<?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-8983728841645924577</id><updated>2011-09-30T12:50:35.582-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diary of a Redhead</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>124</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1654417351820404316</id><published>2011-09-21T23:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T00:07:59.117-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been a year</title><content type='html'>I looked at the date of the last post and by the time I post this it will have been exactly one year since my last post. Weird. I felt like blogging because I have been really holding all of my emotions in lately and decided I should get it out. I am not really sure what exactly I want to get out. It is weird being happy in some ways but miserable in others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I moved back to Puyallup in January. I can't believe we have already been here for almost a year. The time has really flown. The first few months mainly because I was working so much there wasn't a chance for me to think. Now that I have a much less stressful job, it is weird thinking about that time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although my job is less stressful, it has created some issues for me. The hours have mostly been on the weekend, and crazy all day split shift then all night shifts, or 16 hour all night from 10pm to 2 pm the next day. I feel tired all the time and even after a few days off work, all I want to do is sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am pretty depressed in general I think. I try to cover it up, but I can feel that 'covering up' building as fat on my body. All I seem to do lately is eat and sleep. About a month ago I said something to Moises about how I am feeling really depressed and like I am not good for anything. Within minutes he was trying to have sex with me. I was like, fine, whatever and we had sex. I think that may have been one of the last times we have had sex, because I felt so upset about it afterward, then some other things have happened and I have just said no. It is the longest we have ever gone without sex while being in the same country. I am fine with it, because I am mad at him. He on the other hand, hasn't said anything, but won't help with stuff. I know that it is kind of like sick, twisted, whatever, but it is kind of like I have been able to get him to do some things for me, or let me do things, by me having sex with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why am writing this on my blog. Well, no one reads it anymore. And I guess if you do, well you know me well enough to know my sick stuff. right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1654417351820404316?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1654417351820404316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1654417351820404316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1654417351820404316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1654417351820404316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2011/09/its-been-year.html' title='It&apos;s been a year'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-998804498371095111</id><published>2010-09-22T00:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-22T00:58:15.857-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Aberdeen</title><content type='html'>I started my day today almost not going.  I convinced myself that something bad was going to happen and that I needed to stay home.  Instead I found myself enjoying a nice scenic drive to Aberdeen and being show around a large skilled nursing facility.  I was impressed with the number of lifts that they have for the staff to use - I hope that they are being used.  I did feel kind of uncomfortable and out of place.  It also bothered me that the dementia unit has the least amount of nursing staff with the same amount of patients, and smells like urine.  I don't think I want to work down there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pay is great 24.60 an hour, $1.50 extra for the evening shift, and $2.50 extra an hour for night shift.  So if I took nights, I could be making $27.10 an hour.  If I were to work 32 hours a week it would work out to over $3500 dollars a month before taxes/insurance, and that type of stuff. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am freaking out about taking it though.  I am worried about the kids.  I am worried about the drive.  I am worried that something better will come along and I will miss it.  I am worried that something better won't come along and I will be stuck there.  I am worried about not liking the job.  I am worried about not liking the people.  I am worried about hating the work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always felt that way about clinical though, and I always ended up liking it.  I would make myself sick ahead of time, and would end up doing fine.  This can be great too.  I think of all the posibilities.  I could help pay rent.  I could sign the kids up for gymnastics.  I could start a college fund. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I am worried about having that much money.  I mean, what if I just blow it all.  I don't know what on, but I am sure that I could blow it all on stupid shit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-998804498371095111?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/998804498371095111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=998804498371095111' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/998804498371095111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/998804498371095111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/09/aberdeen.html' title='Aberdeen'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8070010347046381013</id><published>2010-05-08T01:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-08T01:38:34.114-07:00</updated><title type='text'>anxiety taking over</title><content type='html'>I am feeling really anxious tonight.  Well, I feel pretty anxious most of the time, it just seems pretty bad today in particular.  I know that it is because of school and jobs.  Right now people are starting to get interviews for jobs, and I have yet to hear back from anyone.  The people who are going to get jobs right off the bat are people who have experience.  I don't know why I am being so anxious about it, I just am.  I guess it is just hard to see so many people be 'better' than me.  That isn't really the right word for it, but I guess deep down that is how I feel, since they will have a job and I won't.  Both Luth and Marcella have had interviews.  Luth will get a job at the ER where she already works.  Marcella got an interview at Overlake, which was kind of a surprise since she didn't turn in all of the letters of recommendation needed.  I am really happy for her though, because she really likes working there.  She has had 2 clinicals there, so she knows the system and the floor.  I applied for a residency job at Good Samaritan Hospital today.  That is where I would prefer to work.  It is so close to the house in Puyallup.  The hours suck though.  One is a 12 hour night shift, the other is 8 hour evening shifts.  If I get a job working evening, I would never see the kids.  It is only 28 hours a week, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad.  I don't know.   The 12 hour one is 36 hours a week so only 3 12 hour shifts a week, which isn't too bad either.  I just hope that I can get the support I need from Moises.  I know that I will want/need a sitter/helper to get stuff done around the house.  Part of me wonders what it would take to apply to get Moises's mother to come live up here, but that would mean his father would live up here too.  He actually isn't too bad now that he doesn't drink anymore.  But I know that his sisters in mexico would miss their mom dearly, and she would really miss mexico.  I need to find someone younger if I am going to hire a mexican family member.  I could always hire my mom!  lol&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8070010347046381013?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8070010347046381013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8070010347046381013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8070010347046381013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8070010347046381013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/05/anxiety-taking-over.html' title='anxiety taking over'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6435854420053942658</id><published>2010-04-20T00:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T00:48:19.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>60 days left, 6 days of clincal.  I can do this</title><content type='html'>I am having one of those days where something just spins around in your head over and over and over again.  I am having fake conversations in my head, and reliving things in my head, and stuff like that.  I hate that I have that happen sometimes.  I decided to get on here and write so that I can possibly go to sleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate my clinical instructor.  The first day we worked on the floor she said something about my stomach touching the patients bed.  I said something to her about that and how I was suprised that she said that, and she said that she only said it because I was setting off the alarm, and to be careful not to do that so I won't set off the alarm.  Okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then she gives me a 15 minute lecture about emptying my patients urine too early in the night - which it doesn't matter, she was just being a bitch.  And has since that time come out and said that the time that I originally did it is the time that she wants us to do it - go figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is the fact I missed some important things in my care of my patient the next week.  So I feel like an idiot for missing a couple of potentially really important things - though they weren't at the time - I just feel like an idiot and I hate feeling that way.  Instead of saying, there is a mistake, or you missed it, lets go back and see it, her response it, 'I can't believe you missed that.  You aren't critically thinking and you should know this by now'  So I just feel like I am being told I am stupid and I hate it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have patients this week.  I am the module leader, which means that I will be helping out all the other students on the floor.  So I will be helping to pass out meds, do assessments, change dressings, turn patients, etc.  I wonder how she is going to tell me how I suck at it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6435854420053942658?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6435854420053942658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6435854420053942658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6435854420053942658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6435854420053942658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/04/60-days-left-6-days-of-clincal-i-can-do.html' title='60 days left, 6 days of clincal.  I can do this'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-9144029323462154253</id><published>2010-03-06T00:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T00:54:40.843-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Filling a whole</title><content type='html'>I found out that I am not getting a preceptorship.  When I found out I cried a lot and since then have felt like I am moving on.  I think part of the reason why I cried so much is because I feel like my chances of getting the preceptorship are similar to my chances of getting a good residency position in a hospital.  Well, I didn't get a preceptorship and I feel like my self esteem has been popped like a balloon.  I just feel like a loser and that I am not going to amount to anything.  Given that, I have not been to weight watchers and not gotten a new sponsor, so the small amount of weight that I lost earlier this year has been gained back, and I feel like I can never get enough.  I know that this is a normal thing for me to go through.  I am feeling like I am empty, so I am filling it with food.  I still don't feel anything.  I feel like I am an empty person who doesn't matter and has nothing to offer.  I am just this body that is going through the motions but I am not being real.  Lately I feel like I am just faking everything.  I mean, they say fake it til you make it, but I just feel bad.  I don't like feeling like an empty, useless person who is just pretending to be fine.  I am not fine.  I know that I am not because I was looking for something today and came across a bunch of Dick's knives.  