's wrong?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I left my homework on my desk. Me teacher's going to get mad at me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her face was bright red and she was trying to catch her breath between words. "Why would she be mad?" I asked her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because she always gets mad when kids forget their homework. She always gets mad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why would she get mad? Does she get mad a lot?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes ... when kids don't do what they're supposed to."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I have to go to work. Tell her you'll bring it tomorrow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought that would do the trick. But, she wouldn't stop. She was crying profusely ... incessantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She's going to be ... mad ... at ... me," she said again, stammering her words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I'll have daddy bring it, okay?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched as she walked away, with her purple floral backpack draping over her shoulder. It broke my heart. And I remembered the first time I met her teacher. I mean, how could I forget? I was scared to leave her classroom (early) during our open house. I remember the looks I got from the others--we were all seemingly intimidated by her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then ... remember that newsletter that came home that started out this way: "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Most &lt;/span&gt;of your children are a delight to teach"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it bothered me at first, but then my daughter kind of became one of her favorite pupils, so I figured that all was well in the classroom. And I'd ask her every day: How was school? Is your teacher a nice lady?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know ... things like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, what do I do? My first inclination was to call the principal and demand to have my child moved to another class room. But, what lesson would that be teaching her? To run when things get tough. But, on the other hand, what if the environment is too stressful for learning? I want her to be comfortable in her class room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, when she came home, she told me that her teacher was a little "disappointed" about the homework. Not upset; just disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any advice? Do I do anything else? Do I let it go? Do I say anything to the teacher? What ... exactly ... do I do? I understand that kids can make things seem worse than they are; but I also understand that sometimes we, as parents, brush things off when we shouldn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... help?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1396579698931864212?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1396579698931864212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1396579698931864212' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1396579698931864212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1396579698931864212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/43-painted-toenails-tough-teachers-two.html' title='43: Two messes, one day'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPP2EabsLZI/AAAAAAAAAM4/TtdHC7Hunos/s72-c/toenails-main_Full.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2229659473473413935</id><published>2008-10-12T21:17:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T21:27:08.688-04:00</updated><title type='text'>42: Heavy, happy birthday.</title><content type='html'>Today, we celebrated my niece's 10th birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was feeling a little bittersweet because today should have been my sister's day with my daughter. I was feeling rather solemn--happy, peaceful and quietly reflecting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I started our day by visiting a church down the street. We had driven by it countless times, and today, we decided we'd visit. It was perfect. We were greeted warmly, with OJ, coffee and cookies. The children were whisked away to children's church and we were able to settle comfortably in the soft, plush seats--and in worship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About half-way into service, the pastor invited a guest speaker to step onto the stage. She was a young mother--maybe in her late 20s. She was from a small town and her southern twang gave it away. She was--you could tell--a good-ole' country girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As she spoke about her life and how she was raised, she fought the tears back. Just above her, the overhead screen displayed pictures of her former life--before Christ. There she was, with bear bottle in hand, and boyfriend on her arm. She had a little girl when she was just 17. And the child's father was in prison shortly after she became pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some time in 2006, she was in a severe car accident. The pictures--flashing on the screen--were brutal. The car was mangled and unrecognizable. She--not wearing a seatbelt--had been thrown from the back window. She doesn't remember that day, or the month that followed it. In fact, she was pronounced dead at one moment. But, paramedics were able to regain a pulse and she remained comatose for months following the accident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was captivated, listening to her. And then, another picture. I gasped. I audibly gasped and had to run out of the sanctuary. I hit the door and the tears were already pouring down my cheeks. "What the hell, Suzy?!" I was saying to myself in the back corner of a bathroom. I found a little chair and sat there quietly and just cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so mad at myself. What can't I control my emotions?! I should be okay by now. It's been 4 years!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the picture I had just seen was one of the girl laying in a hospital bed. She was comatose and the tubes, they were proof that her breath was not her own, but that of a machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I had seen anything like that--I was standing beside my sister as a machine pumped the last few breaths of life through her failing lungs. I was not ready to see what my mind had pushed so far to the back. I was not ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, sheesh, shouldn't I be?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I dried my eyes, I came out of the bathroom to find my hubby waiting for me. "Are you okay?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, I was honest. "No. Not really."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After church, we were headed to our favorite Sunday spot for lunch (Texas Roadhouse because kids eat for .99 cents on Sunday!) when I asked my husband this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why does God let some people live and not others?" My voice was shaky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We don't know. Our minds can't understand His ways," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know, but it seems--and it feels--so unfair," I said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Birthday pictures tomorrow. I am not a fan of crammed posts. Hubby is going to paint my toenails for me in a minute, so I must leave you all. I think he's feeling a little sad for me or else I'd be on my own with my nail polish!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2229659473473413935?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2229659473473413935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2229659473473413935' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2229659473473413935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2229659473473413935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/42-heavy-happy-birthday.html' title='42: Heavy, happy birthday.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-3519880053814290356</id><published>2008-10-11T20:30:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T22:00:46.778-04:00</updated><title type='text'>41: Fireproof</title><content type='html'>Today was the perfect Saturday. I was on  the phone with my mother when she mentioned that my brother had gone to see the movie Fireproof. "We need to go see that," I said. And that little comment lead to a picture-perfect Saturday afternoon date with just me and the hubby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandma came to the house and agreed to watch the kids for a little over three hours. Hubby and I went to see the matinee of Fireproof--I had heard a little bit about this movie, but I had no idea what I was in store for. IF YOU ARE MARRIED, YOU MUST SEE THIS MOVIE--WITH YOUR HONEY. It will make you re-evaluate your relationship with your honey--and with God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFWfD0xHoI/AAAAAAAAAMw/2ZcvGw97Qyo/s1600-h/fireproofimage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFWfD0xHoI/AAAAAAAAAMw/2ZcvGw97Qyo/s320/fireproofimage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256077331720642178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My favorite line of the movie is this: "Never leave your partner in a fire." And though Kirk Cameron says this line to one of his fire fighters in the beginning of the movie, by the middle of the movie ... that line applies to he and his spouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here's an FYI: In the movie, there was a kissing scene between Kirk Cameron's character, Caleb and his wife, Catherine. Did you know that Kirk Cameron did that scene with his real-life wife? He said that if there was a kissing scene, his wife would have to be the double because he would not kiss another woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other really cool thing was that this movie was about a fireman. And since my hubby has just signed on with the fire department, it made it that much more interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, since hubby and I had just sat through Fireproof--clearly a movie that will make you think about how much your spouse means to you--we were being extra sweet to each other. We decided we'd stop at this new little, colorful Mexican joint down the street ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFMffjGyfI/AAAAAAAAAMo/Yrwxz3Fe8mw/s1600-h/blog+004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFMffjGyfI/AAAAAAAAAMo/Yrwxz3Fe8mw/s320/blog+004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256066344046479858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFL811lJ0I/AAAAAAAAAMg/vaNbv_yChcM/s1600-h/blog+006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFL811lJ0I/AAAAAAAAAMg/vaNbv_yChcM/s320/blog+006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256065748734125890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFLsKUD4RI/AAAAAAAAAMY/ksp-fzL-x_Q/s1600-h/blog+003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFLsKUD4RI/AAAAAAAAAMY/ksp-fzL-x_Q/s320/blog+003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256065462172901650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFLao9SdWI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/vhPWZ3g8LPI/s1600-h/blog+002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFLao9SdWI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/vhPWZ3g8LPI/s320/blog+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256065161161241954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I think I just found my favorite new Mexican spot. It was sparkling clean, colorful, delicious and reasonably priced. If you are in Gainesville, you must visit Mexico Lindo. And if any of you are up for a Moms' Night Out, let me know. We should start doing them! This would definitely have to be a venue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few hours after me and hubby's Saturday afternoon date, I was taking the kids to the mall to pick up my niece's birthday gift. We headed to Limited 2, every little girl's favorite spot. I found the perfect gift, on sale and as I was headed out, I saw a little furry paw sticking out of the stroller.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You will NOT believe what was hiding in my stroller. (Okay, okay, it's not what you're thinking.) It was actually a little stuffed animal. Apparently, my toddler decided that he wanted to take it home with him. And so I pulled it out of the stroller and then another and another and another. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I pulled exactly 19 stuffed animals out of the bottom of the stroller.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As in, he managed to take every single one of these furry little creatures off of their sparkly little shelves. I guess he thought that he had struck gold, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and tomorrow, I have a juicy Sunday confession to make. It will be in the form of a photo, so don't miss it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-3519880053814290356?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3519880053814290356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=3519880053814290356' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3519880053814290356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3519880053814290356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/41-fireproof.html' title='41: Fireproof'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SPFWfD0xHoI/AAAAAAAAAMw/2ZcvGw97Qyo/s72-c/fireproofimage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-7828130557960369115</id><published>2008-10-10T23:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T22:38:59.646-04:00</updated><title type='text'>40: With 9 minutes to go ...</title><content type='html'>So, I just walked in the house, ready to hit the bed, and realized that ... I hadn't blogged yet. And so here I am, with just 9 minutes to go of today. "I have to do my blog!" I told my hubby. "I have like 9 minutes before today is tomorrow. I can't miss a day, remember?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, he remembers. How could he not? Although, I am the one who has committed to blog every day for 365 days, he is the one who gets to hear about it every day. Oh, and he gets to hear all of the comments I read to him every day. He just loves it, I'm sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this is how I spent my Friday evening. I'm trying to type fast, with five minutes now to go! Woo hoo! I am going to make it. So, my boss let me leave early because my computer crashed. I almost crashed my car driving home when a huge stink bug flew in my window and began randomly flying around my face. I met my walking buddy for our 3-mile Friday walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I stopped drinking soda. So, today, I was so proud of myself--I had a ice cold drink in my hand, filled with ice cubes and water. I had just finished walking and was headed home. I set my drink down and as I reached over to grab my purse, ice-cold, freezing water poured all over me. The entire cup of water was in my lap!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, I had no choice. With soaking wet pants, I had to stop and get gas because I was running on fumes only and knew I would not make it home. But, I only had cash. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was to stop and get gas and have to walk into the gas station in my soaking wet grey sweat pants. And you know, it bothered me for about 2.5 seconds until I thought "You know ... this is better than being soaking wet and stuck on  the side of the road. So, I'll take it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See everyone tomorrow. Any fun weekend plans?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Oh, and p.s. to Seyi: I ran into your mom at Moe's today!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-7828130557960369115?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7828130557960369115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=7828130557960369115' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7828130557960369115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7828130557960369115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/40-with-8-minutes-to-go.html' title='40: With 9 minutes to go ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-6390244223408492878</id><published>2008-10-09T20:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T21:58:02.028-04:00</updated><title type='text'>39: Read me:-)</title><content type='html'>Oh, I am too tired to even sit up right now. The couch is calling--along with Jim, Dwight, Pam and Michael. I have to go. But, before I do, I wanted to leave you with this. Happy reading:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(P.S. I tried to post this as one PDF, but blogger does not have the capability--from what they told me. So, it's in pieces as jpegs.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO603Wf64bI/AAAAAAAAALg/1t0GVjZ7gkE/s1600-h/tebow1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO603Wf64bI/AAAAAAAAALg/1t0GVjZ7gkE/s320/tebow1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255336678213214642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO61fqhbcxI/AAAAAAAAALo/DvcBFyQ1ILE/s1600-h/tebow2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO61fqhbcxI/AAAAAAAAALo/DvcBFyQ1ILE/s320/tebow2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337370783019794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO61mpAK7jI/AAAAAAAAALw/9aD5_n5iASM/s1600-h/tebow3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO61mpAK7jI/AAAAAAAAALw/9aD5_n5iASM/s320/tebow3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337490634174002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO61x7I21DI/AAAAAAAAAL4/2JfUFG_m85E/s1600-h/tebow4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO61x7I21DI/AAAAAAAAAL4/2JfUFG_m85E/s320/tebow4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337684481004594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO618ICc_aI/AAAAAAAAAMA/bXOyxwGpzOE/s1600-h/tebow5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO618ICc_aI/AAAAAAAAAMA/bXOyxwGpzOE/s320/tebow5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337859742498210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://docs.google.com/fileview?id=F.c832104f-3866-4f69-ab01-1c74e57eed85" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-6390244223408492878?