<?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-5888434</id><updated>2011-04-21T14:49:45.627-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mom to the screaming masses</title><subtitle type='html'>The nutso ramblings of the Mom of a big family.  Authored by Carmen, mom to six, so far, and step mom to three.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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>253</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-110043552186771294</id><published>2004-11-14T07:23:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-14T07:34:25.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  How I (innocently) got revenge on The Hubster

I'm not posting on this site anymore, but I entered a contest entitled "Carnival of the Kids"  with the entry below, and it was on this site.  If you get here by COTK, and you want the link to my new blog, let me know in the comment section.  This is a repost of an old entry.

My van is, well, lived in. Well lived in would be a better </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/110043552186771294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/110043552186771294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#110043552186771294' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-110043546456856096</id><published>2004-11-14T07:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-14T07:31:04.570-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  How I (innocently) got revenge on The Hubster

I'm not posting on this site anymore, but I entered a contest entitled "Carnival of the Kids"  with the entry below, and it was on this site.  If you get here by COTK, and you want the link to my new blog, let me know in the comment section.  This is a repost of an old entry.

My van is, well, lived in. Well lived in would be a better </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/110043546456856096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/110043546456856096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#110043546456856096' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109993013672641791</id><published>2004-11-08T11:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-08T11:52:24.580-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Stay tuned....
I'm moving my blog to a new location.  If you want the addy, email me or post your request here.  If I know you, I'll send you the new link.  I'm thinking about moveable type.  That way, I have access to blacklist. Anyone with experience with MT? Pros or cons?  Another server that awesome?  Let me know. 

Edited to add:  I think I've screwed up my comment section.  Wait a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109993013672641791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109993013672641791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109993013672641791' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109988023032082912</id><published>2004-11-07T13:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-07T21:17:26.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  
Before I had kids

Before I had kids, I thought I knew everything.  I had worked as a nanny for four years, after all.  I knew diapers, bottles, and strollers.  How much more was there to learn? 

I had no idea how much there was I didn't know.

Before I had kids I thought I knew a fair amount about numerous and varied subjects.  Now that I have kids, I never realized that I was such an</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109988023032082912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109988023032082912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109988023032082912' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109931456971406369</id><published>2004-11-01T07:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-01T08:09:47.420-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Anticipation and frustration

Unless you live under a rock, or in Japan or something, you know that yesterday was Halloween.  The Hubster has worked every single Halloween since we have had kids.  Every one.  I asked that he be off this year.  After all, it was a Sunday, and the 
dealership is supposed to only be open two Sundays a month.  Key word in that sentence is supposed.  About six </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109931456971406369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109931456971406369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109931456971406369' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109923817481542071</id><published>2004-10-31T10:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-31T10:56:26.193-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A funny from a while ago......

Reading a story about a black mother who was asked by a visiting child if the mother made chocolate milk (while she was breastfeeding the baby) reminded me of a funny story that happened to us, after the birth of Emma.  
 
We have friends who struggle with infertility, and they were blessed to be chosen to adopt a baby.  The little girl came home to them a week</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109923817481542071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109923817481542071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109923817481542071' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109922338063247401</id><published>2004-10-31T05:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-31T06:49:50.480-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Daylight Savings Time

I wonder how many people were up at the butt crack of dawn this morning.  Mackenzie will do really well in a job that requires her to get up before the entire rest of the world.  And she's so flippin' cheerful about it too.  See the time stamp?  We've already been up, oh, 30 minutes..........
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</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109922338063247401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109922338063247401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109922338063247401' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109913991701773750</id><published>2004-10-29T22:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-30T08:38:49.506-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Friday Forum Meme 

Just for kicks:
1)Starting with your head down to your toes, what health/beauty products have you used/applied to your body so far today? [For example, shampoo, toothpaste, makeup, cologne/perfume, nail polish, etc.] Catwalk shampoo and conditioner, phisoderm face wash, olay regenerist serum - kind of a moisturizer, Crest Vanilla mint toothpaste, Lever soap, victoria's </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109913991701773750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109913991701773750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109913991701773750' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109908019774032203</id><published>2004-10-29T15:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T16:21:30.886-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Singing my brains out

Well, for my three readers, and you over there in the corner, sorry I’ve been so absent .  Baby Riley’s  been fighting sleep - apparently, she gave it up for Lent, a few months early.  Between the fact that she's got an ear infection in one ear, and a ruptured eardrum in the other,  and Allegra's asthma attack, I’ve been to the pediatrician’s office three times this week.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109908019774032203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109908019774032203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109908019774032203' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109884355722546656</id><published>2004-10-26T21:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-26T22:19:29.236-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Gabriel's birthday

So, I'm a day late.  So sue me.  I've had the Hubster home.  'nuff said.  

Yesterday was Gabe's birthday.  My little man is five.  I can't believe it.  FIVE.  

I was induced with him, due to being postdates.  His due date was calculated, with the help of my charts, as being October 11.  When I went for my 36 week check, I had an internal, because I ASKED FOR ONE.  I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109884355722546656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109884355722546656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109884355722546656' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109845722120440036</id><published>2004-10-22T10:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T11:30:21.896-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If only you were a better mother.....

There is a discussion board that I frequent, one I've been a member of for quite a while now, since right after G was born.  In fact, I'm coming up on my five year anniversary there.  I love it.  I love the topics of conversation, and I've made some of my best friends ever there.  Once a year, I try to make a trip to get together with some of the other </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109845722120440036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109845722120440036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109845722120440036' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109841299742119105</id><published>2004-10-21T22:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T10:31:10.860-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Personal faults

We've all got them.  My worst, I think, would have to be my insatiable need to always be right.  I have the hardest time recognizing that other people's opinions have some validity.  It's not always about me.