Well did also has lots of guns.  It occurred to me for a split second that I should find a gun and use it.  Now, I am not going to do that.  But it occurred to me, and it didn't really seem like that bad of an idea.  That shows me that I am in trouble.  I hate being an empty body.  I don't feel like a real person.  Like I am just nothing, like just a weird feeling of nothingness.  I mean, I carry on and do my day, go to school, pick up kids, go out with friends, but it is just an act.  I don't really participate.  I am just faking it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-9144029323462154253?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/9144029323462154253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=9144029323462154253' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/9144029323462154253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/9144029323462154253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/03/filling-whole.html' title='Filling a whole'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2244884058206104586</id><published>2010-02-28T22:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T22:42:10.303-08:00</updated><title type='text'>111 Days until my pinning ceremony</title><content type='html'>I know that because one of my classmates posted it on Facebook.  It seems kind of like a  long ways away when it is put into days, but I know it is only ONE quarter left.  WOW!  I can't even believe it.  I have been in school for 3 years now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been stressful recently because everyone is thinking about finding a job now, and no hospitals are hiring.  Well, they are hiring, but maybe 10 new grads out of hundreds of applications.  It is frustrating.  Right now our instructors are deciding who will get a preceptorship.  Our last quarter starts with 100 hours of clinical work, and those who get a preceptorship will be working one on one with another nurse and doing all their workload.  Out of 40 or so students only about 10 will get one, so everyone is anxious.  They say it will be based on grades and previous clinical work.  So far it seems that it might just be based on how well a person has kissed up to certain teachers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if I got one or not, but I am thinking that I didn't.  I do know that I am going to be working at Harborview.  I am pretty excited about that.  I have never actually been inside Harborview, but I hear it is interesting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2244884058206104586?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2244884058206104586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2244884058206104586' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2244884058206104586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2244884058206104586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/02/111-days-until-my-pinning-ceremony.html' title='111 Days until my pinning ceremony'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4051406789157466416</id><published>2010-01-07T00:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T00:23:23.045-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My heart hurts.  My tummy hurts.  My mind feels numb.  I can't concentrate.  I don't want to study and I really need to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4051406789157466416?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4051406789157466416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4051406789157466416' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4051406789157466416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4051406789157466416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/01/my-heart-hurts.html' title=''/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-447930082636518488</id><published>2010-01-02T22:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-02T22:13:51.773-08:00</updated><title type='text'>contemplation</title><content type='html'>After a day of playing with my children and contemplation of the meeting I went to this morning, I am feeling somber.  I have had a small scuffle with Moises today, and mentioned it to my sponsor.  Every time I have been abstinent in the past, I have given it up, or thrown it away, because of my inability to handle the stress over my relationship with him.  My sponsor said that my relationship with Moises seems to be a bit like my relationship with food.  Push, pull, up, down, love and hate.  I never even thought of it that way.  She also asked that if it came down to it, which would I choose - abstinence or him.  Or to put it in a different light - myself or him.  I couldn't answer that question truthfully because I have tried to leave him so many times, and end up letting him back, that I can't say that I would choose myself.  I don't understand why I do this to myself, my kids, and him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-447930082636518488?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/447930082636518488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=447930082636518488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/447930082636518488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/447930082636518488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2010/01/contemplation.html' title='contemplation'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1727884505308195601</id><published>2009-12-31T23:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-31T23:39:53.090-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2009 Comes to an end</title><content type='html'>I just wanted to take a few minutes and write down some thoughts about this past year.  It seems to have flown by.  I can hardly believe that in 6 more months, I will be a nurse.  This year has been a good one for me, I think.  I have make 2 great friendships from school, and I hope that we will be friends for the years to come.  This past month I have gotten more focused on myself and what I need to do to take better care of myself.  That includes joining weight watchers and also going back to my overeaters anonymous meetings.  So far, things are going okay.  This past month I am down about 4 pounds, which is better than the 10-15 that most people gain over the holidays.  It is still really hard for me, but hopefully as time goes by it will be easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never been one to do much of a new years resolution list, but this year I feel prompted to write down some goals for this year to come.  My biggest goal, is graduating from school and getting gainfully employed!  The thought of actually having a job after all these years feels really daunting!  I am hoping that I will handle it well.  I also have a goal of starting classes at the University of Washington for my bachelors of Nursing.  They have a part time program that meets one day a week for two years in Tacoma.  Marcella, Luth and I have talked about all going together.  I have a goal to be down 15 pounds by my birthday, 60 by graduation, and between 75 and 100 by this time next year.  I look forward to getting support from my family and friends on this one.  Support to me for this is having family go on walks together, eating healthy meals together, keeping healthy foods in the house, and binge foods out of the house (hopefully!)  I would also like to start spending 15 minutes of quality one on one time each day with my children.  So often, I find myself taking a nap, playing on the computer, calling people or watching tv, when I could be doing something with my kids. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy new year everyone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1727884505308195601?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1727884505308195601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1727884505308195601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1727884505308195601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1727884505308195601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/12/2009-comes-to-end.html' title='2009 Comes to an end'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1544153837090941232</id><published>2009-12-10T00:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T00:27:47.370-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beyond livid</title><content type='html'>I am fucking beyond livid.  I want to punch a fucking hole in the wall among other things.  I realize that I may be over-reacting, since I am on my period.  This is never a good time to fuck with me.  And the one person in my life who really likes to fuck with me is a god damned expert and I always forgive him.  Why?  I don't fucking know why.  It makes no fucking sense to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edith called him yesterday because she really wanted to talk to him, but he didn't answer his phone.  I texted him a while later and got no response.  I called again after the kids had gone to bed at about 10:30 and he said I woke him up, so I just let him go. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was kind of upset because I don't like that he didn't respond to us all night.  Today I call and ask him what was up and he said his phone was charging in the bedroom, and he was watching tv in the living room.  Fine, whatever.  He then says he is off work and coming to pick me up to go grab something to eat.  Well, he works only about 15 minutes from here, but an hour later he shows up.  I ask him what's up, why did it take so long.  He says his boss needed him to work some more.  I told him it would be nice if he called to let me know that and of course he gets upset because he does what he has to do to keep his job.  That is fine with me, I would just like a fucking phone call, Alright!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we get the kids and go to eat, drop Balthezar off at cubscouts and come home.  Well, on the way home I ask him if it would be okay if he watched the kids and I could go to an OA meeting.  His response is something to the effect of - what for?  It is just you driving around and wasting gas, he says.  Okay, go fuck yourself buddy.  We get home and he goes into the kids room and is watching tv, I ask him why he says stuff like that.  He says for me to just go and he doesn't know why he said it.  (to piss me off and make me feel bad is what I'm thinking)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I go to the meeting, stop at Safeway to pick him up lunch for tomorrow and come home.  It is almost 9, so think that he has probably not gotten them to sleep, but the kids are probably in bed, right?  No.  They are eating because they say they are starving - which I doubt, but whatever.  I try to read books with them but he isn't respectfull of that and plays around with the kids so they aren't listening and are getting wound up.  I then just told the kids I love them and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He comes out a few hours later, after falling asleep in there and watches tv with me and my mom for a while.  When we all decide to go to bed, he says something about the bed not being made.  I don't ever make the bed.  Bedmaking makes no real sense for me and I have never really done it.  He knows that.  He is the one who usually will make the bed.   Well, I go to the bathroom and go to my room and he isn't in there.  He has decided to sleep in the kids' room.  WTF?!  I mean, really?  I don't make the fucking bed like always and you decide to not sleep with me because of it.  Well, fuck you too, asshole.  Don't expect to be sleeping in my goddamned bed any time soon motherfucker.  I fucking hate you, you stupid prick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1544153837090941232?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1544153837090941232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1544153837090941232' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1544153837090941232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1544153837090941232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/12/beyond-livid.html' title='Beyond livid'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8316225378125808558</id><published>2009-12-04T22:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T23:22:45.671-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Balthezar got stabbed!</title><content type='html'>I am feeling anxious and mad!  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Balthezar&lt;/span&gt; was held down by one kid, while another stood over him and slobbered all over him, and yet another stabbed him with a pencil  at his daycare today.  