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6390244223408492878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=6390244223408492878' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6390244223408492878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6390244223408492878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/39-read-me.html' title='39: Read me:-)'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO603Wf64bI/AAAAAAAAALg/1t0GVjZ7gkE/s72-c/tebow1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5494166576973137474</id><published>2008-10-08T21:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T22:00:14.468-04:00</updated><title type='text'>38: Celebrate Good Times ...</title><content type='html'>I spent a peaceful day at work; with no serious deadlines this week, I spent much of my day organizing many of my projects. I was in such a groove that I took a late lunch--I stepped out around 1:30. I came home and ate a modest turkey-and-cheese sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at work, I was happily sailing through a smooth day, and before I knew it, I was headed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I figured we'd do something quick and easy for dinner. Usually when hubby cooks, he tells me ahead of time. I stepped in the house and was--as usual--tackled by my children. Hubby greeted me with a warm and happy hug. "Guess what?" he asked me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your story came," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1iMIW5maI/AAAAAAAAALA/68YgTsmOGBM/s1600-h/blog+017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1iMIW5maI/AAAAAAAAALA/68YgTsmOGBM/s320/blog+017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254964300752722338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thrilled. I had been waiting for a few weeks to see it. My favorite part of writing is seeing the final product--not necessarily seeing my words in print; but seeing what production has done with the layout. It's always a nice surprise. What's funny is that I was more excited about the font they used for the deck (in the title) than I was about anything else. I guess this editor stuff is really rubbing off on me:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He handed me the magazine and I quickly flipped through the pages until I reached my story. "This looks SO GOOD!" I said to hubby. "They did such a great job!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was pleased. So--the first thing I always do is look at the overall package of my pieces. And the other thing I do--or don't do--is I never read my stories. Isn't that funny? I usually read the final copy before it goes to press. But, I never read the actual story in print.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The check was $300 more than we expected, though. What's up with that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I flipped through a few more pages and figured out what had happened: "They ran that other story ... that one they had to hold (almost a full year ago). Yes!" This meant that we could have that "celebration" dinner we had promised we would have if hubby got "the call."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We called grandma and she was available to watch the three oldest kids. (Not the baby because there was no nursery at her church.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, tonight, instead of eating a can of soup (my original dinner plans), hubby and I went to Bonefish, where we celebrated "the call", my Tebow piece in print, a fat check ... and each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1gSiNTt3I/AAAAAAAAAKg/tPIEum-iSlU/s1600-h/blog+010.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1gSiNTt3I/AAAAAAAAAKg/tPIEum-iSlU/s320/blog+010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254962211747772274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hubby and I split a dish of shrimp fettuccine ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1hfJp9rmI/AAAAAAAAAK4/JvmUVrTs0v4/s1600-h/blog+007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1hfJp9rmI/AAAAAAAAAK4/JvmUVrTs0v4/s320/blog+007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254963528007003746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Baby R. was such a good boy! Quiet the whole time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1lNtCh_AI/AAAAAAAAALY/5GfWzRxAOYY/s1600-h/blog+014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1lNtCh_AI/AAAAAAAAALY/5GfWzRxAOYY/s320/blog+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254967626314152962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good times ... celebrating ... together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and the cell phones are back on. Woo-hoo for freelance checks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-5494166576973137474?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5494166576973137474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=5494166576973137474' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5494166576973137474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5494166576973137474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/38-celebrate-good-times.html' title='38: Celebrate Good Times ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SO1iMIW5maI/AAAAAAAAALA/68YgTsmOGBM/s72-c/blog+017.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-7346006334163105122</id><published>2008-10-07T20:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T22:04:44.774-04:00</updated><title type='text'>37: The answer is:</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOwSz6hvr7I/AAAAAAAAAKY/BDhM3DF_5BU/s1600-h/fireman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOwSz6hvr7I/AAAAAAAAAKY/BDhM3DF_5BU/s320/fireman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254595548327948210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Congratulations to my honey! I am so proud of you! (A man in uniform--God has certainly answered a prayer!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also: A special thank you to everyone for your prayers. Seyi: thank you for thinking of and praying for us!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-7346006334163105122?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7346006334163105122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=7346006334163105122' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7346006334163105122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7346006334163105122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/37-answer-is.html' title='37: The answer is:'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOwSz6hvr7I/AAAAAAAAAKY/BDhM3DF_5BU/s72-c/fireman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-3678369081437566543</id><published>2008-10-06T21:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T22:41:43.358-04:00</updated><title type='text'>36: The Call!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOq9WZih19I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/bzn-reAxCmM/s1600-h/phone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOq9WZih19I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/bzn-reAxCmM/s320/phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254220107791587282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The call came today!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hubby got the call ... they offered him the position! Yippee. I am so, so happy and excited for him. Today, we told the kids that daddy is going to be a __________! They were thrilled--although I think my daughter had already figured it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was sitting at my desk just after 10 a.m. when I got an e-mail from hubby. "I got it. Call me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, we had been talking about "it" for so long. "It" was always "the call." So, when he said "it," I was going crazy ... "It what?! The job?! The call?! The offer call or the rejection call?!" I couldn't stand it anymore and I called.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What happened?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They offered me the position!" I could hear him smiling. "I start in three weeks. October 27."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yay! That is so great! I am so happy for you ... We'll talk on my lunch break."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rushed home on my lunch break, where he gave me all of the details ... when the call came, how it came, what he said, what she said. We celebrated, hi-fived each other, hugged. We were sooooo happy. And then, that other thing hit us:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah ... day care," he said to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent my lunch break together in front of the computer and on the phone. We called our local Child Care Resources agency to see if they could help--because that's what they are there for ... to help struggling families with child care options.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, we had quickly discovered again what I had already known--that they are there for single moms ... and they foster an environment of settling for less ... they encourage people to cheat the system through an all-or-nothing mentality. I know quite a few women who have done that -- and, for years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so we weren't going to get any help from them. I got in my car to drive back to work and I was doing the math in my head. For two children to go to child care and for the two older ones to go to after care, this is what it looks like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;• $700 for the baby&lt;br /&gt;• $600 for the toddler&lt;br /&gt;• $300 in "Aftercare" fees for my oldest son.&lt;br /&gt;• $300 in "Aftercare" fees for N, my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grand total=$1,900 per month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband, as a recruit, is going to bring in a little over minimum wage. They are going to send him to school and only after he graduates and gets a position will he start getting paid for real with a decent salary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so let's do the math: I will be paying just under 50 percent of our entire income towards day care. I just do not know how we are going to manage. I just know that somehow we will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I refuse to stress over the seemingly impossible day care bill. I simply refuse. Instead, I will finish the night out ... celebrating the good news of today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And since I always say it out loud: "Thank you, God. We are so grateful for who you are and everything you give us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, any guesses on the job title?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-3678369081437566543?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3678369081437566543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=3678369081437566543' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3678369081437566543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3678369081437566543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/36-call.html' title='36: The Call!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOq9WZih19I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/bzn-reAxCmM/s72-c/phone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-6327319443319133626</id><published>2008-10-05T20:55:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T21:34:55.818-04:00</updated><title type='text'>35: Picture Sunday!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;o, here are some random pictures from my weekend ... very random!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOliVxVG0FI/AAAAAAAAAJg/52LYT2pt03Y/s1600-h/germanshepherd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOliVxVG0FI/AAAAAAAAAJg/52LYT2pt03Y/s320/germanshepherd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253838566463033426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This afternoon, I helped my son with a school project about dogs and their "professions." We glued this picture to a white poster board for his presentation tomorrow. I wanted to share this just because I loved it so much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOli-zNTJ0I/AAAAAAAAAJo/2g7viugNu8s/s1600-h/random+013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOli-zNTJ0I/AAAAAAAAAJo/2g7viugNu8s/s320/random+013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253839271341795138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Baby boy and dear daughter:-) 7  months; and 7 years old. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOljhCFSO7I/AAAAAAAAAJw/XbyoZzsjjrQ/s1600-h/random+025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOljhCFSO7I/AAAAAAAAAJw/XbyoZzsjjrQ/s320/random+025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253839859450264498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In my last post, I talked about driving by my old campus apartment. My old bedroom was where that top window (with the window air conditioner) is. We had plenty of birthday parties, lazy, quiet Saturdays and barbecues in this little place. Our neighbors were from Iceland, and we were always having "building" potlucks. It was so much fun. Any way, I when I hear anything Dixie Chicks, I think of the summer of 2002 when I would leave my windows open and blast my Dixie Chicks. Simple times and ... lots of studying, too. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOloAwmMNZI/AAAAAAAAAKA/-8ndOoEqLYA/s1600-h/random+023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOloAwmMNZI/AAAAAAAAAKA/-8ndOoEqLYA/s320/random+023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253844802558768530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So, on the way to our old place, the kids and I drove by one of our favorite all-time picnic spots, which is on the lawn of the famous-for-its-architecture Baughman Center--also a favorite wedding spot for countless couples. On this day, we didn't stop because of a wedding ceremony. We drove by slowly and saw the bride in her beautiful, crisp, white gown; and we saw a horse-led carriage. It is always a beautiful spot, no matter what time of year you visit. I have been to a few weddings there as well-- all of them breathtaking. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOlnblf_P8I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/4bkA1n5ygRk/s1600-h/random+019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOlnblf_P8I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/4bkA1n5ygRk/s320/random+019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253844163924803522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;More big boy smiles! So, who here knows his name? I've gotten SO much crap about his name. It's annoying! But, I love it! Oh, and if you know it, do not give it away ... please.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I may or may not do that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOlpQYOGG8I/AAAAAAAAAKI/LRbDPKHQPuw/s1600-h/random+021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOlpQYOGG8I/AAAAAAAAAKI/LRbDPKHQPuw/s320/random+021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253846170404789186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Saturday afternoon at the local (free) dog park. It sits right beside a firestation and the kids love seeing the trucks each time we drive by. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, and that is my dog--I promise. No, I do not bring my 2-year-old here for exercise. (Okay, in a sense, I do.) Although, he does have one of those kiddie leashes. That could have been funny, huh?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-6327319443319133626?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6327319443319133626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=6327319443319133626' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6327319443319133626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6327319443319133626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/35-picture-sunday.html' title='35: Picture Sunday!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOliVxVG0FI/AAAAAAAAAJg/52LYT2pt03Y/s72-c/germanshepherd.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8264654175295481970</id><published>2008-10-04T22:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T23:15:54.390-04:00</updated><title type='text'>34: Worth it</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I told my son, C, that he could not go to a Star Wars Costume birthday party that was this afternoon. It all came down to two things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1: This was a costume party (and we didn't have a costume)&lt;br /&gt;2: We didn't have any extra money for a gifts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I guess it really just came down to one thing: Money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had about $10 of "me money" in my pocket to last about two weeks. This is for lunch with co-workers and etc. Not much, but that's what I had. So, last night, I saw my son peering at the Star Wars Costume Party invitation, and the mommy in me just sort of took over. I was determined to make this happen--and I had about $10 to do so. Yippee! I had money. Who cares what it is supposed to be for, right? The fact is, I needed it and I had it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that if he had whined and complained about it, I wouldn't have been moved. But, he quietly accepted our decision with such a good attitude that it sort of broke my heart. When I told him that we were going to make it work, he was simply delighted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this morning--just after 10 a.m.--I loaded the car with my daughter, oldest son and the 2-year-old. (The baby stayed home, napping, with hubby.) "Look, we don't have very much money," I told my son. "But, it's going to be perfect!