Case in point: take this weekend.  Please.  Just take it.  It was about 59 degrees when we were leaving for soccer on Saturday morning, with a forecasted high of 67. I</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109841299742119105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109841299742119105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109841299742119105' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109827532405863380</id><published>2004-10-20T08:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-20T08:30:04.813-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jeans

When I wear these low rise jeans, my first pair ever, I feel like I should have on suspenders. 

Note:  I am neither long nor lean, but I like these jeans.  Hey, a girl can dream, right???
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</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109827532405863380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109827532405863380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109827532405863380' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109823943294959089</id><published>2004-10-19T21:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-19T22:38:20.270-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The 40 hour day

Oh, my God.  I NEVER thought this day would come to an end.  Suffice to say, I hope I never have another like this.  It was such a spectacular day of horse manure that I'm actually having a drink, and most of you know that I rarely drink.  Kids woke up crabby and struggled to remain vertical. Everyone asked for oatmeal for breakfast - in particular, oatmeal "with cream, like </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109823943294959089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109823943294959089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109823943294959089' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109771635521517492</id><published>2004-10-13T21:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T21:13:45.490-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sweeties!

Aren't those two of the sweetest faces ever???
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</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109771635521517492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109771635521517492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109771635521517492' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109771557221518344</id><published>2004-10-13T20:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T20:59:32.216-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Updated shot of Emma in one of my favorite outfits </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109771557221518344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109771557221518344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109771557221518344' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109771550882716762</id><published>2004-10-13T20:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T20:58:28.826-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Updated shot of baby Riley </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109771550882716762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109771550882716762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109771550882716762' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109760312231665479</id><published>2004-10-12T13:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-12T13:47:25.143-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It's a pissy, pissy day

Didja ever have a day when every single thing just pisses you off no end? It started with my second, no, third meeting in three school days with the principal. My 7th grader is being bullied, big time.  Since the school has made it a huge deal that they are a no bullying, no wait, a NO BULLYING zone, I foolishly thought that something might be done.  There have been </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109760312231665479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109760312231665479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109760312231665479' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109742679456888316</id><published>2004-10-10T13:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-11T10:50:51.626-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> 
  
 We all encounter adversity in our lives. Once in a while, however, a crisis comes along that tests our ability to bounce back; we wonder whether this will be "it", the apocalyptic event that shatters our dreams and leaves us battered and broken. In most cases, however, we manage to dig deep enough to pull ourselves back up and emerge, if not better people, than at least less neurotic than</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109742679456888316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109742679456888316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109742679456888316' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109707535695842498</id><published>2004-10-06T11:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-06T11:31:08.993-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>25 things about The Hubster

I think, no, I KNOW, that I don't always give The Hubster the credit he's due.  Yeah, he aggravates me a lot.  He can't seem to figure out where the dirty dishes go, never mind the dirty laundry.  He never thinks he's wrong, ever.  I find myself repeating things over and over to him, and he never remembers when I tell him stuff.  But, there's good about him too, and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109707535695842498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109707535695842498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109707535695842498' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109701053284014543</id><published>2004-10-05T16:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-05T17:09:01.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>An exercise in stupidity

This weekend, my mother took two of my girls to the mountains.  They brought back a bunch of fresh apples.  I had been craving apple cake, and was emailed a recipe for apple struesel cake yesterday.  I figured that this must be divine providence.  After all, a new recipe, and a ton of fresh apples.  I brought the recipe into the kitchen and got busy.  I measured flour,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109701053284014543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109701053284014543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109701053284014543' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109672203467247372</id><published>2004-10-02T08:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-02T09:09:03.386-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Polar opposites

Besides being separated by almost 6 years, Nikolas and Mackenzie could not be less similar.  The cartoon below pretty much sums up Nikolas in the morning.  (click on it to enlarge, if you can't read it)He gripes, he groans, he yells, he covers up and refuses to get out of bed.  when finally he is vertical, he picks fights and is generally unpleasant to be around.  It takes him </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109672203467247372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109672203467247372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109672203467247372' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109672062659274554</id><published>2004-10-02T08:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-02T08:37:06.593-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>funny cartoon, for the story above..... </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109672062659274554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109672062659274554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109672062659274554' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109671735856527705</id><published>2004-10-02T07:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-02T07:42:48.480-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HEY!

Yesterday was my blogiversary! (However you spell it, anyway!)  I've been rambling for a whole year, and people still read!  Woo-hoo!

I'm registered at Amazon, should anyone desire to send gifts.......
LinktoComments('&lt;237&gt;')
 "&gt;Comment 


</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109671735856527705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109671735856527705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109671735856527705' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109663256604823737</id><published>2004-10-01T07:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-01T08:09:37.080-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Have to!
I was watching the Steve Martin movie Parenthood this past weekend.  I love that movie.  Every time I watch it, I see snippets of my own life, and it is always a different part.  This time, I was struck by the scene where Steve Martin's character says, "My entire life is HAVE TO!" The Hubster turned to me and said, "Is that how you feel?"  As I looked around the house, at the laundry </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109663256604823737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109663256604823737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109663256604823737' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109656548875343092</id><published>2004-09-30T13:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-30T13:33:57.286-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Home Depot

Having spent almost $2000 this week on four separate trips to Home Depot this week, I've had lots of time to people watch.  Home Depot is very hope - inspiring.  You go in, maybe just for lightbulbs, and before you know it, you are laying a new floor.  You can practically see the hope on the faces of those in line.  "Maybe this paint will do it - my house will be gorgeous then."  "</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109656548875343092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109656548875343092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109656548875343092' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109625068259814549</id><published>2004-09-26T21:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-26T22:12:46.530-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> The weekend from hell

I love the Hubster, I swear I do.  And you all love your significant others too, I know you do.  Hey, you in the back, quit rolling your eyes!  After this weekend, though, I'm not feeling the love quite so well.......