I found out about it because his teacher called me at the end of the school day and told me that &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Balthezar&lt;/span&gt; was refusing to get on the daycare van because he was afraid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to his daycare for over an hour about the whole incident.  The kids who did it are &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;giving&lt;/span&gt; a different story.  The daycare people wonder why he didn't say anything about getting hurt, and how he seemed fine on the ride to school.  They know that something happened, because all of a sudden all the boys were on the floor, and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Balthezar&lt;/span&gt; had some kids slobber all over his jacket.  I try to take what any kid, including my own, says with a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;grain&lt;/span&gt; of salt.  Not because they are kids (I should rephrase that and say that I do that for adults too!) but because they have so much going on and their bodies move around so much, and don't pay attention sometimes.  Well, the kids in question have been suspended from the daycare in the past, and in general are discipline problems, (maybe conduct disorder?) so I don't trust their word for it - but my son's word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact of the matter is that he has blood on his leg.  Not a huge cut, but a cut.  It could have just as easily been his crotch, eye, stomach,  you name it.  I asked them why they continue to keep disciplining them the same way, since it obviously isn't working, and also why they even bother with keeping the children in the daycare.  Well, they agreed with me that I should be angry, and said they will talk with the parents and the kids, and that if things don't change they will be kicked out.  Well, good.  But at the same time, I feel there is an injustice and no &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;consequences&lt;/span&gt;.  I told them that I was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;actually&lt;/span&gt; seriously considering contacting the police to make a complaint of assault.  I know that is a really hard line to draw, but if &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Balthezar&lt;/span&gt; is being abused by some asshole kid, a time-out really isn't appropriate.  The director sounded pretty scared when I said that and asked if I would think about it.  She said she would call the police on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Monday&lt;/span&gt; and see if they could &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;get&lt;/span&gt; some police officers to come in and talk to the kids about assaulting people A 'scared straight' mini meeting, I suppose.  I said that would be great.  Thinking about it though, I am still just mad and want more done, more closure, more SOMETHING!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told them that I might not bring the kids back, but that I feel it wouldn't be fair that I am the person looking for a new day care for my children instead of the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;kids&lt;/span&gt; who are the problem.  And finding a spot in a daycare sucks because half the time all the spaces are filled, and the other half of the time, they don't take &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;DSHS&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;GRRRRRRR&lt;/span&gt;!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8316225378125808558?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8316225378125808558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8316225378125808558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8316225378125808558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8316225378125808558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/12/balthezar-got-stabbed.html' title='Balthezar got stabbed!'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3896361862635586981</id><published>2009-12-01T01:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T01:31:16.516-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it December already?</title><content type='html'>I can't believe that I am a mere 6 months away from being an RN.  It seems like I have been working towards this for so long, but I also feel like I can't remember where the time went it has been so fast. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am thinking to myself that I know that I enjoy writing down what is going on in my life, but at the same time, I haven't written anything for a long time, and haven't been writting often for a long time.  I can see how that is the trend with the others on my blog list.  What's up guys!!!??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, of course I wait to write something until I am upset - and of course, my main topic of upsetness, Moises.  Nothing new.   I won't write any details, because it isn't really that interesting.  I just know that I am feeling crappy, and maybe writing will help me to feel better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am thinking more and more about my weight lately.  I joined weight watchers.  I did well for the first week, then for the next couple of weeks, didn't really do anything at all.  I didn't even go to a meeting.  Kathy joined tonight, and I went to the meeting, so I hope that with some support I can feel better about eating better.  I went to an OA meeting for the first time in years on Sunday.  I am doing a community resource report for school and had to pick something to educate the people in my class about.  It felt really good to go.  I have heard people in the past say that they go somewhere and it feels like 'home'  I have never understood that saying, but I totally felt like that.  I think I will start to go back to meetings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it is very late, and morning comes early, unfortunately!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3896361862635586981?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3896361862635586981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3896361862635586981' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3896361862635586981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3896361862635586981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/12/is-it-december-already.html' title='Is it December already?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6389596328638819057</id><published>2009-10-18T01:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T02:02:33.189-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She is only 6!!!</title><content type='html'>Edith was taking a bath the other day.  She looked down at her legs and said, "Mommy, my legs are hairy, I need to shave them." In my head I am thinking, oh my gosh, what am I supposed to say to that, and she's only 6, what the hell?!  So I say, well, girls all have hair that grows on their legs.  I say, 'look, mommy has hair on her legs'.  Her response:  But all the skinny beautiful girls don't have hair on their legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6389596328638819057?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6389596328638819057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6389596328638819057' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6389596328638819057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6389596328638819057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/10/she-is-only-6.html' title='She is only 6!!!'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-9049439175226666705</id><published>2009-10-07T22:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T22:24:16.162-07:00</updated><title type='text'>State testing folly</title><content type='html'>Balthezar passed the WASL for the third grade.  I am pretty happy about that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The teachers spend all of their time teaching kids how to pass the WASL.  Balthezar brings home practice tests all of the time.  This week Balthezar brought home his practice test and he was so excited - he only got 1 wrong!  The instructions for the problem is to read the sentence and to pick the word that is the same as the bolded word in the sentence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please do this &lt;strong&gt;FAVOR &lt;/strong&gt;for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the correct answer was 'kind act'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Balthezar however chose 'a dull chore'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hmmmmmmm&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-9049439175226666705?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/9049439175226666705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=9049439175226666705' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/9049439175226666705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/9049439175226666705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/10/state-testing-folly.html' title='State testing folly'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5361877724198344577</id><published>2009-09-20T00:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T02:06:09.040-07:00</updated><title type='text'>coming out of the hole</title><content type='html'>I miss my kids.  I know that absence makes the heart grow fonder.  It really is true sometimes.  I miss Edith's little pictures that she is always drawing and sharing with me.  I miss Balthezar's excitement about his favorite television shows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't think that I can go through with it.  I don't know if I am being selfish or realistic or what.  I just can't listen to their voices asking me to come home.  I feel like either way I have already made a mistake.  They know they have been sent away from me.  They aren't stupid.  I want them home, but what happens when I have a breakdown again?  I don't feel that low very often.  I think the combination of coming home, kids starting school, me about to start school made for a bad combination.  Then I got really sick and felt like hell for over a week.  On top of that I started my period.  On a normal month I feel like dying right before my period.  With the combination of all of that, it was really, really bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I say something to anyone? no  Did I ask for help? not really.  I did ask Moises to help at the very end, when I knew that I was near the edge.  He did come over a couple days later and hang out with the kids.  Obviously he didn't think it was that serious.  Maybe I could have been more aggressive with asking for help.  I couldn't ask Kathy for help, as she was not coming to the house because of family issues.  I thought about it, but knew she wouldn't come over.  For some reason, I felt like I couldn't ask mom for help either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess one thing I have learned is that I really need to put together a list of people for help when I am feeling like I can't take it anymore.  I have done this in the past, but haven't done it recently, and haven't taken it seriously.  I mean, having a safety plan in place for myself.  I need to remember that I am not alone, and I don't have to dispair and think that the world is over.  I also need to put together a menstral calendar for myself, so that I can see where I am at and when I should be getting my period.  This will help me to remember that when I am feeling like I want to die, it probably just means that I am going to have my period.  If I know when my period will be, I can remind myself that I really don't want to kill myself, it is just my period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to call my therapist on monday and make an appointment.  I would like to see if I can get in to see my psychiatrist as well.  I think I am also going to make an appointment to see doctor Kaminski about getting on Yaz for my issues with my menstral cycle.  It just isn't right to feel that way EVERY SINGLE MONTH!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am also going to swallow my pride and call the school counselor at the kids' school and ask about parenting classes.  I really need some help.  I watched about 4 hours of Supernanny in the past couple of days, and have seen how I am not completely failing, but have a ton of room for growth.  I would like to put up a big poster board with house rules like she does, and put together something specific for rewarding the children.  I have talked about it and haven't followed through with it.  I really want to find a way to spend more quality time with them every day having fun.  I think that is one of my biggest problems.  I have not been enjoying them enough, and they are getting negative attention from me instead of good attention.  