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had to have a talk about money being tight right now...about daddy not working and about being really careful how we spend, especially right now. That was hard (for me.) Not for the kids, though. They don't really care as long as we're all just living life together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We hit some yard sales--and found nothing, except for a few plastic dinosaurs we picked up for E. Then, I decided we'd hit GoodWill--my go-to store when I need something fast and cheap. I was delighted to find a cape for $3. And, the lovely thing about boys: That was it. He was thrilled. And we were done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to Target to buy a gift and with less than $5 to spend on the gift, we picked this up and filled it with a bag of candy. The total was just over $4. Again, my son was thrilled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOgtgTBDRkI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/vvEh8b-u3jo/s1600-h/random+006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOgtgTBDRkI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/vvEh8b-u3jo/s320/random+006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253498998211429954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just after 3 p.m., I was unloading the kids at the party. My kids had a blast and when we were done at the party, we drove around Gainesville for a little while--stopped at one of our favorite parks and walked a mile (with baby in arms and toddler in hand) around the park.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, we drove by our old apartment on campus--where I lived when I was a student at the University of Florida. Ahhh--the memories. The kids have the best memories of that place. We used to have so much fun, going on walks, going to the museum, seeing the alligators sunning themselves just across the street from us at Lake Alice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have really great memories of that time in our lives. "I wish I could go back in time and do it again," my son said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I hope he'll think the same thing in a few years about our life now. I think he will. We had so much fun today. Not much money, but lots of fun. I ended up spending my "me money" on my kids. But, I do that every time I get money. I always spend it on them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't help myself. I'd rather see my kid go to a birthday party that he had been thinking about for weeks than ... have lunch with my grown-up friends. And I say grown-up friends, because if I am not spending money eating out with my grown-up friends, then I am picking up the tab for every (little) one--at Chic-Fil-A.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, I truly love motherhood. You can never give too much. There is always more to give.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh ... and I have some pictures for you. But, it will have to be tomorrow since Blogger is misbehaving tonight!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8264654175295481970?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8264654175295481970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8264654175295481970' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8264654175295481970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8264654175295481970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/34-worth-it.html' title='34: Worth it'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOgtgTBDRkI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/vvEh8b-u3jo/s72-c/random+006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-6044607310442902820</id><published>2008-10-03T19:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T23:13:00.138-04:00</updated><title type='text'>33: Laugh with me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOauunhHfjI/AAAAAAAAAJI/OhOtOaBa9SE/s1600-h/apple.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOauunhHfjI/AAAAAAAAAJI/OhOtOaBa9SE/s320/apple.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253078131279363634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Most&lt;/span&gt; of your      children are delightful and fun to teach ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reading a newsletter from my child's teacher, and this stood out to me. It made me laugh. I was like, "Wow, she really did just write that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so it's Friday night! Woo hoo! Instead of doing my usual post, I want to hear a recent quote that made you laugh. Any takers?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-6044607310442902820?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6044607310442902820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=6044607310442902820' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6044607310442902820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6044607310442902820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/33-laugh-with-me.html' title='33: Laugh with me'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOauunhHfjI/AAAAAAAAAJI/OhOtOaBa9SE/s72-c/apple.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-7246713003382522936</id><published>2008-10-02T21:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T21:36:10.109-04:00</updated><title type='text'>32: The reality</title><content type='html'>&lt;a style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOV240CRbJI/AAAAAAAAAIY/BPZzK99qq3s/s1600-h/dollar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOV240CRbJI/AAAAAAAAAIY/BPZzK99qq3s/s320/dollar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252735258810477714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, ugh, the reality is that ... I have four children--two still in diapers--and I am the only one working. It is simply frustrating ... frustrating for everyone in the household.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the month, we have enough money to pay our bills and keep the lights on and keep food on the table. But, we really have nothing else after that, so if something comes up, that's not a good thing. In fact, it's a very bad thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, we had to get the mom van fixed, and that was almost $300. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch ... especially when you have just enough money to pay the bills. That $300 meant that a few of the bills went unpaid and guess which was the first to go? Ummm, the cell phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it was going to be turned off today, and it happened just before 6 p.m. and just after I hung up with my son. "Bye," I said. "I love you." I then dialed a friend's number, and I got that evil, little message--the 'services have been interrupted' one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that was super frustrating, but to top it all off, hubby has not received THE CALL yet. (The Call is the one from a possible employer; he had the interview last Thursday.) We both thought that--for sure--he would hear something by now. But, not a peep. And with our phones being turned off, and the stressed being turned on--we are stressed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We need this job more than ever. And, it's something that will bring in decent money. Yep. We definitely need that second income. So, I am just hoping and praying that this works out. But, you know what they say ... waiting is the hardest part. It really is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I am going to finish watching the VP Debate. Any thoughts?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-7246713003382522936?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7246713003382522936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=7246713003382522936' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7246713003382522936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7246713003382522936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/32-reality.html' title='32: The reality'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOV240CRbJI/AAAAAAAAAIY/BPZzK99qq3s/s72-c/dollar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8950055014396393013</id><published>2008-10-01T21:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T21:52:07.285-04:00</updated><title type='text'>31: The lonely picture</title><content type='html'>So, this is going to sound crazy, but ... I know that pictures are just pictures. They are not people. They do not live and breathe and love ... and feel lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is why I could not understand my own feelings yesterday when I left work. It was weird--I was wrapping up a few things to get ready to go home. The office was really quiet. I don't come in until 9, so I am usually one of the last ones to leave. It is around that time when lights begin to be turned off, the cleaning crew shows up and the parking lot begins to empty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was shutting down my computer when my eye caught the picture sitting on my desk--all alone. It was that picture I put up of my sister--she, holding my newly born son in my first, ghetto apartment during the summer of 1998. She looked so happy and so young, so full of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to grab my purse, but stopped and just stared into that picture. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and could practically hear her voice, smell her perfume. I opened my eyes and noticed a small, but sweet detail--she was wearing one of my favorite-at-the-time shirts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was really weird, because I felt like I couldn't leave her. The dim, people-less halls were sad to me. And, I didn't want to leave her. I knew that thought made no sense at all. I know she's not the picture, I told myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, it was still sad. And, I was feeling it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so instead of being absolutely crazy and sticking her in my purse, I opened a drawer and pulled out a photo that I had been meaning to put up. It was a picture of my daughter. I put the picture right in front of my sister's, so that one was leaning on the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I left, I cried and cried all the way to my girlfriend's house--the one I walked with yesterday. She helped me through it. I cried for the first half of the walk and laughed for the second part. I love girls for that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I was walked into a bright, busy, buzzing office and as turned on my computer, I looked at the pictures and smiled. My sister looked surrounded. My son was on her right side, and now, my daughter was on her left. And a tiny, little silver angel stood in front.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There, that looks much better. She was surrounded by loved ones and an angel. And yes, I know it's just a picture. But, for whatever reason, that little arrangement made more sense to my heart. It just felt better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8950055014396393013?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8950055014396393013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8950055014396393013' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8950055014396393013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8950055014396393013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/31-picture.html' title='31: The lonely picture'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-4817440877050386774</id><published>2008-09-30T21:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T21:44:13.203-04:00</updated><title type='text'>30: Chocolate sky.</title><content type='html'>Before I begin, I just want to thank all of you guys for your kind responses to my post. I know you could feel the pain, frustration and fatigue with the situation. Thank you for your uplifting words and positive points-of-view. I really appreciate that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I spent my lunch break laughing with friends and co-workers at this little Mexican joint that us Gainesvillians love, called La Fiesta. All I know is that it has been here forever, and the food is slamming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at work, I met a very, very tight deadline and ... waited for the call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told my hubby not to text me; but, to call me when he gets "the call." If you don't know, well, now you do. My hubby had an interview on Thursday for the job he has wanted forever. They told him that they would let him know something within the week, so you know how jumpy he is. I hate waiting for those calls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the call didn't come today. In fact, I think hubby purposely avoided calling me--he sent me about six random text messages throughout the day--just because he didn't want me to get my hopes up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other exciting news--and the only reason I am sharing this, is because I honestly don't think anything will come of this--I got an e-mail from a VP of publishing, who asked me if I had ever written a book. He wants to meet with me. We have been sending e-mails back-and-forth and we are going to set something up for me to come to the office. (Hubby at side, ofcourse.) I mean, you never know whose really who these days, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, my hubby really is my partner. So, he needs to be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, last night, I stayed up until midnight working on a freelance piece and because I was so tired, I didn't want to do my regular walking after work today, but I did. And I am so glad I did. I got to vent to a good girlfriend; and laugh with her as we walked our now-routine three miles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on my way home, I caught the most breathtaking scene above me. And that's why I had to snap this. (Yeah, my camera kind of sucks right now. I'll be making my case for a new one real soon, like when I launch my site.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOLTLkrI4WI/AAAAAAAAAII/OH7QDVr6Ofk/s1600-h/random+003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOLTLkrI4WI/AAAAAAAAAII/OH7QDVr6Ofk/s320/random+003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251992311244054882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, that and look what my hubby just brought me: Yum.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd say that today was a good day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOLT9WxOmvI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/jDVsk6oyeC0/s1600-h/random+004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOLT9WxOmvI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/jDVsk6oyeC0/s320/random+004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251993166504958706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;P.S.- I couldn't help myself with the title of this post. How could I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; put those two words together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-4817440877050386774?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4817440877050386774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=4817440877050386774' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4817440877050386774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4817440877050386774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/30-good-friends-to-laugh-with.html' title='30: Chocolate sky.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SOLTLkrI4WI/AAAAAAAAAII/OH7QDVr6Ofk/s72-c/random+003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2634080094282928363</id><published>2008-09-29T21:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T22:02:27.849-04:00</updated><title type='text'>29: Relationships</title><content type='html'>Well, I recently lost a very good friend of mine. I had to make a decision that hurt me and hurt her, and it ended the friendship. Although, the decision was a right one. It was a hard one, but it was the right one. I didn't want to, but I had to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the reason I cannot blog about it is because she reads (maybe not anymore) my blog, and I have to respect her enough not to talk about it, even in anonymity. I wanted to thank you all for your kind words. Relationships can be hard, and sometimes they end too soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2634080094282928363?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2634080094282928363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2634080094282928363' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2634080094282928363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2634080094282928363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/29-relationships.html' title='29: Relationships'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-7615238437818612202</id><published>2008-09-28T20:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T20:57:49.951-04:00</updated><title type='text'>28: I guess I'm just ...</title><content type='html'>frustrated that I cannot write about it right now, and that makes me want to *not* blog. It's like, because blogging has to be a real slice of my life as I am living it, I can hardly type these words. It's because there is so much more going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the days I wish blogger had private posts. And these are the days I wish life was a bit less complex when it comes to relationships. *Sigh.* I'm sure that as the days go by this week, I'll feel better about the situation. But, not tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I'm off to write an article for the magazine, due tomorrow. Goodnight.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-7615238437818612202?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7615238437818612202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=7615238437818612202' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7615238437818612202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7615238437818612202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/28-i-guess-im-just.html' title='28: I guess I&apos;m just ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-3958300699713646861</id><published>2008-09-27T23:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-27T23:01:49.532-04:00</updated><title type='text'>27: Good night!</title><content type='html'>I'm just annoyed and drained tonight. I'll post more tomorrow. Good night!