It all started with Friday.  As most weekends do, natch.  For whatever reason, the kids had a half day, so they got off from school at 12, and Gabe got </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109625068259814549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109625068259814549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109625068259814549' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109611565000160166</id><published>2004-09-25T07:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-25T22:00:26.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Pimping for Popcorn

Nikolas is a Boy Scout.  Just like the Girl Scouts sell cookies, the Boy Scouts sell popcorn.  Over priced popcorn - ranging in size and price from a $12 box of 12 packages of microwave popcorn, up to a $50 tin of 5 different chocolate snacks - popcorn, pretzels, etc.  Last year, he and the Hubster went around the entire neighborhood, with a wagonfull of this stuff, and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109611565000160166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109611565000160166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109611565000160166' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109611023665932567</id><published>2004-09-25T06:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-25T07:05:20.993-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I know the answer!

Heh.  I was sweating there for a while - I had no questions!  Either I have no readers lately, or I'm so boring that no one wants to know anything about me.  I'd rather not know the answer!

Stephanie asked about my bedtime:  Gooooood question.  Bed goes something like this.  G and M in bed at 7, A in bed at 8, N in bed at 8:30, or 9 if he has extra homework or is watching</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109611023665932567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109611023665932567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109611023665932567' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109581675084720173</id><published>2004-09-21T21:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-21T21:32:39.830-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Questions, questions, who's got the questions?

I'm so tired.  I am really exhausted.  I'm going to try to go to bed early tonight, and hope that I sleep well.  If you have a question for me, feel free to ask. Something you've always wanted to know - maybe you asked me a question and I didn't answer.  If it's not X rated, I'll try my best to answer it.

And now, off to slumber. Zzzzzzzzz.....</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109581675084720173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109581675084720173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109581675084720173' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109577589530295480</id><published>2004-09-21T09:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-21T10:13:03.326-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Gymnastics

My son Gabriel has really gotten into Lazytown.  Thanks sooo much, Jenny. Whenever he watches it, he mimics his hero, Sportacus.  He tumbles, he runs, stands on his head on the sofa or recliner.  Every day, it's the same thing.  "Mom, am I just like Sportacus??"  Oh yes.  Exactly like him.

The Hubster and I decided that some gymnastics classes might do the boy some good.  Give </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109577589530295480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109577589530295480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109577589530295480' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109556438502017912</id><published>2004-09-18T23:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-18T23:26:34.920-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Things I'll do for $20

There are lots of things that I won't do - drink pee, eat bugs, clean the bathroom, participate in anything involving my naked body and the public eye.  But, I received an offer from the chi-chi grocery in this area, offering me a $20 gift card if I transferred a prescription.  Since we pretty much single-family-dedly (get it?  singlehandedly? I suck when I make up my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109556438502017912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109556438502017912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109556438502017912' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109554601331888215</id><published>2004-09-18T17:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-18T21:19:42.250-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> A trip to the mall

So, I went to the mall today.  I think it would have been far more pleasurable to, say, open my head with a dull manual can opener and extract my brain with a grapefuit spoon, but maybe I'm just making the trip out to be worse than it actually was.  You tell me.

To begin our trip, it was pouring rain, thanks to the remnants of Hurricane Ivan.  I found a parking spot, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109554601331888215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109554601331888215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109554601331888215' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109535177238238098</id><published>2004-09-16T11:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-16T17:32:58.923-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It's the bulk foods run!!!!

This week, it was time for the dreaded BJ's run.  We have a Costco here, anc a Sam's Club, but for whatever reason, we joined BJ's.  Since Genuine did it on his blog, and it got lots of people talking about how much they spend, I thought I'd post my bulk foods shopping receipt.  So here's what I bought, in no particular order:

2 10 pound bags frozen chicken </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109535177238238098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109535177238238098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109535177238238098' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109518355618123788</id><published>2004-09-14T13:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-14T13:39:28.143-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The one, lonely box in the back of the pantry

Yesterday, being the 13th of the month, it was time to clean out the pantry.  (whew.  I mis-typed panty, and couldn't imagine doing a monthly cleanout of the panty!) I do a monthly clean out, right before payday, so I have room to put the new goods.  I pulled out the half empty boxes of ice cream cones, the boxes of crackers that held only a few </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109518355618123788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109518355618123788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109518355618123788' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109492139848731849</id><published>2004-09-11T13:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-11T14:07:18.446-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Math and I don't mix - or, how Mr. Hill made an idiot out of me

Well, it's happened.  My son has officially started math that is too difficult for me to solve.  I can solve it if I think really hard, and have a lot of quiet to concentrate, so pretty much he's out of luck.  He had this problem the other night, and, well, let's just say the evening officially sucked.  He was working on his math,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109492139848731849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109492139848731849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109492139848731849' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109469795149416328</id><published>2004-09-08T22:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-09T11:24:01.170-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  
Multiple food allergies and asthma

"Doctor?  Hi, it's Carmen again.  Listen, he's still not breathing well, and his lips are turning blue.  I don't feel good about this."
"Meet me in the ER, as soon as you can get there."