Even if it is just 15 minutes a day doing something fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something that I need to get into place is a firm, written plan about how I am going to loose weight.  It is something that my psychiatrist has been asking me to do for months.  Having something written will help to keep a committment to myself.  I think that part of the reason I haven't been doing as much with the kids is because I am just too tired.  I hope that exercising and eating a bit better will help me feel better.  Carrying around an extra person all day, everyday tends to make one feel pretty tired!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what do I need?  I need support.  I will need some gentle reminders to get back on track.  I am not ready to let my kids go until I have really tried to make this work.  Thinking about being without them makes me feel numb and horrible.  Again, I will need help, so please, please if you read this, help me out and ask me how its going.  Ask me to go on a walk with you.  Ask me to have my kids help to make a healthy meal.  Ask me how my parenting classes are going.  Give me a reminder of how I am doing - that I can keep going.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5361877724198344577?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5361877724198344577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5361877724198344577' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5361877724198344577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5361877724198344577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/09/coming-out-of-hole.html' title='coming out of the hole'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3043099225521696026</id><published>2009-09-18T23:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T23:42:29.261-07:00</updated><title type='text'>burning eyes</title><content type='html'>My eyes feel like they are burning I have cried so much lately.  I just wish that I could end it.  I don't even know why I am crying.  I don't feel like I am feeling anything.  Just dispair really.  I deep black nothingness.  I am ready to give up.  I don't want to go to school.  I don't want to sleep.  I don't want to stay awake.  I don't want to go out, and I don't want to stay home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss my kids.  Why am I such a bitch?  I am sick of stumbling through life.  I don't enjoy it very often.  It is just a mass of nothing.  I am always just tired, and grumpy, and lazy, and horrid.  Maybe not at the same time, but at least one or two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I usually medicate with food.  Food doesn't even sound good to me anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(edited out for privacy!)  and part of me wants to just stop it because I know that people hate people who do that.  I know, I am crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is just too much.  Either way, my decisions make bad decisions that hurt people, inconvenience people, or scare people.    I can't imagine my life without them, I don't want them to hate me - which will happen with whatever I do.  That is why it seems easier to do others things.  I will be hated even more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole thing is just stupid.  I can't have my cake and eat it too.  Only disneyland dads get that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3043099225521696026?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3043099225521696026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3043099225521696026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3043099225521696026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3043099225521696026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/09/burning-eyes.html' title='burning eyes'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2496738528310272800</id><published>2009-09-18T02:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T03:05:29.504-07:00</updated><title type='text'>do I really just need a break?</title><content type='html'>I feel like I really need to write something but I don't have anything to say.  Or, I have a lot to say, but how the hell am I supposed to say it?  A lot of things that I am feeling, isn't okay for me to write about in the public arena.  I feel like I am a pretty open book, but sometimes open books get burned up for being too explicit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;David came and picked up my kids tonight.  I asked Stacie to take them.  I don't know for how long, but I feel like my heart is broken.  On one hand, I feel like I have awesome kids who I love to death.  On the other hand is the fact that they are disobedient, and I have no patience and I am not a nice person to be around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People say that I need a break.  Well, a break from what?  I had the summer off.  The kids are in school so I am free to do whatever I want from 8 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon.  I think that if I were to have more free time I would just sleep constantly.  I don't feel like doing anything.  I almost never do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it would help if I felt like I had a meaning to my life.  But I don't.  I feel like there is no point to this life.  It is many years of suffering, and then you die and get eaten by worms.  Even if I did believe in an afterlife, what would be the freaking point of that?  I mean, I already feel like I am wading through sludge just to get by.  Do I want to do that for eternity too?  Maybe I have already died, and this is hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't feel like doing it anymore.  Not just parenting, but all of it.  I am just a big fat lazy loser who would be better off dead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2496738528310272800?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2496738528310272800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2496738528310272800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2496738528310272800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2496738528310272800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/09/do-i-really-just-need-break.html' title='do I really just need a break?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3232532370228809591</id><published>2009-08-13T17:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T18:08:18.292-07:00</updated><title type='text'>bits and pieces</title><content type='html'>I feel like I have a lot to say most of the time, but by the time I sit down here to write it, I find I am blank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have gotten used to the turkies (how on earth do you spell that?) We now have 7 of them.  I spent most of the afternoon at the plaza (an outdoor open shopping place) buying stuff for the wedding.  We bought 20 pounds of salt (yikes), 25 pounds of cookies (for the mole) 10 liters of cooking oil, 4 dozen plates, 50 pounds of rice, 2 pounds of dried chiles (we still have to buy another 15 or 20 pounds, they are really expensive so we didn´t have enough today) and a few pounds of chocolate (for the mole)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to Tepeaca tomorrow to buy a ´flower girl´dress for Edith.  I got my feeling hurt when I found out that the bride hadn´t actually included her.  Then, they next day I got into a fight with Aaron about how he talks to me disrespecfully and how I won´t have it.  I called Moises and told him that I would rather come home or rent a room.  He freaked out, but was mad at his brother and parents not me.  I felt really good because he stood up for me.   We now have an "official" room for when we stay here.  Aaron now has his "official room" as well, and they kids aren´t allowed to go in (as that is why he was being a jerk in the first  place because the kids let flies into his room) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gotta go!  The bathroom calls and they is no such thing as a public bathroom around here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3232532370228809591?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3232532370228809591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3232532370228809591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3232532370228809591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3232532370228809591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/08/bits-and-pieces.html' title='bits and pieces'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3331039562630354994</id><published>2009-08-03T18:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T19:06:05.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>turkey, dogs and donkeys</title><content type='html'>I am grumpy and depressed, and tired, homesick, bored, and angry.  I just literally feel like shit.  I have been feeling down for a while now.  I have expected it to go away as it always does with my period.  I haven´t had my period, it is a week late, and I still feel like crap.  (no, no posibility of pregnancy! - It would me the second coming is near)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought some new bras today.  I thought that would help me feel better, but it didn´t.  Now I am worried about money.  I don´t need to worry, because it will all work out, but I am just so good at it.  The bras are really nice.  They have super duper support.  They are really well made too, to last for years.  They are only 20 dollars, so if you want me to bring a couple home with me, let me know.  I will tell you how to get your measurements because they are custom made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcella called me last night, which was really nice.  I forget how much I miss being able to talk to someone with no language barrier.  I mean, my spanish is okay, but I feel like I cant express myself well sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not sleeping well at night.  All I can hear are dogs barking, donkeys braying (is that the right word) and the newest addition is turkeys gobbling.  We got 3 turkeys the other day to fatten up for the wedding.  They are so freaking loud it is unbelievable!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edith says to me: Mom, are we going to eat those turkeys&lt;br /&gt;me:  yes, when your uncle gets married&lt;br /&gt;Edith:  does that mean we are going to kill them?&lt;br /&gt;me: yes, we are going to kill them and eat them.&lt;br /&gt;Edith:  Can I watch when they kill them!&lt;br /&gt;Me: uh.....sure.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also recently asked me about cows having babies.  She asked me if we were going to kill the cows to eat.  I said that maybe someday we would.  She said that we should wait until they have babies first.  Then she asked me if you have to cut open the cow to get the baby out.  No, I say, it just comes out of the vagina.  Oh...okay- she says.  (she knows where her vagina is and didn´t even say anything about it hurting or anything.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should go get my kids and go to bed.  Although, I already slept half the day.  Oh well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3331039562630354994?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3331039562630354994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3331039562630354994' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3331039562630354994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3331039562630354994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/08/turkey-dogs-and-donkeys.html' title='turkey, dogs and donkeys'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7821941897629928528</id><published>2009-08-01T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T12:22:22.981-07:00</updated><title type='text'>blah</title><content type='html'>I am having a really blah time lately.  Usually I have some good stories or something to tell.  Right now I have nothing!  I haven`t done anything fun.  I am bored out of my mind.  What do I normally do?  I do like to read, and I read all the Twilight series in the first week I was here.  I told myself that I would read my nursing book, but I have gotten through a whole page.  I guess I have done one thing - I am in the hard level for Guitar Hero on the nintendo ds.  That is pretty exciting (HA!) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ate part of a chicken head the other day.  I went to buy a roticerie chicken, and here they sell the heads too.  Well, while we were waiting for our order, the shop owner thought she would be nice and offer me one.  I took it and acted like I wasn´t going to freak out about eating a CHICKEN HEAD!  Blah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It looks like the nail thing isn´t going to work out.  People are way too poor right now to pay to have their nails painted.  