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-3958300699713646861?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3958300699713646861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=3958300699713646861' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3958300699713646861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3958300699713646861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/27-good-night.html' title='27: Good night!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-266296062244214652</id><published>2008-09-26T20:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T20:59:37.555-04:00</updated><title type='text'>26: "Are you expecting?"</title><content type='html'>So, it all started yesterday after work. I was excited to be watching my Office return after a long, long summer without. But, first I needed to get my walk on. I walked my three miles and rushed home to see my show. I wanted to have time for a nice, hot shower before the show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was feeling good, too. "My jeans are looser," I told my walking buddy, J. "I'm so glad we're keeping up with it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had finished walking and had just left J's house, where we usually meet up to walk. My phone rang, and it was my hubby, asking me to pick up a few things from the store. I was, after all, passing right by it. I reluctantly stopped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am not even dressed right. I'm wearing this little tank top and I just don't feel like seeing anyone ..." I was telling my hubby this, all while walking in the store. It was too late. I was in ... there was no turning back from the grocery store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was fine, but a little bit cold. Man, I was wishing I had my favorite green sweatshirt. I got the things I needed all while chatting quietly with my step-sister Jessica, who lives in Ohio. We hung up when I had to get in line. All was good. The cashier was an older woman -- maybe in her 60s -- with dark hair and painted-on eyebrows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How much can I write the check over here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I was trying to do the math in my head, when she said "Are you expecting?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stopped in my tracks. And I looked at her and said -- with a straight face -- "Don't you know the rule? ... You don't ask a woman if she's "expecting" unless she's, like, on the way to the hospital to GIVE BIRTH."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bag boy, a young, 20-something college kid, hung his head and just shook it slowly from right to left, as if to say ... "You did &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; just say that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't even know if she apologized. I really don't remember, probably because all I could hear was the sound of blood rushing to my head. But, she started talking about her kids and how she thought that ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"well, when I had my kids, I would get confused a lot and when you talked about the math with the check ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine the surprise when I really had nothing to say back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bag boy, who wore the name tag "Dylan" on his green shirt, looked so embarrassed. A red head, his cheeks turned bright red. I was waiting for my receipt when Dylan asked me "Can I help you out, please?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's cool," I told him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as soon as we stepped out into the cool, crisp evening air, he said "You do not look pregnant! I am so sorry. I just can't believe she even said that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know, right?" I said. "I can see that you know better than to say things like that! Well, you know, I had two kids in like two years ... and I am trying to lose weight, just came from walking ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was shaking his head profusely in agreement. "I could totally tell that you just came from working out ... I could totally tell."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so upset until the bag boy just amused me so. He was so funny, so concerned that my feelings were hurt. Plus, he says that I do not look like I am expecting! Woo hoo! Well, I guess the bag boy has more sense than the cashier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, the last time I ventured away from "my" Publix and went to a Publix in another neighborhood, the bagger said something just as crazy, although less crazy in my book. The bagger said something about a "vaginal probe" sonogram. I am serious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking that I want to stick very close to my own Publix ... from now on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-266296062244214652?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/266296062244214652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=266296062244214652' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/266296062244214652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/266296062244214652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/26-are-you-expecting.html' title='26: &quot;Are you expecting?&quot;'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-4646643369906477596</id><published>2008-09-25T22:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T22:43:15.279-04:00</updated><title type='text'>25: Thursday -- the good and the bad</title><content type='html'>Don't you just love packages?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I came home on my lunch break and about 10 minutes after I had been home, my door bell rang. It was Fed Ex with a package. "My magazine!" I said to my hubby. I flung open the door, ready to sign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Suzy Richardson?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;"Sign here, please."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He handed me a big, brown box. "What could this be?" I asked my hubby. Well, it wasn't my magazine that I was waiting for. I have a piece published this month in Charisma, and I have been waiting for my copies and the check. Oh, here's the link, if you are interested:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://charismamag.com/articles/?id=17874"&gt;Tim Tebow article&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grabbed a pair of scissors and began anxiously cutting my way through the tape. I saw my friend from Ohio, Melissa's, address on it. "The swim diapers!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had just talked about swim diapers and how I didn't feel like spending $10 on a pack of swim diapers because it was almost October. So, she hooked me up! But,  there was more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a note attached to another smaller box within the box. "Since we can't have our Office party together ..." it began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxHyNegG1I/AAAAAAAAAHo/inOGg2LWDTM/s1600-h/blog+002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxHyNegG1I/AAAAAAAAAHo/inOGg2LWDTM/s200/blog+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250150193543781202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Here is the note that was attached to my little box within a big box. (I know, my camera sucks. When I get my new one, this one goes to the kids. That says a lot, doesn't it?)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OMG! My friend from South Carolina, who now lives in Ohio, just sent me a goodie package. How freaking sweet!  It was stuffed with all kinds of "Office" goodies for our favorite show's season return, which came on at 9 p.m. tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were notepads, packs of Office pencils, sticky notes, a coffee mug ... all kinds of stuff, even a pack of popcorn and some other snacks. The fun part was that I got to open my little package on my way back to work and so I handed out some of my little goodies -- you know, just some sticky notes and two pencils. I couldn't part with much more, especially since it was from a good friend -- to some of my office mates who love the Office.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxIaiVivGI/AAAAAAAAAHw/i8wBZS2eM94/s1600-h/blog+008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxIaiVivGI/AAAAAAAAAHw/i8wBZS2eM94/s200/blog+008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250150886338116706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This is my cabinet space above my desk. Don't you just love what I've done with the place?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxMF99Z8XI/AAAAAAAAAIA/GgPzPRmuFFc/s1600-h/blog+009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxMF99Z8XI/AAAAAAAAAIA/GgPzPRmuFFc/s320/blog+009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250154931022328178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;At my desk:-) That is my bobble head Dwight, that Melissa sent me when I first got my job. That was a-whole-nother special package day. And there is my sister's picture. The angel beanie baby, I found at that yard sale my daughter and I went to this past weekend. I couldn't put it at the grave, because it would get ruined. Any way, I knew I had the perfect place for it.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that was the good of my day. Thank you, Melissa. You just ... rock as a girlfriend!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the bad of my day happened as I was in line at Publix. You WILL NOT BELIEVE what the Publix cashier said to me. No, you will not even believe it. My draw dropped and I had to "school" this woman about the things people should never, ever say to other people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But since I have to keep you coming back, tomorrow's post will begin with those three little words that HAPPENED TO ME in a Pubilx grocery store line.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-4646643369906477596?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4646643369906477596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=4646643369906477596' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4646643369906477596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4646643369906477596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/25-thursday-good-and-bad.html' title='25: Thursday -- the good and the bad'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNxHyNegG1I/AAAAAAAAAHo/inOGg2LWDTM/s72-c/blog+002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2292561390469891472</id><published>2008-09-24T21:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T21:53:53.212-04:00</updated><title type='text'>24: Getting ready!</title><content type='html'>So, the reason that I cannot do a full blog post tonight is because I am helping my hubby prepare for a job interview tomorrow for the career that he has been wanting for so long! I am so excited for him. This has been about a 3-month long process, and here he is -- at the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to go over the questions he should ask, and you know -- all that interview stuff. The interview is at 9 a.m. all the way on the other side of town. So, does anyone have any advice for him? (If you read this tonight, that is.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I'll be back tomorrow with the update!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2292561390469891472?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2292561390469891472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2292561390469891472' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2292561390469891472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2292561390469891472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/24-getting-ready.html' title='24: Getting ready!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-1200781928460436424</id><published>2008-09-23T20:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T21:06:09.358-04:00</updated><title type='text'>23: I don't want a bra. I want a sandwich!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, hubby and I met for a lunch-time appointment. I walked in the office and glanced at the clock on the wall -- I had just about 40 minutes before I would have to leave for work. "Hey, honey!" I said and hugged him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;He smiled. Gave me a nice hug. "I'm starving!" I said to him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;At that moment, I was &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;so&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; glad that we had &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; conversation -- the one about him bringing me lunch from home to the appointment so I'd be able to eat before heading back to the office. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;After 40 minutes, it was time for me to go, and he stopped me on the way out. "I brought that thing you wanted," he said. "It's in the van."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Oh, thank you!" I said to him. With a rumbling tummy, I was so grateful. See -- I knew that I had a deadline to meet at work,and if I didn't eat now, eating was not going to happen. I knew I'd be working up until the last minute on this project, which was due by 5 p.m. SHARP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And so, I stopped by the mom van, which he now frequently drives (although, I think he secretly loves it!) And I peeked my head in. "Where is my sandwich? ... where, oh, where?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Well, the only thing that was sitting in the back seat was a bundled-up bra. I grabbed it and stuck it in my purse. He didn't even have a bag, I guess, since I have become the plastic-bag nazi around this house. So, I throw the bra in my purse and head back to work -- no lunch to fill me. And then I remembered that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;other&lt;/span&gt; conversation that my hubby and I had earlier -- the one about him needing to wash a specific bra for me because my back was really hurting and I needed it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;As I walked away, I was saying "I don't want a bra. I want a sandwich!" I quickly realized how silly I sounded, and was grateful that no one had been in ear shot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, he got it half right, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Back at my desk, I called him. "When you said you had it, I thought you were talking about the sandwich, honey. Not a bra!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"What sandwich? he asked me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Oh ... never mind. Can you bring me some lunch. I can't leave ... on a tight deadline."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"I just got in line to pick the kids up (from school)."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Great. Just perfect, I was thinking. I'll just starve, whatever. And that's the moment an e-mail popped up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"LEFTOVER PIZZA IN THE CAFETERIA. COME AND GET IT."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you serious?! Nice. Downstairs, and just a few moments later, I walked into a room with about 10 boxes of pizza sitting on a table. I grabbed a slice of the Supreme ... and later met my deadline at 4:55 p.m. sharp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div  style="text-align: center;font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&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/2008066227324198827-1200781928460436424?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1200781928460436424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1200781928460436424' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1200781928460436424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1200781928460436424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/23-i-dont-want-bra-i-want-sandwich.html' title='23: I don&apos;t want a bra. I want a sandwich!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8122409587708208280</id><published>2008-09-22T19:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T19:34:53.707-04:00</updated><title type='text'>22: Boo!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNgnZMX6TFI/AAAAAAAAAHg/OjtIibEBsPg/s1600-h/kids+014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNgnZMX6TFI/AAAAAAAAAHg/OjtIibEBsPg/s200/kids+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248988679472041042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Baby R, 6 months old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8122409587708208280?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8122409587708208280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8122409587708208280' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8122409587708208280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8122409587708208280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/22.html' title='22: Boo!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNgnZMX6TFI/AAAAAAAAAHg/OjtIibEBsPg/s72-c/kids+014.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-246596246374356894</id><published>2008-09-21T21:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T21:58:33.593-04:00</updated><title type='text'>21: Pee on my feet! Ewwww.</title><content type='html'>Today, my hubby and I visited a church. We were both turned off when they talked about the $1,000 seed planting to become a partner. "We are about to have to pay for two children to be in day care. That's my seed offering, okay?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was actually watching the clock the entire time -- I know, I am so bad. But, I was gone after the second minute. At 12:30 sharp, we have to leave I told my hubby. I had a meeting with R, my cohort for the soon-to-launch mom site.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was envisioning R and I, talking and laughing over hot, buttery rolls. I was envisioning Texas Roadhouse, and I was determined to make it happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 1, I scooped up R in the mom van, and we were off. With the windows rolled down and some good ole Alan Jackson on, we were off. And so, over hot, buttery rolls, we did indeed chat about the upcoming launch date and the launch party and the Web site contract.