Again.  The same scenario was playing out, for the fifth or sixth or ninth time.  A few days before, Gabriel had started with a cough, and it quickly progressed to a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109469795149416328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109469795149416328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109469795149416328' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109426285630887539</id><published>2004-09-05T08:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-05T14:32:17.363-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Things I've learned this week

In no particular order:

- Goof proof paint has never met me.
- When bleaching the sink, never wear a brand new black shirt.
- Pink "Strawberry Shortcake" toothpaste does NOT come out of beige carpet.
- When a 2 year old is too quiet, the first place I should check is the top bunks.
- I should have told my son not to put foil in the microwave before this </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109426285630887539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109426285630887539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109426285630887539' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109413853953522899</id><published>2004-09-02T11:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T11:24:32.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Well.........

What do you think?  Do I look anything like you thought I would?  Nope, no red hair.  THAT was a genetic mutation - we both have it in our families.  My hair is pretty dark, unless you count all the wiry grays that poke out.  The picture posted below is one of my favorites.  I absolutely love it.  Sorry that it's a bit crooked, but I had no copy of it on this computer, so I had</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109413853953522899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109413853953522899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109413853953522899' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109413846731831275</id><published>2004-09-02T11:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T11:21:07.316-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A picture of The Hubster and me, on our 14th anniversary. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109413846731831275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109413846731831275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109413846731831275' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109413639201025508</id><published>2004-09-02T10:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T10:51:45.636-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>In which I don't get it

This morning, I went to Wal-Mart to get the extra supplies for N and A, the ones that the teacher didn't put on the list.  (A blue folder, a folder with brads and pockets, a box of tissues, and 2 mouth guards, for Lacrosse in PE, in case you were wondering.)  While I was there, I decided to go over to the lawn and garden dept, as I was interested in some new flowers, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109413639201025508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109413639201025508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109413639201025508' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109404025208783131</id><published>2004-09-01T07:57:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-01T10:06:22.210-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I am soooo busted  

Yesterday was a great day.  My kids were in school - I know, you are sick of hearing me say that, but it's true! - and my sister in law offered to make dinner for us.  It was a great dinner too - meatloaf, gravy, potatoes, bread, the works.  Yum yum.  The laundry was done and the house was clean.I didn't have to plan dinner. So, I put the baby for a nap, the 2 year old for </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109404025208783131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109404025208783131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109404025208783131' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109404324458774314</id><published>2004-09-01T07:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-01T08:54:12.906-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Schedules, routines and how to

Back to school always brings out the need, and desire, for a schedule.  After last night, and the first two mornings for school, I'm am able to see that what I thought would work clearly will NOT.  I've got to make up a master plan, and implement it.  There is just no way around it.  Things are too crazy, and too chaotic, to continue.  I have been up on time both</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109404324458774314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109404324458774314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109404324458774314' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109396856995293961</id><published>2004-08-31T10:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-31T12:16:03.660-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Notes from the first day of school

Woo-hoo!  Didja hear the screams all the way over there?  I'll just bet you did.  Yesterday was the first day of school - it was only a half day, in order to get them acclimated.  Whatever.  Today is all day.  From 7:15 - when they leave - until 3, it's just me and three little ones.  Come Sept 15, it will be me and two little ones.  

Yesterday was a riot,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109396856995293961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109396856995293961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109396856995293961' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109389396418085811</id><published>2004-08-30T15:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-30T15:26:04.180-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>trying again.... </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109389396418085811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109389396418085811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109389396418085811' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109389385270715509</id><published>2004-08-30T15:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-30T15:24:12.706-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Here are the kids, on their first day of school.  Nikolas is 7th grade, Allegra is 4th, and Mackenzie is 1st. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109389385270715509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109389385270715509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109389385270715509' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109387459439204794</id><published>2004-08-30T09:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-30T10:03:42.170-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Children's Programming

We watch a fair amount of television here.  Not huge enormous amounts, but definitely more than we should.  As such, I hear quite alot of the shows.  (What?? You think I watch these shows??) So, here are the shows I like, the ones I tolerate, and the ones I can't stand.

PBS shows that I like:  Between the Lions, Arthur
PBS shows that I tolerate: JayJay, Clifford, 
</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109387459439204794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109387459439204794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109387459439204794' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109387193609680796</id><published>2004-08-30T09:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-30T09:41:57.196-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I wonder

What do you think I look like?  No fair - if you already know me in real life, or you've seen my picture, you can't participate.  But, if you don't know me, what would you speculate I look like?  I'll post a picture if a few days, I'm just curious.

LinktoComments('&lt;214&gt;')
 "&gt;Comment 


</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109387193609680796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109387193609680796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109387193609680796' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109374714126061120</id><published>2004-08-28T20:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-28T22:40:26.230-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Depression

When I had my second child, I fell into the grips of a major depression.  I was completely unprepared for the depths of the darkness.  I gave birth to her on Dec 22, came home to a house full of company on Dec 24, and the day after Christmas everyone was gone.  I was left with this baby, who cried allllllll the time.  She would cry from 6 at night until 11 or 12.  My first child </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109374714126061120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109374714126061120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109374714126061120' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109371939252047104</id><published>2004-08-28T14:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-28T14:58:59.583-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The need for glasses

If you remember, last week I had an appointment for G, for his eyes.  He has been having migraines.  We went to the super cool pediatric optometrist.  What a good idea that turned out to be! We went back into the room.  The first part of the exam was not fun for him- it was that stupid glaucoma test,where they puff air into your eyes.  I had promised him beforehand that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109371939252047104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109371939252047104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109371939252047104' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109371787731849480</id><published>2004-08-28T14:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-28T14:31:17.316-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>These are Gabriel's new glasses! </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109371787731849480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109371787731849480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109371787731849480' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109370098516577415</id><published>2004-08-28T08:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-28T09:49:56.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>B-I-N-G-O!!!!!!!!! 