The bread thing is going okay.  I also brought a juicer with me to give to Leticia, and she is selling fruit juice to make money. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss my friends, I miss my family.  I miss having parks and fun places to take the kids.  I mean, they do have fun playing outside (what a concept) with the dirt and trees and stuff.  I guess I just don´t have much to talk about and so I am not a good conversationist and that is all people do around here.  I don´t know how they find so much to talk about.  I just tune out most of the time because I don´t know who or what they are talking about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7821941897629928528?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7821941897629928528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7821941897629928528' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7821941897629928528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7821941897629928528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/08/blah.html' title='blah'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-592471915675988197</id><published>2009-07-28T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T17:27:58.064-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No news is good news?</title><content type='html'>My sister Genevieve is supposed to have a baby today.  I haven´t heard anything, so I supposed that is good.  I hate being out of the loop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found out today that I recieved a scholarship for my tuition next year in school.  Now I need to wait to see how much of a pell grant they think I need.  My FAfsa says I can recieve up to 5300 in pell grants.  That would be nice.  It is about what I got last year.  It was really nice being able to buy clothes and get gas without worrying about how I was going to come up with the money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life here is pretty boring.  I have been in a funk that past couple of days.  It is stupid really, because it is about Moises (nothing new, right?)  He lied to me the other day about where he was at and it has really disturbed me.  I don´t like being lied to.  It reminds me of the early years when Stacie was married to Ariel.  In my head, I think, okay he might have been with a woman.  If that is the case, fuck him, right?  His final story (it has changed 4 times so far) is that he went to a quinciñera party for one of his friends´daughter.  If that was all, why did he have to lie?  Of course I ask him that and he says something about how I always give him a hard time when he hangs out with his friends (totally not true) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does anyone have a breadmachine that works but no longer want sitting around in their house?  Let me know.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-592471915675988197?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/592471915675988197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=592471915675988197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/592471915675988197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/592471915675988197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/07/no-news-is-good-news.html' title='No news is good news?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1659888292914077235</id><published>2009-07-22T13:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T13:46:58.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I´m broke!</title><content type='html'>Well, not totally, but I spent 35 dollars today to see a doctor and get medicine.  I woke up sweating and needing to vomit and with diarrhea. (tmi, I know)  I don´t know if it is food poisoning or just a bit of everything - sun, food, germs, etc.  But I felt like I was going to die.  Fortunately, I am feeling better now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made an anouncement about teaching english but no one showed up.  I was looking forward to the extra cash, but I guess I will just have to make due - maybe even ask Moises to cough up some more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I am tired, and don´t have much to say.  Remember I am only a phone call away, and it is cheap to call mexico - 011-52-249-103-1012&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1659888292914077235?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1659888292914077235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1659888292914077235' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1659888292914077235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1659888292914077235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-broke.html' title='I´m broke!'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4947562386323512272</id><published>2009-07-18T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-18T10:30:43.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the training wheels are off</title><content type='html'>Edith learned how to ride a 2 wheeler this week.  It is funny because Balthezar learned to ride his bike here too.  I guess now they will both have memories of bike riding in mexico.  I remember the day I learned how to ride my bike.  I can still see and feel it clearly in my head.  Poor Edith though, she doesn´t have very good control and there is so much dirt and rocks she is always falling down.  She has a lot of bruises.  I am surprised that she hasn´t given up (she just blames it on mexico).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She does  talks a lot about how she hates Mexico.  Every time that something happens that she doesn´t like, she starts saying, 'I hate Mexico, I want to go back to America'  It is frustrating.  I don´t want her to hate it here.  It is so different.  I know that I am weird in the fact that I like it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sold some clothes to a woman the other day.  While she was looking at the clothes she was talking about weight.  I don´t remember how it came up, but I probably said something about how I need to loose some.  Well, a couple days later she shows up to pay me (I let her take them and bring me the money later) and she has another woman with her. I guess she works for the woman taking care of her baby.  She tells me that she sells herbalife and that it is good for losing weight.  I tell her that I have heard of it, and she invites me to a meeting to learn all about it.  I told her no, but she was persistent, so I thought, okay fine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She shows up (late) the next day and takes me to the meeting in Tecamachalco.  It is interesting going to a meeting like that after being in Mary Kay, just because MK meetings are so much more fun!  I got to try some samples (not very good) and learn about the products.  Afterwards, she invited us out to eat.  We got a couple of pizzas for the kids, and she took me to her brothers restaurant.  It is a nice place - the nicest I have seen around here.  I guess he worked as a chef at Olive Garden for years and saved up to buy this place.  I got a cobb salad and it was really really good - the dressing was the best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I got home and told my mother in law and Leticia about it.  They of course had something to say.  They always do when someone comes to see me, or invites me to something.  They told me that she is a snob and she doesn´t talk to anybody here in town because she thinks she is better than them.  They said, what does she want from you?  Well, obviously she wants me to buy her products I said.  She seemed nice enough to me.   She offered to take me and the kids to the city of Puebla to go on a city tour.  I think it would be fun, but of course in the back of my mind I am also thinking, why is she being nice to me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moises called yesterday and I told him about it.  He didn´t know who I was talking about so he talked to his mom and she told him.  Then he gets back on the phone and says that he definately doesn´t want me buying anything from her and that he wants nothing to do with 'those type of people'.  Of course, I am like, WHY?  He says that their family has a little lighter skin than most of the others here in town, so they say they have european blood and would never date anyone who is 'indiginous'  There was a woman a few years back who tried to befriend me, and apparently she was the same way.  At least that is what my family here told me.  So I wonder if they want to befriend me because I am white and they like that, or if they are just more outgoing and do more than just stare at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told Leticia that she is jealous.  Well, it is hard to translate, but jealous as in, they don´t want to share me with other people.  I do consider my sisters in law my friends, but it would be nice to have more than that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to start english classes this next week.  I don´t like living on 100 dollars a week.  I can barely make it by at home because I get food stamps.  Here I guess I get by, it just feels much tighter because I use that money to buy all my food.  The bigger reason that I decided to teach english classes is because it is an easy way to make extra money.  It has come to my attention that Medardo, Delia and Lupe all have really horrible teeth.  They have some serious decay going on.  The other day Medardo was in pain the whole day, and I told him to go to the dentist and find out what needs to be done.  I asked his mom later if it would be okay if I pay for it.  (they are very proud people so being given money or having someone else take care of something for their kids is a big deal)  She was surprisingly gracious about it.  She said of course, why would she say no.  I think that in the past she would definately say no, but her husband hasn´t had a steady job for many months, and they are suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The economy sucks down here too.  The only guy out of all my in laws that has a job right now is Javier, Leticias husband.  He is working in Monterrey right now.  I guess he will be back for the wedding.  Delia´s husband, Feliciano works a day here and there where he can find it.  Same with Antonio, Martha husband, and Giovanni, Maricella´s husband. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of the work that they have gotten is actually with Aaron and Antonio fixing up their houses.  Antonio has expanded his house to have a large overhand for a garage, and on top he is going to build a large second floor.  Aaron has also built a garage for the house, and is doing lots of clean up around the yard (it is kind of like mom´s back yard that has tons of random stuff everywhere)  None of the men around here ever has a really steady job.  They get hired some place to do a job, sometimes for a week, sometimes for several months.  Once the work is done, they need to find a new job.  Right now, there isn´t much to be found.  So even though I am living on 100 dollars a week, I am still the rich one.  Isn´t that crazy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the big gossip news for the day is that Antonio got his girfriend pregnant.  Nobody in the family knows except me and Maricela.  She knows because Mago (his girlfriend) lives across the street from us and they grew up together and are still really good friends.  Maricella and her husband have been living in Antonios house ever since they got together.  Well, aparently, Antonia and Mago have been having secret meetings up at the house.  I think it is too bad, because they have to meet in secret and do it on an old dirty matress.  I think it is kind of gross. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the other day we came home really late from a party that we went to and all the lights were off in the house, but I see someone in the living room watching tv.  It is a girl, but I cant quite make out who it is.  I walk into the door and Antonio is getting dressed as fast as he can.  I walk into the living room and it is Mago.  She is sitting there looking all nervous.  I laughed and said we must have come at the wrong moment.  His parents didn´t notice, because they went into their room, not the main house.  Later on that evening, Antonio was getting dressed because he took a shower and I asked him if he was going to marry her or not.  I told him that girls don´t like having to hide having sex, and that if he got married they could do it all the time.  He told me that he was going to marry her.  He has always said that he doesn´t want to get married, but apparently she won´t just get together with him, she wants marriage.  I told him to hurry it up!  (of course it was the next day that I found out that she is pregnant, she I am sure that will hurry things along.