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was all exciting stuff -- ideas shared over a huge Chicken Critter salad (with Ranch on the side) and an ice-cold frozen Strawberry Margarita. The afternoon was absolutely perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNb6HM0MWqI/AAAAAAAAAHY/9IEJewKKhDQ/s1600-h/momgive+004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNb6HM0MWqI/AAAAAAAAAHY/9IEJewKKhDQ/s200/momgive+004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248657417353058978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My favorite Texas Roadhouse entree -- the Chicken Critter salad. You must try it, if you haven't already!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNb4RK-Iw7I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/hw-yVchPlVU/s1600-h/momgive+002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNb4RK-Iw7I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/hw-yVchPlVU/s200/momgive+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248655389633332146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Frozen margarita at Texas Roadhouse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With stuffed bellies, we headed to the mall to pick up a few things, and we found a little table in front of the water fountain by the food court. There we sat -- with my three-ring binder open -- and chatted about the site's themes, colors, needs, direction, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wow. We're like two totally normal moms, making our dreams come true -- right here in the middle of the Oaks Mall. That's pretty cool," she said to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't have agreed more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all very exciting. But, to be honest, I have never been in business before and I pray that everything goes smoothly and that this site will be all that I have envisioned it to be in my head. I guess it can be scary to just put yourself out there and try, knowing that you could easily fail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, for me, I think it would be more scary to just do nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, moving on from the site stuff, I came home from my meeting and took a luxurious, two-hour nap. Then, my hubby and I hung out with the kids all evening, reading and cooking chicken stir-fry. After the kids were all tucked in for the night, hubby and I headed outside together to take our dog, Gator, to the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Hubby always comes out with me because there are no street lights and it's so dark -- I love how protective he is over me. I just love it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I am talking to my hubby about the meeting and my day when I feel a warm sensation on my feet -- both of them. My dufus of a dog was spraying my feet. Ewww! I jumped back, but he got me good. I ran upstairs and took a shower. I was totally disgusted. Ugh. I still am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great. I have become the pee post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep, that means it's time for me to call it a night. (Hope this post wasn't too random for you, Staci. But, come on, I live a totally and randomly crazy, silly life:-))&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-246596246374356894?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/246596246374356894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=246596246374356894' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/246596246374356894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/246596246374356894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/21-pee-on-my-feet-ewwww.html' title='21: Pee on my feet! Ewwww.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNb6HM0MWqI/AAAAAAAAAHY/9IEJewKKhDQ/s72-c/momgive+004.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-7298856631555755587</id><published>2008-09-20T21:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T22:24:28.117-04:00</updated><title type='text'>20: The perfect day ...</title><content type='html'>Just before 10 this morning, I jumped in my car and made a mad dash to see my 9-year-old niece's track meet. I kind of wanted to bum around the house this morning and not have to put on my bra. But, I thought about how my sister would give anything to be able to see her daughter run, and so I just knew I had to be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got there just after they began, and we -- my son and daughter and I -- got to cheer her on throughout the whole thing. When she crossed the finish line, we were there, cheering and taking pictures. Ofcourse, all she wanted was a cold swig of that life-saving liquid Gatorade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNWvYFRdO7I/AAAAAAAAAHA/8Ee-rImp_Cw/s1600-h/kids+022.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNWvYFRdO7I/AAAAAAAAAHA/8Ee-rImp_Cw/s200/kids+022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248293769037298610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she finished her race, she wanted to go home and rest. My son wanted to go along with her to grandma's house, and my daughter wanted to stick by my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You want to go hang out with mommy today? I have a $20 bill for us to spend!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes widened with delight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we were off. We decided to go to Grandy's and hit the breakfast buffet. Just before we walked inside, she said "Can we go to Yelena's grave today? It's been a long time." Ofcourse! I told her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our original plan was to go yard-saling. Although, she had a much better idea. "Let's find something for Yelena at a yard sale and then take it to her." And then she talked about how we should find an angel, because angels always remind her of "Auntie Yelena."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over pancakes, cheese grits and fresh honeydew, we made our plan. The plan was to go to one yard sale -- to the first one we see -- and find something, anything for my sister. "No matter what we find," I said. "It will be special."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought it would be fun to make it an adventure and for some reason, I was feeling like my sister was in on the plan herself when that song came on the speaker just over my head. It is that Celine Dion song "Because you loved me." That is my song to her -- we played it at her funeral.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With stuffed bellies, my daughter and I headed in the direction of the grave yard. We stopped at the first yard sale sign we saw in a quiet neighborhood around the corner. I was looking through the girls' clothing on one table when I heard my daughter: "Mommy! Mommy! Look what I found."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she held in her hands, a ziplock bag with an angel ornament inside. The back contained a little, tiny book that read "An angel gets her wings."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my gosh!" I squealed. "I can't believe we found it! We found our angel!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made the trip to the grave yard and placed the angel on her headstone. Underneath my jet-black sunglasses, I was crying quietly. "Look what we brought you," I said to my sister. "An angel. We found our angel."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNWv8KbcywI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HHTBnI5CvI8/s1600-h/kids+025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNWv8KbcywI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HHTBnI5CvI8/s200/kids+025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248294388896680706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we left, we stopped at ColdStone and shared an icecream. We came home to daddy and two, little screaming babies just before we painted our nails together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was the perfect day with my daughter ... and my sister.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-7298856631555755587?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7298856631555755587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=7298856631555755587' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7298856631555755587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7298856631555755587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/20-perfect-day.html' title='20: The perfect day ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SNWvYFRdO7I/AAAAAAAAAHA/8Ee-rImp_Cw/s72-c/kids+022.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8299355680542307395</id><published>2008-09-19T21:33:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T21:36:47.391-04:00</updated><title type='text'>19 I am going to ...</title><content type='html'>stay up really, really late and watch TV until I can no longer keep my eyes open. Yep, that's what I am going to spend the next few hours of my life doing. For a few hours, I just don't want to think -- at all. This week has been mentally demanding, and I am demanding that I ... relax.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe it, but I am actually going to leave it at that for this moment. I will be back after I watch my show.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8299355680542307395?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8299355680542307395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8299355680542307395' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8299355680542307395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8299355680542307395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/19-i-am-going-to.html' title='19 I am going to ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2990189139514540800</id><published>2008-09-18T22:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T22:19:26.025-04:00</updated><title type='text'>18: Chocolate cake, ice-cold milk.</title><content type='html'>Physical pain seems to be a theme in my life recently, although hmmm. you think it has anything to do with me having my fourth child recently, just 20 months after my third?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I've been walking three times a week (three miles each time,) and I knew it ... I knew it was too good to be true. I knew that my beloved faithful Crocs would one day betray me -- I got blisters today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, yes, I know I am a complete idiot for even thinking that Crocs -- just because they feel like heaven on my feet -- would work for that type of walking. Well, I knew I should have listened to my hubby, because I now have blisters on the soles of my feet. I am trying to make my body recover, but it &lt;span&gt;is not all cake. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of cake ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to a good friend, Melissa in Ohio, today. I was standing there -- sweaty after a hot, muggy walk -- when my phone rings, and it is Melissa, who I haven't been able to get in contact with recently. In fact, her phone and cable are out because of a storm, I believe. So, we start talking. I'm still sweaty and gross, now there is a kid knocking at my door every few minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... when I had this fabulous idea. "Let me call you back after 9 -- the call will be free and the house will be quiet. And that will give me time to take a nice shower."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a perfect plan. It's like that piece of chocolate cake that you want to save for the perfect moment -- like when you have an ice-cold glass of milk. Yeah, good friends are like that -- like chocolate cake; and the long, drawn-out, dramatized, deep (and sometimes shallow) conversations after a long week ... is like, well, the ice-cold milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what I mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS--&lt;br /&gt;So, I am meeting up with my business partner, R, on Sunday after church. We are going to meet somewhere for a nice Sunday lunch after church -- sans the children, hers and mine. We are going to finish writing up the contract and looking over our Web designer's contract and hopefully, we will pay the deposit Monday and the site will actually be ... being developed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2990189139514540800?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2990189139514540800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2990189139514540800' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2990189139514540800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2990189139514540800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/18-chocolate-cake-ice-cold-milk.html' title='18: Chocolate cake, ice-cold milk.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-532057092258722502</id><published>2008-09-17T19:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T20:56:32.217-04:00</updated><title type='text'>17: I hurt.</title><content type='html'>"How is it that my legs and back are this sore after just a three-mile walk?!" I asked my husband over a piping hot plate of lasagna he had just served up. Yum. There is nothing better than a hot plate of lasagna -- when you haven't had to slave over it and cook it yourself. (Hubby gets brownie points today.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my friend, J, and I have been walking three times a week. Yesterday, we pushed ourselves and did three miles. I know it doesn't sound like much, but in this stuffy, Florida heat, it is a lot. I am just so sore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I remembered that *other* little workout I had last night. "Oh yeah," I said to hubby. "Maybe it wasn't the walk after all. Maybe, it was that uh... other workout ... the, uh, jog we went on."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He just smiled. And the kids had no clue what we were really talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How long will that last, though? I feel like --any day now -- I am going to wake up and have teenagers. And, that makes me sad. Well, I'm torn. On one hand, I cannot wait for them to all be out of diapers. On the other, can't I just freeze them at a perfect age?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, hubby and I were chatting. "We're done, right?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yes!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, we were talking about kids, okay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You don't want just one more?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," he said quickly. "I miss sleeping."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He seemed fine, but I was torn and sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, when he saw me looking sad, he sad "If you want another one in eight years, we can do it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really?!" And I smiled. And then I said, "No. We are really done."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just know that we are. I knew I was going to have four children a long time ago. It makes me want to cry and smile at the same time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-532057092258722502?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/532057092258722502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=532057092258722502' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/532057092258722502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/532057092258722502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/17-i-hurt.html' title='17: I hurt.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8825200630147668428</id><published>2008-09-16T20:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T21:17:40.911-04:00</updated><title type='text'>16: Sticky syrup and the little things in life.</title><content type='html'>I have spent the last fews days becoming addicted to facebook. I have found about 40 people I know well and have reconnected. I love facebook for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today was a wonderful day of off work for me. I used one of my "free" holidays from work and took the day off so that hubby could take care of some business. That business was bright and early -- 7 a.m. So, he took off before the sun came up, and I bravely prepared all of the kids for all of their days -- if you are a mom, then you know what I mean when I say: what work!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I managed to lie back down for a brief moment as both 2-year-old E and 6-month-old R slept. It was indeed a brief moment, and then my phone rang. An in-law. "No, he's not home. Yes, you did wake me up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And with that, baby R was wide awake. But, my hubby was just around the corner. We had delicious plans to go to have a date -- with both children in tow -- at Cracker Barrel. Yum. I wanted the French toast, cheese grits and an ice-cold Coke. The waitress was ... brand-new, I think. We were confused, but she was more confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying not to spend too much money -- you know, because if the ridiculous amount of money I just spent on gas. And so she helped me work out some kind of plan. I ordered everything separately -- but in smaller portions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The food was hot, and the Coke was freezing Cold. I loved the caffeine at that moment. But, I loved my hubby's company even more. We had a wonderful two hours -- chatting about his full morning; about kids; about homes; about money; about how long we have been together. I say 12 years; but he swears 11. Unfortunately, I lost the argument, and he was right. It has been 11 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the waitress handed my hubby the check, I asked to see it the way I always do. I like to know how the money is being spent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:&lt;br /&gt;• "How much for cheese?"&lt;br /&gt;• "Uh, I don't think so. She said just .50, not $1."&lt;br /&gt;• "How much did I just pay for half the amount of food I usually get ... like double?