There was a farmer, had a dog.....

Oh, sorry, wrong Bingo.  I meant the game Bingo.  Didja miss me last night?  Nah, you didn't even know I was gone.    I was working Bingo last night.  Yes, I meant to capitalize that, cuz, at my kids school, Bingo is a capital word.  Bingo is a biiiiiiig deal.  We ARE Catholic, after all!

The Men's club runs Bingo every Friday, and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109370098516577415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109370098516577415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109370098516577415' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109361694576703128</id><published>2004-08-27T08:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-27T10:30:26.230-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Adventures in night time parenting

In a quest to keep you all entertained and up to date on happenings in our house, I thought I'd give you a glimpse into our nights.  Keep in mind, I'm the default parent here, oh, about 90% of the time.  So, here is a glimpse into the hilarity that ensues when one mom tries to take care of 6 kids. I'm using last night as a prime example. 

5 p.m. Realize </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109361694576703128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109361694576703128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109361694576703128' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109348776353556666</id><published>2004-08-25T22:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-25T22:36:15.180-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What a joke

We had a baby sitter tonight.  It was a neighborhood boy, one who has sit for us before.  He's 17 years old, and does a lot of sitting for other neighborhood families.  The kids love him.  In fact, it was the big kids idea that we go out tonight.  The Hubster was off for the evening, and they decided that we should go on a date.  When we left, we took the baby and Emma, the two </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109348776353556666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109348776353556666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109348776353556666' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109346423567179167</id><published>2004-08-25T15:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-25T22:04:19.733-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Smug Mom

I've written about this before, so if I repeat myself, forgive me.  I've been reading some stuff and had some conversations that have made some thoughts crystallize in my head.  If you are already tired of reading my repetition, just move on.  Go read someone else's incredibly funny stuff.  Like Jenny, or Genuine, or Jenn.  Or Alana's thought provoking writing.  Or Getupgrrl's sad</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109346423567179167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109346423567179167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109346423567179167' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109329700696758316</id><published>2004-08-23T16:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-23T17:38:47.090-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Showering

My favorite time of the week is when the Hubster is home.  My very favorite part of that day is my shower time.  I can shower alone. I don't have anyone under 4 feet tall trying to climb in.  I can listen to music, and not listen for crashes. 

This morning's shower went something like this:

I turned on the water, stripped down and got in.  I reached over, and turned the radio </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109329700696758316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109329700696758316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109329700696758316' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109326116387315774</id><published>2004-08-23T06:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-23T07:40:36.056-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sunday adventures

It being the second to last Sunday before the kids go back to school (!!), and the Hubster having to work, I thought that I'd be nice to my kids and take them to the movies.  We've got a theater here that is pretty nice - there are big cushy chairs and tables, and you can order meals.  We went to see The Princess Diaries 2.

Whoa.  What an idiot I am.  We went into the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109326116387315774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109326116387315774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109326116387315774' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109313580107709629</id><published>2004-08-21T20:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-21T20:51:26.536-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Migraines

I suffer from migraines.  Suffer would be the correct word.  When they hit, I go down hard.  I can remember one day when I came down with a migraine - I called my neighbor over to feed my kids dinner, and I laid (lay?  I never can get that straight!) down on the couch and just sobbed.  I felt like my head was in a vise.  She was appalled that I told her to just make them instant </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109313580107709629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109313580107709629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109313580107709629' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109305673274789781</id><published>2004-08-20T22:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T22:52:20.980-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Things I learned this week

- Children will do anything to draw attention to themselves while in public places because they just know you won't spank them.
- Summer is about 3 weeks too long.
- Whatever they pay my kids teachers, it's not enough.
- Being without a crockpot for two weeks cut my menu selections sharply.
- The Olympics are really good, but I can't wait for football.
- If you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109305673274789781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109305673274789781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109305673274789781' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109303348088568388</id><published>2004-08-20T15:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T16:25:02.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Adventures at the pool

my father in law is 83 years old, and he has an inground pool.  It's a nice one, too - and he never goes in it.  He maintains it solely for his kids and grandkids.  We go over there about twice a week to swim, and he always serves food.  It's the same stuff over and over - hotdogs, chicken thighs, pink lemonade, salad and cut up fruit.  I try to eat before I go over, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109303348088568388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109303348088568388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109303348088568388' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109291345005390488</id><published>2004-08-19T06:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-19T07:07:43.456-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The most expensive week of my life

This week has just sucked, as far as trying to save money. In the past four days: 

I went grocery shopping -  $350.
I bought school supplies: $80
I reordered medication from the incompetent mail order pharmacy - $220
I filled local prescriptions - $213
I bought three pairs of sneakers - that was cheap, about $60
I bought PE uniforms for three kids - </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109291345005390488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109291345005390488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109291345005390488' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109279661230712737</id><published>2004-08-17T21:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-17T22:37:05.160-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
The Mother Olympics

Being in the spirit of the Games, I thought I'd think of a way that I could get involved.  You know, I'd really like to think of myself as a world class athlete.  Ok, pick yourself up off the floor. I don't mean athlete in the way that involves actually sweating.  But, I thought of some events that I could probably medal in:

The dirty diaper shotput toss - See how far </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109279661230712737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109279661230712737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109279661230712737' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109271394954602513</id><published>2004-08-16T23:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-17T09:29:13.440-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Meandering Monday, Traveling Tuesday