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I think that is enough gossip for the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4947562386323512272?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4947562386323512272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4947562386323512272' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4947562386323512272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4947562386323512272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/07/training-wheels-are-off.html' title='the training wheels are off'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1218062761025344435</id><published>2009-07-11T09:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T10:20:30.721-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trip to the Dentist</title><content type='html'>I went to the dentist today.  The other day I was flossing and a my filling fell out of my mouth.  So I asked where to go to the dentist.  Moises has a cousin who is a dentist, but apparently she is really expensive.  They told me that there is a girl who recently graduated that is charging a lot less.  So Leticia took me to go see her today.  She takes me to a store that sells fruits and vegetables and other basic household items.  They also sell roasted chicken.  She gets the attention of a girl who is loading chicken heads onto a big rotisserie pole and says I want to get seen.  The girl gets someone else to finish with the chicken heads and leads me up 2 flights of stairs that are part of the house.  On the top floor there is a room with a dentist chair and whatnot.  Well, the 'girl' is the dentist!  I have an appointment to get the filling replace on monday.  She charges $15 for fillings.  Nice.  I saw that she has an autoclave, so that makes me feel good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have felt a bit homesick the past couple of days.  So has Balthezar.  He broke down crying the other day saying that he wants to go home.  He wants to see his friends and family and have everything 'normal' he says.  I have felt it a little bit, but have been busy around the house and had my sister in laws over every day, so I have had company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As always, I feel like I don´t do enough around the house.  I know it is wrong, but I just dont think I should have to clean up after all my inlaws.  I should do more, but so far, I just don´t want to.  I am being lazy maybe and stubborn!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished the Twilight series.  I do think that it was pretty good.  It do get a little annoying with how low of a self esteem Bella has.  I don´t like the idea that millions of young girls are reading this series and thinking that true love means that your boyfriend stalks you, won´t let you visit your friends, and in the end, kills you.  Yeah, not so much......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1218062761025344435?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1218062761025344435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1218062761025344435' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1218062761025344435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1218062761025344435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/07/trip-to-dentist.html' title='Trip to the Dentist'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5283859069199646085</id><published>2009-07-07T10:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T10:20:05.380-07:00</updated><title type='text'>hello?</title><content type='html'>I am feeling really out of it.  I feel like my spanish has gotten really crappy because I am having a hard time keeping up with some conversations.  It really bothers me.  Then there are the kids who speak to me in english, even though I am trying hard to speak to them in spanish.  I am getting a headache from going back and forth between the two.  I know that it a couple of weeks it will start to feel okay again.  I just have to remind myself in the meantime that my brain will hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven´t really done much since I got here.  I haven´t gone and visited people.  I know I should, I just don´t feel like it.  I don´t mean to say that I have to, just that I will feel better if I get out of the house more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I brought a bread machine with me here.  I have been making banana bread, and have even sold a loaf. &lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;I think that if they keep on it, they can sell it once I am gone.  The problem that I can see, is that they have a hard time keeping up with something.  I don´t know if it is because they aren´t interested or if they are lazy, or if they don´t think that it will work out.  I brought the nail set with me, and of course I am ready to get to work, but my sister in law´s seem pretty apathetic about it.  They seem interested, but not intested enough to find clients, make anouncements and get to work.  Maybe I am being to hard on them though.  I have only been here a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I am going matress shopping with my mother in law.  Balthezar wants to sleep on his own, so we need a new bed for him.  I am happy, because I am not used to sleeping with the kids so it will be really nice to have my space back.  The bed that we got is very nice.  It even has a really nice base with drawer for clothes.  This is the first time that I have been here that I feel like I have a room that is really put together and has everything I need.  Even the time that I was here for 6 months I was living out of my suitcase.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5283859069199646085?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5283859069199646085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5283859069199646085' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5283859069199646085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5283859069199646085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/07/hello.html' title='hello?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7697728378975412986</id><published>2009-06-29T10:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T10:25:24.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>worst mom in the world</title><content type='html'>Edith for some reason thinks that she can say that to me.  Well, she CAN, but I want to beat her for it.  I told her that it hurt my feelings and that she needed to stop.  I haven´t heard it again since, but it keeps running through my head.  The annoying thing is that she said it for not apparent reason.  I was getting something for her and she just said it.  Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am here in Mexico.  The trip went by really fast.  It helped that I was reading a good book.  Stacie lent me the Twilight series.  BTW - no one here has even heard of it!  It is weird since it is front page magazine topic all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did have a few hiccups.  Like when someone took my carry-on instead of theirs when getting off the first plane.  Fortunately, the airline was able to locate the people who mistakenly took it, and get it on the plane before it took off.  Once in mexico, the carry one was there, but a different bag hadn´t arrived.  Ugh!  Fortunately, it didn´t have all my clothes in it like last time.  It does, however, have some slightly expensive power tools that I am taking for Moises, and all my books for teaching english.  Lastly, Moises told his parents that I would be at the bus terminal at 8, but due to my flight in Houston being delayed, along with filled out info for the lost bag, we didn´t even leave mexico city until 7.  We got to Tecamachalco at 11 pm, and I found out that they had been waiting at the bus terminal for 3 1/2 hours!  Oops. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The house is kind of an organized mess right now.  Aaron is busy fixing things up.  He will be getting married on August 22, and needs the house to look good for the wedding and also for his new bride.  I am happy to say that we now have a flushing toilet, a hot shower, and running water in the bathroom!  It is also the nicest bathroom ever, I might add.  I will take a picture.  It is interesting to see that changes over the past 10 years from a hole in the ground out with the animals to this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moises paid a friend to make a bed frame for us, but he hasn´t shown up with it.  Moises paid him half down to get the materials, but I don´t think we will get it.  I think the guy blew the money or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister-in-law´s really like the nail set.  They think that we could charge somewhere between 5 and 10 dollars to do it.  I am not sure how we are going to market it, but I am sure that we will figure it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I am out of stuff to say for now.  I am tired and just want to sleep - which is nothing new, right?  I have woken up every day with a huge headache.  I realized today that it is because I haven´t been drinking diet coke and my body is going through withdrawals.  Yuck.  I have had a little here and there, but not like when I am at home.  I am such an addict!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7697728378975412986?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7697728378975412986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7697728378975412986' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7697728378975412986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7697728378975412986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/06/worst-mom-in-world.html' title='worst mom in the world'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3150347453378520990</id><published>2009-06-20T23:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T00:10:26.955-07:00</updated><title type='text'>packing and stress</title><content type='html'>I have spent the last two days slowly packing.  I would say that I am now 3/4 of the way done.  It has been difficult this year, because I am only taking one checked bag for each of us.  In the past I have been able to take 2 each, but because of charges, I cannot do that anymore.  So, normally I don't think that it would be a big deal, because I am just taking a bunch of clothes.  This year however, I am taking a bunch of random, large items.  They include:  a juicer, a bread machine, two Bosch power tools, a large knife, finger nail painting supplies, several large jars of peanut butter - and the kitchen sink!  Okay, not the kitchen sink.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Josh is staying at Moises house right now, and has been watching me pack.  He just thinks we are crazy.  He thinks the items that I am packing are totally random and ridiculous.  He would be correct, but it all serves a purpose.  I can only imagine what the customs people will be thinking if I have to open up luggage.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That reminds me of a couple of my teachers who are traveling to Ecuador to set up a nursing opportunity for students.  They asked us to donate bras for the women, because they are expensive and hard to get where there are going in the Amazon.  They also asked for packages of condoms to teach birth control.  I can only image the strange looks that they are going to get if they have to have their bags opened!  I mean, can you imagine, bras and condoms - a whole suitcase full!  Crazy, sluttly, old american women!!! (that is what they will be thinking)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The kids have been driving me absolutely crazy today, and they aren't even misbehaving.  I am just having a really hard time for some reason.  I wonder if I am going to start my period.  I guess it is better to be grumpy than to feel like I want to die - which is how I normally feel at that time of the month.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is also probably because I am stressed out about leaving the country for two months.  I mean, I don't 'feel' stressed, but I am just feeling out of sorts.  It is also really weird to be finished with school for the time being.  I have gotten so used to hanging out with friends so much, I might be going through friend withdrawal!  Marcella is in San Diego with her family for vacation, and Luth is working full time for the summer.  I tried calling Ana, before school even got out, and I haven't heard back from her.  It is weird having been such good friends and then our friendships growing apart.  I am worried that the same will happen with Marcella and Luth, because Ana and I were together constantly until I went to Mexico last summer.  