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, with my waitress' help, I had just managed to pay almost $10 for a meal I usually pay just about $6 for ... because we had rang up smaller portions, but separately."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please, tell me how that makes any sense. Well, the manager took care of the issue right away. I still don't like the idea of paying $1 for cheese that I am going to put into a $2 bowl of grits. No way. Okay, whatever. I was just glad that I was paying attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of paying attention, on my way out the door, I was carrying a baby carrier with my very heavy 6-month-old in it. Honestly, I didn't realize how heavy this child was because my hubby always does all of the carrying. I was struggling so hard, with the baby in one hand and my to-go Coke in the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get to the front door when a group of women are just standing there, smiling at my baby. Okay, I am thinking, these nice ladies are going to open this really heavy door for struggling me. Nope. They just smiled and watched as I pulled that heavy door open, and as I did, my Coke slipped from my hand and it was down the front of my shirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a hot, sticky mess. But the worst part: we had to go to Wal Mart to pick up some baby formula. We were out, like right now. So, yuck, I had to sit in that sticky mess for about another hour until after we picked the kids up from school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess some people don't pay attention, I don't know. But, I think you should always go out of your way to help another human being who is struggling. Always. We need to give to each other in every way we can -- even in the small ways. That small thing could make the difference of a woman having to spend the next hour of her life covered in sticky syrup -- but, you know, just in that area. (I know, really nice!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't care; thats' how I feel. And in my opinion, that's just the way it should be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good night, and enjoy your day tomorrow! Let me know how it goes, okay?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8825200630147668428?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8825200630147668428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8825200630147668428' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8825200630147668428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8825200630147668428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/16-my-day-off-sticky-syrup-and-small.html' title='16: Sticky syrup and the little things in life.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-9165571962928170856</id><published>2008-09-16T08:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T08:38:05.877-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Marjorie...&lt;br /&gt;What's going on with Melissa? Can you e-mail me her cell number? I lost it awhile back when I changed phones. I want to call and check on her:-) You can e-mail it to suzyarichardson@gmail.com. Thanks so much!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and this is not my daily post, everyone:-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-9165571962928170856?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9165571962928170856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=9165571962928170856' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/9165571962928170856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/9165571962928170856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/marjorie.html' title=''/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2888511834647034322</id><published>2008-09-15T19:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T20:04:33.272-04:00</updated><title type='text'>15: Two words you NEVER want to hear...</title><content type='html'>...in a grocery store line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm baffled. Why do people -- employees -- say the craziest things in front of customers? I wonder if it's because they become numb to us. There are so many of us, that they just don't realize that we are standing there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was standing with my daughter as the cashier was scanning the few items I picked up for dinner -- some chicken and pasta salad -- when the bagger said this thing. I swear, my eyes must have bulged out of my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I have an intrinsic mom quality about me. Yes, that happens when you have four children. "Oh, honey. It will be okay. Just close your eyes and imagine you are somewhere else. Believe me, I have four kids."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes." And before I knew it, my groceries were in my green Publix bag (yay! for me, remembering my bag!) and we were walking away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good luck with that," I said. "You know, the baby."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are dying to know the two words right? Brace yourselves:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vaginal probe! (She was talking about her upcoming first ultrasound.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow! I don't think I've ever heard that one before. I've had one before, but I've never really talked about it -- so openly. She was young -- a first-time mom. So, I felt for her. I don't know, maybe she just felt overly comfortable with me. Or maybe she forgot that she was bagging a strange woman's groceries who did not really need to hear those two words right before dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not the only one, am I? You have a grocery-story story yourself, don't you? I mean, I can't be the only one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2888511834647034322?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2888511834647034322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2888511834647034322' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2888511834647034322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2888511834647034322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/15-two-words-you-never-want-to-hear.html' title='15: Two words you NEVER want to hear...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5458947995209702204</id><published>2008-09-14T19:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T19:59:04.556-04:00</updated><title type='text'>14: Running Away</title><content type='html'>Today, I jumped in the mom van and ran away from my mom life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all began just after 3 p.m. My 10-year-old had begged me to join the Boy Scouts and I reluctantly took him along with my 7-year-old and 2-year-old. (I didn't reluctantly take the older ones; I reluctantly took the 2-year-old.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, he begged. "I wanna go! Momma! I wanna go! Momma. Please! I wanna go!" As soon as I gave him the nod, he was dressing himself. The meeting was at our favorite local park, Kanapaha Park, which I knew would be scorching hot, so my hubby opted to stay home with the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as we arrived, I knew I had made the number one mom mistake. I had assumed. (Why?! Why?! Did I assume ... haven't I already learned that lesson?) I had assumed that -- considering the heat -- there would be some kind of cold drinks provided.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know better than to assume, so I was kicking myself when we walked up to a small crowd sitting at a picnic table sans the refreshments. I knew I should have had water for all my kiddies, but I was in such a rush to get them out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 2-year-old (we'll call him E) spotted a cooler at the next table over ... an ice-filled cooler and about 20 guys from a University of Florida fraternity. Real nice, son. But, that's where he wanted to be the entire. time. They had soccer balls, food and drinks; what did he need with the Boys Scouts table?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first full hour was a fight. I kept chasing him over there; and dragging him back to our little table. At one point, he was screaming all the way back "I wannna play, momma! I waaannnaaa plaaay!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fine. But, you can't play with them!" I sternly said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My final solution -- and as I was on the verge of tears -- was the toddler swing. He loved it so much that he absolutely refused to get out as the meeting ended. "Time to go, E!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, momma, no! I don't wanna go!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then he went limp. So, there I was, trying to pry him out of that swing (you know, the kind pictured below.) My oldest son was holding the swing, my daughter was pulling his legs out and I was pulling as hard as I possibly could. The first three times, we all failed. And, finally, I pulled with all my might when he practically flew out of the swing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SM2kEvaiMoI/AAAAAAAAAG4/TyCA-znxN7U/s1600-h/Toddler+Swing+Silhouette.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SM2kEvaiMoI/AAAAAAAAAG4/TyCA-znxN7U/s200/Toddler+Swing+Silhouette.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246029542310687362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was beet-red, sweat -- and tears -- dripping from my face. Thank God for sunglasses! I grabbed his fat, little hand and pulled him, as he fought the entire way. I was sure that everyone was watching me just fall apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This has been the worst two hours of my life!" I shouted as we got in the van. The two older kids remained quiet. I pulled up to the driveway. "Everyone out!" I was hysterical. I dropped them off with hubby, and peeled out of the driveway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was determined to run away ... all the way to the Publix parking lot. I sat in my air conditioned van and just sobbed. I called a friend in Ohio, who has six kids. "She can help me," I thought. But this is all I got when I called: "Not taking incoming calls. Call at a later time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No! This has to be a mistake. Her phone never does that. I called like 10 times in a row, and finally, I gave up. I wanted to go ... I don't know ... grab a drink or something. (Yeah, I always say it, but never do it.) I sobbed and sobbed some more, until finally, I sat there quietly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was no more fight in me. I was done. I knew my mommy instincts kicked in the moment I thought "I wonder what kind of sales they have today." And, I was off. 30 minutes later, I was pulling into our driveway with a trunk full of groceries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even bought ice cream -- my way of making everything better, I guess. I felt bad for yelling in the van. As soon as I walked in the door, my 2-year-old screamed. "MOMMY! YAY! MOMMY HOME!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 2-year-old is the one who can drive me to run away (okay, I guess we can't really call that running away.) But, he's also the one who makes me want to run to him when I walk in the door. Oh, that boy. What am I going to do with him? I'm sure there will be many more tears. But, I'm also sure there will be more laughs than tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that -- no, he -- will always bring me home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-5458947995209702204?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5458947995209702204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=5458947995209702204' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5458947995209702204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5458947995209702204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/14-running-away.html' title='14: Running Away'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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/_O6IXbsGH_r4/SM2kEvaiMoI/AAAAAAAAAG4/TyCA-znxN7U/s72-c/Toddler+Swing+Silhouette.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1831186215923316076</id><published>2008-09-13T21:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T22:03:26.471-04:00</updated><title type='text'>13:</title><content type='html'>Last night, I could not sleep. I spent a few hours talking to the promoter for my launch party, and when I got home, I felt like I could jump out of my skin! We had so many ideas and it just makes so much sense to do this thing. I love it when things fall into place so smoothly. I pray that the entire project will be this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, my 2-year-old tugged on my blanket. "Mommy. I want to go."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh. It was not even 7 a.m. I swear, I don't ever get any sleep. (Welcome to motherhood, Suzy.) So, needless to say, I was up way too early for a Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of sleeping in the way my body so desperately wanted to, my husband and I got up, got dressed and headed to the local park, where the local gym was hosting a family fun fitness day. My hubby was pushing the double stroller and I was walking hand-in-hand with my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 2-year-old, though, was only going to be strapped in for moments. As soon as he spotted the bounce house, he was struggling to escape. I spent the entire time trying to stop him from stealing other kids' toys and from cutting in every single line for every single event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was so much work! Just when I wanted to cry and turn him over to daddy, he grabbed my hand and said "Let's go, mommy." He had his big, brown eyes on the snow cone line. "Oh man, this is not going to be good," I thought -- out loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got lucky and the line moved really fast. I was exhausted as we sat down on the basketball court. He had orange, sticky, snow cone juice all over him. He polished off that snow cone in about five minutes. I enjoyed that five minutes because we were just ... together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is good, momma," he kept saying. "I like. Tank you, momma."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what I like? Just sitting with my kids, and simply enjoying being with them. And why is it that when we feel like we can take no more of them, they do something to make us want more and more of them? Oh, I love my kids, sticky hands and all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1831186215923316076?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1831186215923316076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1831186215923316076' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1831186215923316076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1831186215923316076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/13.html' title='13:'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-7234698158889124442</id><published>2008-09-12T21:04:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T21:13:53.935-04:00</updated><title type='text'>12: Doing my thing!</title><content type='html'>I'd like to tell all of my moms about a very exciting event that is coming up, although I can not give you a specific date right now. (But, that should come this week when I talk to my Web designer.) I am partnering with a good friend of mine to launch a Web site for moms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are going to host a launch party that will take place at a Gainesville, Florida venue. But, for moms who are not local, we will have a Web cam at the launch party. The purpose of the launch party is to unveil the function of the new Web site for moms. I can say this much: the site will be a huge resource to moms in its function.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We will give door prizes to both local and online guests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This unveiling event is set to take place in January -- I wanted to give you a heads-up beginning now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are interested in coming to the event -- or in more details -- (online or in person), please e-mail me at themomblog@gmail.com.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-7234698158889124442?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7234698158889124442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=7234698158889124442' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7234698158889124442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/7234698158889124442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/12-getting-ready-to-launch.html' title='12: Doing my thing!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1131780182758490016</id><published>2008-09-11T21:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T22:12:21.128-04:00</updated><title type='text'>11: September 11</title><content type='html'>***I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU***&lt;br /&gt;Before I write about one of the saddest days in our nation's history, I want to hear from everyone on the gas situation. I just heard that gas is going to shoot up to more than $5/gallon tomorrow. Is this affecting everyone? What about where you are at?