Ok, so I'm a day late or a day early, depending upon your time zone and/or how much sleep you've had.  I decided to take a note from Genuine, and I'll do a blog travel.  Since I haven't yet figured out how to make that nifty sidebar thingy, and post some of my favorite blogs, I'll give them a shout out here.  In hopes that they will similarly mention me, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109271394954602513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109271394954602513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109271394954602513' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109262279171728348</id><published>2004-08-15T22:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-16T23:13:51.633-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Things that piss me off

- leaving the lights on and running the battery down in my van.
- having to jumpstart the van in the pouring rain.
- having said van cut out on me three times when I was trying to drive to the restaurant.
- poor wait staff with a mandatory added 20% gratuity. She in no way deserved 20%.
- hearing the baby scream her head off - seriously, I thought it would just </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109262279171728348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109262279171728348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109262279171728348' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109254008256179509</id><published>2004-08-14T22:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-14T23:28:54.730-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Oh, happy day!!!

I have a laptop!  It's a real, working laptop.  You have no idea what I've been through in the past seven days, but I'm here to share it with you.

My gateway laptop bit the dust - lightning strike.  If you moved the computer one teeny hair, the entire screen died.  I took it for repair, and it was given last rites.  I talked with the Hubster, and we agreed that we just </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109254008256179509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109254008256179509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109254008256179509' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109240382198074568</id><published>2004-08-13T09:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-13T09:41:19.730-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
In which the baby has a death wish

Man, this child is going to kill me.  I just know it.  You can't put her on the floor, without making certain that everything is off the floor. And I mean everything.  If she's laying still in one place, and being quiet, chances are, her mouth is full of contraband.  In the last day, she has tried to eat
- kleenex, both used (eeeuuhh!) and fresh
- dried </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109240382198074568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109240382198074568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109240382198074568' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109235658016470650</id><published>2004-08-12T20:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-12T20:23:05.280-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Growing pains

My son is 12.  Of course, you all probably have much better memories than me, and you already know this.  But, what you don't know about him is that he hasn't hit his growth spurt yet.  Most of the boys his age that he hangs with have already started.  A few of them have peach fuzz, and one or two of them have these really deep voices.  Not my son.  He's put on some weight, in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109235658016470650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109235658016470650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109235658016470650' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109231856867732202</id><published>2004-08-12T09:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-12T09:50:52.750-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
The humility of bra shopping

OK, if you are a guy, this next post won't be relevant for you at all.  Not that I think I have many male readers, but you never know......

So, having nursed 6 kids, for a total so far of 107 months (I had to add it twice, I couldn't quite believe it!), I've worn just about every bra size that there is.  Lately though, I've got boobs the size of Manahattan.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109231856867732202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109231856867732202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109231856867732202' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109225481918852243</id><published>2004-08-11T15:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-11T16:08:18.756-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Actual conversation with the 12 year old boy:

Friend is spending the night.  Friend wants to take a shower, and asks my son where he can find a towel.  The answer? 

"Just use the one hanging up in the bathroom."

Apparently, he's been taking the clean-body-wiped-with-a-clean-towel-can-be-used-more-than-once conversation a little too literally.

Geez.
LinktoComments('&lt;193&gt;')
 "&gt;</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109225481918852243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109225481918852243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109225481918852243' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109225317832114162</id><published>2004-08-11T15:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-11T15:40:40.373-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
With apologies to Jenny

Just because I ripped the idea from her......

Child #1 - only played with toys marked "educational" or "brain developing"
Child #6 - played for an hour on the floor with six plastic bathroom cups and a polly pocket.

Child #1 - ate only organic, home pureed whole foods.
Child #6 - favorite food is paper, and has been seen eating mystery substances from under </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109225317832114162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109225317832114162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109225317832114162' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109225171907175640</id><published>2004-08-11T14:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-12T09:24:41.043-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Just how do you look so good????

Why, I eat well, exercise regularly, and take vitamins, of course.

HA!

I bring this up, because I was in the pediatrician's office today, for my daughter's well check.  I love well checks.  I am glad that I'm not there for some brand of illness, and I get a chance to chat with my kids doctors, all of whom I adore, save one.  (We won't even get into why </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109225171907175640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109225171907175640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109225171907175640' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109215247372653522</id><published>2004-08-10T11:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-10T11:41:19.550-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
My brain is going to explode

I swear to God, I can feel it coming on.  The pressure in the temples, the veins popping out in my forehead.  Classic signs.

Have I mentioned (lately) that it's summer break?  And I'm the default parent, oh, 95% of the time?  And I'm having tons and tons of computer trouble? 

The week started off well.  The Hubster was apparently invaded by another person, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109215247372653522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109215247372653522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109215247372653522' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109179044926781828</id><published>2004-08-06T06:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-06T07:07:53.076-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Mackenzie
My daughter Mackenzie is 7 today.  Here is the story of her birth.

To tell it properly, I have to start with her conception. No, not that part, silly, but the shock of it.  I was taking part in a birth control study on a new device, and was one of two people, out of over 200, who fell pregnant. I was completely shocked, and walked around for a few days in a haze.  Other than the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109179044926781828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109179044926781828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109179044926781828' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109176451504814934</id><published>2004-08-05T23:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-05T23:56:03.950-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Pain

The Hubster has been having a hell of a time. Three weeks ago, he developed a terrible pain in his ear. It turned out to be an abscessed tooth. He started on antibiotics and went for the beginning of a root canal. He was in so much pain that vicodin didn't touch it. Four days later, still vast quantities of pain, so he went to a doctor. He changed the antibiotic and gave him some </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109176451504814934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109176451504814934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109176451504814934' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109171756704233656</id><published>2004-08-05T10:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-05T10:52:53.380-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Closets

I've spent time this past two weeks cleaning closets. I mean, really cleaning closets.  We have two downstairs, and they both have been used as dumping grounds.  Need to put something away?  Toss it in the closet.  Can't find the proper place for something?  Why, let's just toss it in the closet and close the door!  
The house that we lived in before this one had an abundance of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109171756704233656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109171756704233656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109171756704233656' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109162994927715006</id><published>2004-08-04T10:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-04T10:32:38.856-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
How much hell can one person take, anyway???