I guess a lot has changed for both of us.  She stopped going to school and is working full time.  I am still in school and have a crazy schedule.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been going to physical therapy for a couple of months now for the pain in my leg that I have had since the accident.  It got really better for a while, but yesterday and today it is really bothering me, despite doing all of my exercises.  I even went out for a walk with Josh, Molly, Balthezar and Edith.  I hope that it will subside.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3150347453378520990?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3150347453378520990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3150347453378520990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3150347453378520990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3150347453378520990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/06/packing-and-stress.html' title='packing and stress'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3564348028650641170</id><published>2009-06-19T01:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T09:28:57.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kindergarten video</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-54c0c5d480a506f4" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v11.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D54c0c5d480a506f4%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D51D859CFEF8BD289CC1E70D58B5958F2F4E4A883.7A54D2E1D55E449FC2C437B0CCCC50B28B6CC06B%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D54c0c5d480a506f4%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DDmVDTSBKbe30SYbbEAgjiluoVgY&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v11.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D54c0c5d480a506f4%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D51D859CFEF8BD289CC1E70D58B5958F2F4E4A883.7A54D2E1D55E449FC2C437B0CCCC50B28B6CC06B%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D54c0c5d480a506f4%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DDmVDTSBKbe30SYbbEAgjiluoVgY&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;Kathleen's camera doesn't have sound.  It is very cute anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3564348028650641170?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=54c0c5d480a506f4&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3564348028650641170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3564348028650641170' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3564348028650641170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3564348028650641170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/06/kindergarten-video.html' title='Kindergarten video'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2216457784838725677</id><published>2009-06-18T19:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T20:30:37.079-07:00</updated><title type='text'>End of the Year</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDBcm02_I/AAAAAAAAAXs/gjG3AeN21Vc/s1600-h/IMG_0728.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348872305826388978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDBcm02_I/AAAAAAAAAXs/gjG3AeN21Vc/s320/IMG_0728.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the left is my Spring quarter clinical group. Top left is Sophia, me, Luth, Marcella, Bottom row is Myhanh, Tatyana, Yen and Tamra. (Christina left early, so she isn't in the photo)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDBOCr3vI/AAAAAAAAAXk/OmJJIbs2azs/s1600-h/P6020422.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348872301916708594" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDBOCr3vI/AAAAAAAAAXk/OmJJIbs2azs/s320/P6020422.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDA3RNi5I/AAAAAAAAAXc/ZGIMLEA0P98/s1600-h/P6020425.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348872295803620242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDA3RNi5I/AAAAAAAAAXc/ZGIMLEA0P98/s320/P6020425.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Moises, Edith and I at Edith's Kindergarten graduation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mrs. Kuney on the left was the teachers aid in Ediths class for the year. Below is Ms. Barbee her teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDAYGSYMI/AAAAAAAAAXU/O4OLha6rhNI/s1600-h/P6020427.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348872287436300482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDAYGSYMI/AAAAAAAAAXU/O4OLha6rhNI/s320/P6020427.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDALJEwkI/AAAAAAAAAXM/mDU2SddoYBg/s1600-h/P6020416.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348872283958329922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDALJEwkI/AAAAAAAAAXM/mDU2SddoYBg/s320/P6020416.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Edith is singing during her graduation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Balthezar was in a dance routine for the end of the year. He was in the far right corner, so you can only see him for half of it! It is a video - so click on the play symbol to watch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-99f4f1b016b408d" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v9.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D099f4f1b016b408d%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2F4FD40DE6716A1258081E53D2D25E2832F7D0AD.8BC25E4A99A8E7FDDF9D0376BBF117FEBE7C5A%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D99f4f1b016b408d%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DghwMqBsnp5S8z_sSBtFmWJZfp4g&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v9.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D099f4f1b016b408d%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2F4FD40DE6716A1258081E53D2D25E2832F7D0AD.8BC25E4A99A8E7FDDF9D0376BBF117FEBE7C5A%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D99f4f1b016b408d%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DghwMqBsnp5S8z_sSBtFmWJZfp4g&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2216457784838725677?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2216457784838725677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2216457784838725677' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2216457784838725677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2216457784838725677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/06/blog-post.html' title='End of the Year'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SjsDBcm02_I/AAAAAAAAAXs/gjG3AeN21Vc/s72-c/IMG_0728.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4726048184044656843</id><published>2009-06-08T01:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T01:18:08.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One more week</title><content type='html'>Kathleen mentioned that she can't wait for me to go to Mexico because I actually post on here all the time.  So I figure I will appease her and write about my boring life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have one more week left of my first year of nursing school.  I can't believe how fast it went by!  I thought second quarter was going to kill me, but now that it is over, I feel pretty confident.  I have to pass a proctored test on thursday in order to pass, and I am a concerned about it.  It basically covers everything we have learned this year.  It is so much freaking information - too much.  I took a practice exam and scored a 67%!!!  I have to get a 68% in order to pass.  My psyche is hurting right now because I am normally not an average student, and I am getting average grades.  I haven't been trying very hard, so it isn't a suprise.  It just feels very different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leave for Mexico on the 27th.  As always, I am excited and nervous at the same time.  Excited because it is always nice to see people that I haven't seen in a year.  I love an adventure, so I get my needs fulfilled.  I just hate the packing.  Riding on the airplane isn't very comfortable.  Thank god I have the kids to ride with, otherwise I would probably have to buy an additional seat due to my size.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is so weird to go from being here at home in the morning, and in my Mexican home by night the same day.  I think that it is such a big jolt of change.  It isn't really describable.  I know that in the past year my in-laws have hooked up some sort of system for taking a shower.  No more building fires outside and heating up water to pour over my head with a bowl!!!  I can't even imagine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother in law Aaron is getting marriend on the 22nd of August.  This starts to beginning of something very new for me and my in-laws.  I have always been the only 'nuera' (daughter in law) and so I have been able to come and visit and live with them.  I am not sure how things will end up now that Aaron is getting married.  My understanding is that Moises parents will give Aaron their house once they die.  So, it will be their house.  That is why he has spent the money to do a bunch of upgrades - it will be his home.  So, even though it won't 'officially' be his - it will be.  So how do I continue to come and visit without stepping on toes and invading their space?  I don't know.  I guess it really is time to start building on our land.  It is really close by (like maybe a 10 minute walk) and right now they use it to plant alfalfa or corn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say that because I am thinking about these things that I am jealous.  I think that is part of their culture.  I have heard the son in laws talk about who is the favorite out of the 4 of them.  They think that it is Antonio, Martha's husband.  It is something to kind of joke about, but when it boils down, it really means something to them.  I think that there is part of me that worries.  Just because I am SO NOT MEXICAN.  They are going to have a nice mexican woman living there who does everything the mexican way.  I don't think that they will decide they don't like me.  I think that I kind of get a pass because they do realize that I come from a different world.  I also always come with tons of gifts for everyone.  It is hard not to like someone who is as nice as me ;) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, I really need to get my crap together!  My room is a total stye.  My computer area looks like crap.  I am going to have a garage sell next friday and saturday with Marcella and Luth, so hopefully I can make some traveling money.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4726048184044656843?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4726048184044656843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4726048184044656843' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4726048184044656843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4726048184044656843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/06/one-more-week.html' title='One more week'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2976149270990222918</id><published>2009-05-22T23:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T23:58:44.499-07:00</updated><title type='text'>more nail pics</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheegeYegjI/AAAAAAAAAXE/CBahbxp3ai8/s1600-h/P5070375.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338910164019741234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheegeYegjI/AAAAAAAAAXE/CBahbxp3ai8/s320/P5070375.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheegI-O3hI/AAAAAAAAAW8/mLhHzp3DbL8/s1600-h/P5070377.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338910158272519698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheegI-O3hI/AAAAAAAAAW8/mLhHzp3DbL8/s320/P5070377.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheefyGs2iI/AAAAAAAAAW0/yVLYvS1a0v0/s1600-h/P5070378.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338910152134023714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheefyGs2iI/AAAAAAAAAW0/yVLYvS1a0v0/s320/P5070378.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheefqRdLiI/AAAAAAAAAWs/SBMy4FZG3Vk/s1600-h/P5070379.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338910150031650338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheefqRdLiI/AAAAAAAAAWs/SBMy4FZG3Vk/s320/P5070379.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheefSnqChI/AAAAAAAAAWk/n1GFd3msw0Q/s1600-h/P5070383.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338910143682316818" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheefSnqChI/AAAAAAAAAWk/n1GFd3msw0Q/s320/P5070383.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am still working out the kinks, but I am starting to get the hang of the simple ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2976149270990222918?