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting how my Day 11 fell on this day -- September 11th. I remember that I was in an 8:30 a.m. journalism class at the University of Florida (with Professor Julie Dodd), when "September 11" began. As we were all sitting in class -- yawning, most of the class mostly sleepy still -- people were jumping from burning buildings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the corridors of J-school at UF, there are TVs that continuously flash news from around the world. I saw a group of students hovering over those televisions and I was curious. I walked over to the Reitz Union to grab a breakfast biscuit from Wendy's, and I sat in front of a TV, where I saw Peter Jennings on a handful of televisions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat at a small table for two -- my backpack occupying the seat in front of me -- when I saw the burning buildings. I think it was then that I began to realize that this thing that was happening to our nation was a BIG deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was riding the bus back to my car in the commuter lot, I tucked my sandwich in my pink backpack. I was furiously calling friends, and really had no time for my now-almost cold biscuit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called a girlfriend, who told me that everyone in her office at work was stopped in their tracks, standing around the TV in their break room because there was "some crazy stuff going on in New York." I immediatley called my best friend, Ashley, and we talked about what was happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home to my little one bedroom and hit record on the VCR. We hung up with each other and called a slew of our friends -- many of them were still sleeping. I sat back and listened to Peter, with Ashley on the phone again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stayed with each other -- via phone -- for hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried as I watched. I was so shaken. I felt like the entire earth had just been shaken. You know what? I believe it had been. My heart just ached. I honestly have to say that I was never again the same. That day forever changed me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today at work, we had a moment of silence at 4 p.m. I closed my eyes and said a prayer for the families who will always hurt -- even when it's not 9/11. But, just knowing that there was extra pain on this day, caused me pain. Man, it's so sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'll always remember where I was on that day -- on 9/11. And I'll always remember that I spent that day with Peter Jennings -- who has, too, sadly now passed -- and my children, who were babies at the time. So, where were you on that day?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1131780182758490016?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1131780182758490016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1131780182758490016' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1131780182758490016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1131780182758490016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/11-september-11.html' title='11: September 11'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8910342488514897648</id><published>2008-09-10T20:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T20:55:31.614-04:00</updated><title type='text'>10: Cold wind in my face</title><content type='html'>You know how it feels when you are riding in the car and it is freezing outside, and you roll down the window and let the cold, crisp air hit your face for a little while?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when you finally get out the car, your face feels hot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that is how I feel right now -- having just hung up from my 8:00 conference call with my business partner and our Web designer. It's like a cold, exhilarating rush hit me; and then, as I peered in the mirror, I saw that my cheeks were bright red, my pulse was racing, and I could barely contain myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We're doing this!" I said to my business partner, R. "We're really doing this!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Web designer is awesome. She lives in Jacksonville and has designed some of the top mom sites across the country. We chatted for about 30 minutes. We gave her a list of the items that we needed for the site; the vision; the look and the feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's so exciting is that the image of this site is crisp in my mind. I just bought the domain. I couldn't believe it was available for under $10. It is such a great domain. Okay, can you see the excitement dripping from my words?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, for those of you who are local, we are going to host a launch party and the whole nine! Yippee! Although, some of my favorite readers are not local. I wish there was a way to involve everyone in the launch party. However, the site is NOT local, which means everyone can be a part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I poured my heart and soul into another man's business when I grew gainesvillemoms.com the way I did. I was so dedicated to that site, and poof! It has disappeared. That is what I am thrilled to be doing my own thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhhh ... there's that cold/hot feeling again ... the feeling of exhilaration. And I can't wait to bring you guys with me. Some of you have actually been with me for how long? More than five years, I think!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and NOT going private, per some very specific requests!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8910342488514897648?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8910342488514897648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8910342488514897648' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8910342488514897648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8910342488514897648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/10-cold-wind-in-my-face.html' title='10: Cold wind in my face'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1107077660633113140</id><published>2008-09-09T20:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T21:03:32.164-04:00</updated><title type='text'>9: Running on empty</title><content type='html'>I had the looooongest day ever at work. I basically spent the entire day formatting a spreadsheet for one of my annual directories, which is ginormous. Ugh! It was lots of work and everything was messed up ... until I spent almost eight hours perfecting it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, just before lunch time, my friend (a co-worker) e-mailed me. "Wanna do lunch?" Well, a bunch of people were heading over to Bento's. I didn't even bother to check my wallet. (Side note: my hubby and I are trying desperately to get out of debt, so we are on strict allowances and I spent all my money a week ago!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I passed. I came home and ate a biscuit. (I know, random.) I guess I was kind of moping. I spent the rest of my break in front of the computer, checking e-mails, getting annoyed at the newspaper who I used to blog for because they REFUSE to take my picture down from their Web site.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you believe it? They flat out refused. "We'll take it down when we are ready to."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so fuming mad that I called a lawyer. (That's another story for another day.) Okay, I'll give you details tomorrow. Yeah, it's been a huge mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had plans to go work out with a girlfriend after work when my hubby called -- he needed to go do something, possibly job related, this evening. So, I came home to a house full of screaming babies and I just felt like I was on Empty, with a capital E! I plopped down on the couch just before my hubby left me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He walked out the door and the baby began screaming. He was hungry and sleepy. But, he was too sleepy to want to eat. Nice. Meanwhile, my son was asking me how to do his homework. And my daughter was begging me to let her join Girl Scouts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I put the baby to bed, when I hear my oldest son ... "Moooooom!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found him in the kitchen, looking straight up. There was water gushing from the ceiling, which is right beneath the upstairs bathroom. "Are you serious?!?!?!?" No, No, No. I can't do this. I was seriously about to cry the river that had swallowed my kitchen floor. The floor was drenched, baby was crying, and my naked 2-year-old had escaped from the bath tub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called the emergency plumber guy, and guess what? The guy still has not shown. But, ahhhh, you know who just walked in the door? My wonderful hubby. Instant relief!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What are you doing on the computer?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am blogging!" I snapped at him. "And I might be dying."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My neck still hurts. What if I have that thing my sister had? What if something is really wrong with me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(For those who don't know, my little sister died after she contracted encephalitis, and her first symptom was headache/neck pain.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, ever since she died -- so suddenly and so unfairly -- death is a reality to me. It has become my biggest fear. Not because of what will happen to me, but because I cannot imagine life without ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, without the screaming baby, and the naked 2-year-old (with bubbles on his butt), and that busted pipe that comes at the wrong moment and all of the craziness that is my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(God, thank you for all of it, even when I feel like I am running on empty. Because in the end, those are the things that actually fill me up. Those things and ... you. Thank you, God, for all of it. Even for that puddle in the middle of my kitchen floor. You know, the one I am going to refuse to clean up tonight? Yeah, you know. Because you know me so well.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1107077660633113140?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1107077660633113140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1107077660633113140' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1107077660633113140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1107077660633113140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/9-running-on-empty.html' title='9: Running on empty'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8493685691361899422</id><published>2008-09-08T20:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T20:10:43.024-04:00</updated><title type='text'>8:  Public or private?</title><content type='html'>So, I talked to my Web designer, and she wants to have a conference call -- me, R and her. We are setting it up to take place within the next couple of days. I'm so excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, my hubby has been home with the baby for five lonnnnng months (he will tell you.) He is trying to figure out what he's going to do, because he does not want to go back into retail. I am just supporting him, and thanking God that I have someone who can be home with the children 24/7 -- two of them would cost an arm and a leg in daycare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we have been looking at some different options, and I am really excited for him. He is super frustrated, but I am super excited because I know that something awesome is going to happen for him very soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what else I am thinking?! I am thinking about taking this blog private, so I can blog like I used to be able to. What do you think?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8493685691361899422?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8493685691361899422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8493685691361899422' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8493685691361899422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8493685691361899422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/8-public-or-private.html' title='8:  Public or private?'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-6264720619713142331</id><published>2008-09-07T22:02:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T22:12:35.453-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 7: Excitement in the air!</title><content type='html'>So, my neck still hurts. But, it feels much better. A little bit of Ibuprofen and some Tylenol PM to get me through the night, and I am feeling about 80 percent better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was the perfect Sunday, although I wish we could have made it to church -- that is a whole other issue in itself. (We can't seem to agree on one place that is right for us ... but I'll talk about that later.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the day perfecting my little humble abode. Everything is where it belongs, and that is such a peaceful feeling. I get really, really stressed out when things are randomly everywhere. I like order. (But, in my own timing.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my friend, R, came over tonight for dinner. But, what is really exciting is that R is my soon-to-be business partner! We will be launching our Web site hopefully by January 1.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story is that I had been praying and praying about what I was supposed to do online. I connected with so many women through my blog and through gainesvillemoms.com. But, I was really turned off by what "Corporate America" turned all of my efforts into. It was like they took the "heart" out of what I was doing, and I could no longer do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've known for more than 2 years now that I am supposed to do my own thing. And so I prayed and I played around with a slew of ideas. And just recently, when I walked away from gainesvillemoms.com, I had the strangest peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew instantly why: "You are supposed to do your own thing," this little voice was telling me. But, I was stuck. I couldn't do anything. I felt like I could not move. And I prayed for God to send me someone who could help me. I felt like I was supposed to wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, R e-mails me a few days after I started praying, asking God to help guide me. "I was sitting on the couch when I heard this voice say to me ... You are supposed to start a Web site with Suzy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got the e-mail and almost fell out of my chair. The timing was just so perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that leads us to tonight, where -- over Spaghetti -- my very good friend and I talked about our vision for the Web site. I must tell you, I am so excited. Finally, I am going to make this happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally! I will keep you all posted, but our plan is to launch Jan. 1!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-6264720619713142331?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6264720619713142331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=6264720619713142331' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6264720619713142331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6264720619713142331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/day-7-excitement-in-air.html' title='Day 7: Excitement in the air!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5220617557809250283</id><published>2008-09-06T22:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T22:16:14.472-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 6: Glorious morning to myself!</title><content type='html'>Last night, I was unable to get any drugs. (That sounds so bad, doesn't it?) So, because my neck was hurting so much! and I just wanted to be put out of my misery, I took two Tylenol PMs and called it a night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But before I knew it, the sky was turning light outside, and the kids were stirring. I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed. "What time is it?" I asked my hubby. I was so sleepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Yep. I knew it. It was not even 8 a.m.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, he had a nice little surprise for me. (Today was game day in Gainesville.) And anyone who has been in Gainesville on game day knows that the entire city goes mad. ESPN was coming in town -- they'd be at the stadium -- and my hubby decided he's take the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of the kids! All FOUR of the kids!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this only after he cooked breakfast -- good old-fashioned cheese grits, scrambled eggs and the best biscuits ever. As he was getting the kids ready, I decided that I would play a little joke on him. Well, he knows that I hate when he wears his University of Miami jersey. I am a Gator girl -- grew up in Gainesville and graduated from UF. So, when he dons that hideous green and orange jersey, I hang my head in shame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I hid his jersey and (ick) matching hat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If I don't find my jersey and hat, we're just going to stay home," he said loudly, making sure that I heard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of a sudden, visions of my looooong, quiet morning flashed before my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And without skipping a beat, I said "Oh, the jersey. It's right here. Along with the hat. Now, do you have everything you need?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so bad. I couldn't get them out the door fast enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, he got to wear his ugly orange and green jersey and I got three full hours to myself. There you have it -- everyone wins! We're sitting up watching the Gator/Miami game now. My boys better win this one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you tomorrow!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-5220617557809250283?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5220617557809250283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=5220617557809250283' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5220617557809250283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5220617557809250283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/day-6-glorious-morning-to-myself.html' title='Day 6: Glorious morning to myself!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5354668365140690214</id><published>2008-09-05T19:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T19:32:56.506-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 5: Ouch (times a million!)