Whose BRIGHT idea was it to make it rain so flippin' much here this summer?  This has, so far, been the second wettest summer on record.  Woo-hoo.  Great for the plants, wonderful for the water shortage, lousy for the mommy.  I love my kids, I really and truly do.  They've come up with some really memorable stuff this summer to keep busy - tops on</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109162994927715006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109162994927715006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109162994927715006' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109146877481306873</id><published>2004-08-02T13:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-02T13:48:13.866-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Good morning, Mommy

This morning, I actually got up without being completely exhausted, and made my way down the stairs to give the kids breakfast.  I offered the usual: yogurt, cereal, breakfast bars, frozen waffles.  My two year old and four year old picked cereal.  I poured them each a bowl of dry Crispix, and gave it to each of them with a spoon.  Gabe said "I want milk."  Ok, no problem</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109146877481306873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109146877481306873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109146877481306873' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109140892108523721</id><published>2004-08-01T17:18:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-02T13:24:36.106-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
How McDonald's saved my sanity 

First off, let me start off by saying that I really hate McDonald's.  When I was a kid, I really loved it.  But now, almost everytime I eat there, I get indigestion.  Plus, most of the food just eeps me out.  My kids, however, like true American children, loooooove to go there.  Being a single family income with lots of kids, I rarely venture out for fast food</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109140892108523721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109140892108523721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109140892108523721' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109139517890429733</id><published>2004-08-01T17:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-01T17:19:48.050-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
What country are you?

  You're Ireland!
  Mystical and rain-soaked, you remain mysterious to many people, and this 
makes you intriguing.  You also like a good night at the pub, though many are just as 
worried that you will blow up the pub as drink your beverage of choice.  You're good 
with words, remarkably lucky, and know and enjoy at least fifteen ways of eating a potato. 
 You </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109139517890429733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109139517890429733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109139517890429733' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109138312036153676</id><published>2004-08-01T13:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-01T21:16:57.453-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
It was the damndest thing

The baby cried, and I realized that I was asleep.  But, why was it so sunny out?  What time was it?  I looked at the clock - 1:06.  What?  The storm that I vaguely remember hearing must have caused the power to blink, and reset the clock.  It's awful bright for the morning, though.  Come to think of it, why can I see so clearly?  Oh, man, I bet I fell asleep with my</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109138312036153676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109138312036153676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109138312036153676' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109121195538362035</id><published>2004-07-30T14:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-30T14:33:39.923-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Confession:

Sometimes, when I put my kids in the car, I will reach through and put the keys into the ignition.  
I will turn on the car, crank up the a/c, and buckle all the kids.  Then, I close the doors.  And I walk around the van the long way.  (Remember that I drive a 15 passenger van, the size of an airport shuttle.) I walk all the way around as slowly as possible. I'll stop in the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109121195538362035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109121195538362035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109121195538362035' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109105343976789785</id><published>2004-07-28T17:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-28T21:49:53.523-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The words guaranteed to stop everything

My newly two year old daughter has learned those words.  The ones that cause the entire house to shut down.  The words that make me stop what I'm doing, drop everything, and grant her 10-20 minutes of undivided attention. Pretty powerful words.  She could shut down the entire government, by saying this one two word phrase.  

"I pee".

She uses those</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109105343976789785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109105343976789785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109105343976789785' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109103001401042125</id><published>2004-07-28T11:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-28T12:38:21.596-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Just another manic Mon - uh, Wednesday

Just another day here in the looney bin.  In the past few days, I have:

- Personally called the dairy, to tell them to sell all the chocolate milk before we get there, forcing them to sell us only white and strawberry, thereby ensuring my 9 year old will gag repeatedly and I'll ruin her consumption of calcium.
- Taken my oldest son's school folder </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109103001401042125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109103001401042125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109103001401042125' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109079844964671545</id><published>2004-07-25T19:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-25T19:40:00.226-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Make your mom look bad

We are watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off - a really funny movie, but I had forgotten how much bad language there is in it!  There is a scene where Ferris is in the Museum of Modern Art, and my 6 year old says "Hey, I've seen that picture!"  It's a Mary Cassatt, Mother holding a child.  I'm feeling pretty proud of myself - after all, she must have seen it when I took </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109079844964671545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109079844964671545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109079844964671545' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109076913922666920</id><published>2004-07-25T11:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-25T11:25:47.980-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Clarification - on the budget post

We aren't in financial straits - I got a couple of personal emails today asking.  No, we are doing pretty well - the van is paid off, we have no credit card balances.  The only payments we have are mortgage, second that we took for home improvement, the kids school payments, medication and doctor bills - we are still paying off three ER visits and the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109076913922666920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109076913922666920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109076913922666920' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109069555192301294</id><published>2004-07-24T13:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-25T11:28:38.003-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
That damned six letter word

We've got to make up a budget.  We have to.  We don't want to.  Neither one of us is great at managing money.  With the pay schedule that the Hubster has - paid once a month, with a small (veddy, veddy small) check two weeks later -money kind of comes into our hands and back out.  The months where the checks are small, some bills get set to the side, and forget </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109069555192301294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109069555192301294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109069555192301294' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109069191308893660</id><published>2004-07-24T13:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-24T13:58:33.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hopefully, this will be true...... </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109069191308893660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109069191308893660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109069191308893660' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109069069884979003</id><published>2004-07-24T13:25:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-24T13:38:25.803-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
This is so incredibly funny - equally offensive to both political parties.  I didn't want to laugh, but at the end I was rolling.