</title><content type='html'>Om. My. Gosh! I can barely even do anything right now, including type. I have never pulled a muscle in my neck like this. It is ridiculous. So, ofcourse, it's the weekend and I refuse to go to the ER. A good friend of mine is actually my doctor, so I have placed a very urgent call to her home and cell phone:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh ... call me back now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must go lie down now! (Hopefully, when I come back, I will be feeling much better ... either naturally or chemically.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pain, pain go away!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-5354668365140690214?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5354668365140690214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=5354668365140690214' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5354668365140690214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/5354668365140690214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/day-5-ouch-times-million.html' title='Day 5: Ouch (times a million!)'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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-2008066227324198827.post-4072389790346787017</id><published>2008-09-04T20:34:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T20:35:19.112-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 4: Ouch.</title><content type='html'>Oh. My. Goodness. My neck is killing me (envision me -- typing and only able to look straight ahead.) So, this week, a girlfriend co-worker of mine and I decided that we would start walking 2-3 miles, 3 times a week. So, I have committed to do this thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turth is, I love it. I love having time to just chit-chat; it really is nice. We walk down the main road -- a straight shot -- and all the way down to this little horse ranch, and once we hit that, we turn around. So, we're walking and chatting; chatting and walking when ... hmmm, I have this little ache in my neck. As we near the horse ranch, my neck is throbbing and I cannot even turn my neck. (I mean, I could but it was painful!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, as it turns out, I came home on my lunch break and took a cat nap before going back to work. 20 minutes never felt so good on my mind; but on my neck, those 20 minutes are now hurting me. I must have slept the wrong way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, you can imagine my hubby, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me, saying: "Hey honey," I'm home from my walk."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, he responding: "What did you do to yourself?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the answer is: I don't know. But, it hurts. Andone have this happen before? Advice welcome!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-4072389790346787017?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4072389790346787017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=4072389790346787017' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4072389790346787017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4072389790346787017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/ouch.html' title='Day 4: Ouch.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-975735806828224220</id><published>2008-09-03T19:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T19:58:28.726-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 3: My day at the, um, spa ...</title><content type='html'>Oh. yes. If you read my last post (um, wow.) then, you know that I was an uber-tired woman when I attempted to write it. The truth is, I may have already been asleep. I was, indeed, delirious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today, I sit here rather refreshed. I was so exhausted at work today. (You know that I could start every post with that line, right?) At 3:45, I wrapped up all my work and bolted for my 4-o'clock appointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made it to the office at 3:55. The office smelled yummy--the scent of a rich, Old Yankee candle filled the room. An older woman showed me to my little area, where I sat back in a warm chair that massaged my every ache. There were two murals of water and palm trees in the quiet, clean little room. And I just closed my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a distance, I could hear swooshing sounds. (Yes, know I am at the beach.) "How are you?" a petite, blonde woman asked me. She had the most perfect teeth I had ever seen. We talked about kids -- she has a little girl, and I ... well, you know the story ... I have four!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost 30 minutes later, I kind of frantically awoke. (Oh. Oops! I totally didn't mean to fall asleep.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was wondering, had I played that off? I only nodded off for a moment, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're so relaxed," the woman said to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, please. I am great! This has been like a day at the spa. I even got a little cat nap in. You do know I have four kids right? I have to get my rest in when I can."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both women laughed hysterically, and I felt like a new woman. I finally got that filling I needed, and I got to take a nap all at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are such a great patient," the petite blonde--my dentist--said to me, as she walked me to the front.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-975735806828224220?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/975735806828224220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=975735806828224220' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/975735806828224220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/975735806828224220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-day-at-um-spa.html' title='Day 3: My day at the, um, spa ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-2614825783119954076</id><published>2008-09-02T21:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T21:56:06.365-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 2: I think I'm delirious!</title><content type='html'>Yes, I am feeling a little delirious! Today was a huge and busy day at work. But, I wasn't that tired until after 6 p.m., when I decided to start. Yes, I made myself begin exercising again. I just can't take it. As it stands right now, my body hurts so much!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In fact, I had to get back out of bed to blog something today. That's it for today, since I am hurting! See you tomorrow!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-2614825783119954076?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2614825783119954076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=2614825783119954076' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2614825783119954076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/2614825783119954076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/day-2-i-think-im-delirious.html' title='Day 2: I think I&apos;m delirious!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-1651684876743040376</id><published>2008-09-01T19:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T20:24:20.129-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 1: Labor Day weekend!</title><content type='html'>was everything that it is supposed to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent Friday night and Saturday just hanging out ... doing much of nothing, lots of very refreshing cleaning. I finally put my pictures up in the new place. On Sunday morning, we all rushed out to church to meet my friend, Mary, whose new little boy, Jack, was being dedicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made it just in time. (Well, we would have been on time.) However, the child care department was trying something new (and computerized, yippee!) But, when you put a 10-year-old in front of the computer, you get a 20-minute, very frustrating "check in."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3141/2819018379_9a82cd6d8e_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3141/2819018379_9a82cd6d8e_m.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3171/2818973337_e3f6627a7f_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Baby R and Baby J following the dedication. Oh, what a hard day! Lots of food, lots of kids, lots of fun.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made it through the sanctuary doors and saw everyone praying over the baby. Man! We were late! Instead of being annoyed, I simply joined in the prayer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During church, I felt like I would pass out. I had forgotten to eat -- yeah, that happens a lot when you have little ones constantly nipping at your heels. I knew there was a Coke machine around the corner, and so I scrounged up some lonely change from the bottom of my purse and gave my hubby that look. "Come with me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, he did. The heat was stifling as we sat, together, at the shaded picnic table. With an ice-cold Pepsi in my hand, we chatted about random past events -- when he first knew I would be his wife (he says there was a very specific dream); when we first met that morning over (my) pancakes; how we couldn't believe that we had four children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We should have been back in church within minutes. Instead, I slowly enjoyed that ice-cold drink. But, even more than that -- I enjoyed my husband's company. (When there are four children nipping at your heels, the alone time is a rarity.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today -- Labor Day -- my hubby grilled some burgers and dogs. I made some sides. And we headed to the pool, which is just feet from my doorstep. (What a luxury for a Florida girl like myself.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this is day one of my year-long journey. I'm so glad to be starting this up again. I had already started my year-long journey when I had, uh,  (insert the name of a person I used to work with) shut it down. So, now we're here and I am more determined than ever to blog for a year straight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we go ... with no strings attached. Woo hoo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-1651684876743040376?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1651684876743040376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=1651684876743040376' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1651684876743040376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/1651684876743040376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/labor-day-weekend.html' title='Day 1: Labor Day weekend!'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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://farm4.static.flickr.com/3141/2819018379_9a82cd6d8e_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-8862546065604186810</id><published>2008-08-27T21:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T21:26:25.060-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Blech.</title><content type='html'>I am just so drained. It started around noon yesterday at work. I had a HUGE deadline I had to meet by 5 p.m. and I began feeling nauseous. You can push through this, I kept telling myself. But, my body was denying me that delicacy. I just crashed. I couldn't turn  my head without feeling dizzy. I was feverish. I found that cold, dark and quiet room where I used to (breast) pump and I laid down for about 30 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had one tiny section left. One tiny section -- the last part of the magazine -- and my deadline would have been met. Instead, I felt like I was going to fall over. Finally, I had to throw in the towel. I couldn't physically deal. I called my hubby, and he came to pick me up. I came home and slept for about 16 hours -- waking up only to throw up, ick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I dragged myself out of bed and went in for a half day -- I finished my two deadlines miraculously and then -- at lunch time -- I headed home. You can imagine my delight when I come home and find my 2-year-old throwing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, lots of fun in the Richardson household lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good news is I feel better than worse, although not great. I'll be back tomorrow:-) And, hopefully feeling much better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-8862546065604186810?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8862546065604186810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=8862546065604186810' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8862546065604186810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/8862546065604186810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/blech.html' title='Blech.'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-4101359369651013993</id><published>2008-08-26T23:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T00:00:13.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Headache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Throwing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Body hurting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bed is calling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Have some soup-and-Gatorade thoughts for me. Ouch)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-4101359369651013993?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4101359369651013993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=4101359369651013993' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4101359369651013993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/4101359369651013993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/headache.html' title=''/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-6403815134350627386</id><published>2008-08-24T12:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T12:42:01.169-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Like Johnny and June</title><content type='html'>Hey guys!&lt;br /&gt;(Do you feel the refreshing breeze in here?) Ahhh ... it's called being free and happy. I was uber thrilled to see you guys here! Wow, that makes me feel great. So, it's Sunday morning and I've bailed on church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shouldn't really say that I bailed. Just that I woke up with cramps (blech!) And my hubby looks at the time and says to me "Okay. We need to get moving. You have exactly 30 minutes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His words hurt my aching body. Did he just say "get moving?" And then, my body rebelled. (I can blame it on my baby-producing body, can't I) There was zero energy to do anything. And the thought of finding a clean outfit ... draining!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here I am on my blog -- skipping church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all good. I took my dog, Gator, to the park and talked to God the entire time. Now, that's church. Some of my favorite moments with God are our times alone -- no music, no people, no distractions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I didn't go to the building today, but I did have church:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more thing: What's this about continuing the year-long blog? Are you guys actually crazy enough to want to read 365 days of (mostly crazy) life? If you are, let me know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, two more things: I've been listening to this song today that I just L-O-V-E! I swear, this would have been my wedding song if it had been out then. I love it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here you go. (Johnny and June, by Heidi Newfield.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh there's something 'bout a man in black, Makes me want to buy a Cadillac ...&lt;br /&gt;Throw the top back, And roll down to Jackson town ... I wanna be there on the stage with you ... I wanna love like Johnny and June, Rings of fire burnin' with you, I wanna walk the line, Walk the line, 'Till the end of time ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you go to playlist.com and type in "Johnny and June," you can hear it. (The song had me at "throw the top back.")&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-6403815134350627386?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6403815134350627386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=6403815134350627386' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6403815134350627386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/6403815134350627386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/like-johnny-and-june.html' title='Like Johnny and June'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-3146584491846032153</id><published>2008-08-22T18:52:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T21:01:46.872-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Here we go ...</title><content type='html'>If you have made it this far with me, thank you thank you thank you, for sticking with me for this long. Many of my readers know me by a personal blog that I began about five years ago. And the others know me from the professional blog I launched for the Gainesville Sun -- their first parenting blog -- also called The Mom Blog.  So, here we are. I am anxious to hear who's with me. Well ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and please feel free to leave your link (fellow bloggers) so that I can add you to my blog roll!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2008066227324198827-3146584491846032153?l=suzysmomblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3146584491846032153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2008066227324198827&amp;postID=3146584491846032153' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3146584491846032153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2008066227324198827/posts/default/3146584491846032153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://suzysmomblog.blogspot.com/2008/08/first-blog-welcome.html' title='Here we go ...'/><author><name>Suzy A. Richardson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481</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>12</thr:total></entry></feed>