This land is your land
LinktoComments('&lt;173&gt;')
 "&gt;Comment 


</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109069069884979003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109069069884979003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109069069884979003' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109068998593274261</id><published>2004-07-24T13:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-24T13:26:34.260-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  How true is this???




LinktoComments('&lt;172&gt;')
 "&gt;Comment 


</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109068998593274261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109068998593274261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109068998593274261' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109068407834583432</id><published>2004-07-24T11:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-24T11:48:09.136-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Ironing
Man, do I hate ironing. I've got a boatload of it staring me in the face, too - all of the Hubster's work pants and shirts, as well as a few of my own all cotton things that I hang to dry. I've done a great job procrastinating too - so far today, I've made molasses cookies(yum!), washed diapers, cleaned off my bureau, caught up on OHM, MDC and all my bloglist, arranged haircuts, and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109068407834583432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109068407834583432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109068407834583432' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109068314580363304</id><published>2004-07-24T11:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-24T11:42:19.256-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'></summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109068314580363304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109068314580363304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109068314580363304' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109061986763754124</id><published>2004-07-23T17:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-23T17:57:57.916-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Happy Father's day - and how I ended up broke 

Three years ago, the Hubster and I were on the way to his father's house for a Father's day celebration.  While in the car, the hubster asked me to fill out the card and enclose a check for $50.  I did so.  Then, the Hubster decided that a check for $100 would be better, a thought that I didn't agree with, and I told him so.  We argued back and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109061986763754124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109061986763754124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109061986763754124' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109060720909605904</id><published>2004-07-23T14:12:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-23T14:26:57.130-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
It's a fine line...

between gossip and fact sharing.  And, sometimes, far too often, I find myself on the wrong side of that line.  I hate it.  I hate how it makes me feel.  I hate how it makes me look.  I also hate hearing it.  Sometimes, there are things that I need to know, or impart to other people, and yet, listening to the conversation, I can hear that it has become gossipy.

Yet </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109060720909605904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109060720909605904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109060720909605904' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109060670113580772</id><published>2004-07-23T14:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-23T14:18:36.526-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
So, it's a new template.  Whatta you think???
LinktoComments('&lt;166&gt;')
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</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109060670113580772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109060670113580772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109060670113580772' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109049826375531000</id><published>2004-07-22T07:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-22T08:13:06.616-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
It's a do-over!  Uh, NO!

Yesterday was a day that I never wish to repeat again.  The first part of the day was good.  All was well, up until about 5.  Then, the phone rang - it was the Hubster.  Over the weekend, he had a tooth abscess, and required an emergency root canal on Saturday.  He was in extreme pain and given a prescription for both Vicodin and Percocet for the pain, as well as an </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109049826375531000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109049826375531000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109049826375531000' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109044189753402</id><published>2004-07-21T10:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-21T16:31:46.296-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
So, the other day I dropped my daughter off at her summer class.  It's a
math class, and she didn't fail this past school year - she just needed the
little bit of extra work that this class will provide.  There is an assisted
living facility on the grounds of the church.  When I was leaving, I noticed
one lady, sitting in her wheelchair, out in the parking lot.  She was sound
asleep, with </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109044189753402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109044189753402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109044189753402' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109044157045213803</id><published>2004-07-21T10:28:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-21T16:26:21.766-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
How do others see me? 

An interesting thought, an interesting puzzle.

Let's see.  To the principal at my kids school, I'm a royal pain in the
tush. To the Starbucks drive thru, I'm a Venti White Mocha.  To my hubby's
co-workers, I am just Mrs. Hubster, a woman who obviously doesn't know how
babies are made.  The shoppers at Wal-Mart see a slightly crazy mom pushing
one cart and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109044157045213803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109044157045213803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109044157045213803' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109033821333499219</id><published>2004-07-20T11:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-20T11:43:43.453-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
This is so funny to me, being a huge Starbucks schmuck.  Watch out for the language - turn it up so you can understand the squirrel, but be certain your kids aren't around.......
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</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109033821333499219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109033821333499219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109033821333499219' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-109015520562159666</id><published>2004-07-18T08:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-18T09:04:40.273-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> 
Back to life.  Back to reality.  
  
I had such a great time on my trip.  I was thrilled to see some of my bestest friends, to sit around and chat with other mommies, go out to lunch with Fiona, dye playsilks, drink mojitos, and eat chocolate cake, warm right from the oven.  
  
Now, it's back to laundry, and cooking, and cleaning.  My husband had SUCH an appreciation for me when I came </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109015520562159666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/109015520562159666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#109015520562159666' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888434.post-108911858033517938</id><published>2004-07-06T08:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-07-06T08:57:27.450-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Color me INSANE

I'm going away again. This time, it's for me.  Although, on my girlfriends weekend, the time supposed to be just for me, how in the hell did I end up taking three kids???  

Of course, I can't leave the baby. I'm nursing her, but even if I wasn't, I'd feel really weird going away without her.  I left a baby under a year old once, and I hated it.  I'm also taking Emma, who </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/108911858033517938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5888434/posts/default/108911858033517938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://momtothescreamingmass.blogspot.com/index.html#108911858033517938' title=''/><author><name>Carmen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03789233614361722419</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></entry></feed>