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2976149270990222918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2976149270990222918' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2976149270990222918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2976149270990222918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/05/more-nail-pics.html' title='more nail pics'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SheegeYegjI/AAAAAAAAAXE/CBahbxp3ai8/s72-c/P5070375.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4629729512018537221</id><published>2009-05-22T14:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T14:02:07.057-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I love my new nail set</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/ShcStc1ICPI/AAAAAAAAAWc/Qtu1MchYA14/s1600-h/P5070368.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338756455313443058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/ShcStc1ICPI/AAAAAAAAAWc/Qtu1MchYA14/s320/P5070368.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to have a fun time in Mexico doing nails.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4629729512018537221?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4629729512018537221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4629729512018537221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4629729512018537221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4629729512018537221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-love-my-new-nail-set.html' title='I love my new nail set'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/ShcStc1ICPI/AAAAAAAAAWc/Qtu1MchYA14/s72-c/P5070368.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4761609338946638118</id><published>2009-05-19T00:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T00:38:59.314-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The 'Green' Group</title><content type='html'>Balthezar had a bit of a meltdown today.  We got into an argument about some of his homework.  He is worried that he won't get a good enough grade on his animal report and so he won't be able to go to the zoo.  I said that of course he will a good enough grade on his report.  He said that he wouldn't that he is stupid.  I asked him why he said that.  Balthezar is in the 'green' group.  Apparently, the 'green' group is the 'stupid' group for the kids who are 'stupid'  Only 3 other kids are in his group and the rest of the class is in the blue and the red groups. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart wants to break.  I was always in the top group.  I never really paid attention to what group other kids were in - except that I wanted to be the best in the group that I was in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is days like this that I wish my kids were homeschooled!  He is so amazing at other things, but they aren't things that you take tests on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4761609338946638118?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4761609338946638118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4761609338946638118' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4761609338946638118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4761609338946638118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/05/green-group.html' title='The &apos;Green&apos; Group'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6188859274955022789</id><published>2009-05-15T02:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T02:43:13.037-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nails</title><content type='html'>I am excited about a new venture.  Last fall I bought a nail art set at the Puyallup Fair.  It is just a really basic set that you put nail polish on a metal plate with designs on it, and then are able to transfer the design onto your nail.  I bought it because I knew Edith thought it was awesome, and I thought it would be a fun mommy and me time thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, last week we were doing nails together and it occured to me how well this would go over in Mexico -and even here.  I am going to be raising money for my graduation ceremony and will probably use it as a fundraiser at school.  I am always looking for ways to help out my in-laws in Mexico.  Not necessarily Moises's parents, but his sisters.  They all have husbands who work on and off, depending on where they can find work, but the guys are usually stingy with their money.  Besides my perception that they are being stingy, truthfully they only make about 100 dollars a week, and so it is barely enough to get by - and that is only if you eat beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sets are expensive though.  The simple one that I bought was the only purchase I made at the fair, and it was $45.  The have larger professional sets.  I thought to myself, I can ask for a discout - the worst they can say is no.  I emailed the company - it is run by a lady in Orting.  I told her what I was going to do with the set.  I was so thrilled when she wrote back and said that she would give me a very large discount.  She even told me that she has a huge family, and would like to give me some clothing donations as well!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I am pretty excited about the whole thing.  I have been watching nail art tutorials on youtube and have been trying new designs on my nails.  It has been fun.  If you want a really cool nail art kit - go to nanasnailart.com - I will be sending all the business I can her way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If anybody has any nail polish around that they never use, let me know.  I am trying to round up base colors.  The set comes with polish, but it is a thick polish that is used for the stamp part only.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6188859274955022789?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6188859274955022789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6188859274955022789' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6188859274955022789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6188859274955022789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/05/nails.html' title='Nails'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1732878797545056213</id><published>2009-04-22T23:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T23:53:33.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Soloist</title><content type='html'>Luth got tickets to see the premier for The Soloist with Jamie Foxx and Robert Downing Jr..  It was pretty good.  It reminded me of how much I loved going to the symphony with Uncle John when I was a kid.  The move was filled with music.  I don't really know how to describe the movie, except that it was interesting.  I would definately say to go see it in the theater if you can. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You all know me, so of course I cried.  I really felt a sense of kinship (not sure if that is the right word) with the main character Nathaniel.  There is a part in the movie when he says he doesn't know why the other guy would want to be friends with a person like him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that is how I feel a lot of the time.  It has only been changing in the last few years in college that I feel like people know who I am and still want to be friends with me.  There is a part of myself that is always afraid that people are going to see the 'real' me and change their mind.  Well, I am the real me all of the time.  so they obviously like part of me - probably even most of me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1732878797545056213?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1732878797545056213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1732878797545056213' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1732878797545056213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1732878797545056213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/04/soloist.html' title='The Soloist'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8894546239636568955</id><published>2009-04-20T23:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T00:03:59.037-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Financial aid and scholarships</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Se1ulrmjumI/AAAAAAAAAWU/XiRyV0veiJI/s1600-h/img193.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327035527887829602" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Se1ulrmjumI/AAAAAAAAAWU/XiRyV0veiJI/s320/img193.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Se1ulojoUrI/AAAAAAAAAWM/1ufj2kVM2b4/s1600-h/img192.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327035527070241458" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 224px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Se1ulojoUrI/AAAAAAAAAWM/1ufj2kVM2b4/s320/img192.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Okay, to start off, HOW FREAKING CUTE ARE MY KIDS!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't get pictures taken at the begining of the year, because I figured that since we already had soccer fotos that I wouldn't get more. Well, I ordered class photos and you could get 'personalitly' photos with it, so I thought, what the heck. I love that they both have Moises's eyebrows -exactly the same.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other news.........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the past week has been full of paperwork related to money! The priority deadline for financial aid applications was on the 15th. I also decided to apply for a bunch of scholarships that the 'BCC Foundation' offer (rich ex-students who donate money I think) I am not quite sure how the scholarship thing will work out, because it isn't just money given to me, it is specifically given for tuition and books. I already have financial aid that covers that - but it might end sometime next year because of the number of credits I have taken (with this quarter I have more credits at BCC then my AA degree at GRCC!!). So I talked to my grant counselor and she said that I could apply for it and see what happens. I have a hard time talking to her because half the time what she tells me ends up not working out. (like this quarter signing up for an extra class to get my full financial aid amount, only to find out that because the extra class isn't part of the nursing program, they have me as part time, gave me only 75% of the award and charged me for the extra class out of the award amount!!!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to scream sometimes when it comes to all the paperwork that is involved in getting help! My friend Luth says they make it as hard as possible so you can only get help if you REALLY REALLY want and need it. ARGh!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, anyway. We will see what happens with the scholarships. I had to write a few essays, get some letters of recommendation, transcripts, proof of an account with BECU (for the BECU scholarship) and I had to have one of the nursing instructors fill out an extra form for one of the scholarships saying that I am in the program, maintain a gpa over 3.0 and on a scale of 1-10, what does she rate my chances of successfully completing the nursing program (she gave me an 8 - she said, 'you never know if you will fall and brake a bone or something') My instructor who filled out the extra form also told me that I was the only first year student who asked for the scholarship, so I will probably get it! I guess it is true about money being out there and people just needing to apply!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will know about how my financial aid award with scholarships will turn out by mid June. I expect a good outcome!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8894546239636568955?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8894546239636568955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8894546239636568955' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8894546239636568955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8894546239636568955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/04/financial-aid-and-scholarships.html' title='Financial aid and scholarships'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Se1ulrmjumI/AAAAAAAAAWU/XiRyV0veiJI/s72-c/img193.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3469228686289389868</id><published>2009-04-18T01:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-18T01:16:38.747-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anatomy at Grandma's house</title><content type='html'>One thing that people who aren't related to me might not know, is that in another life I was probably a hippy who lived on a nudest ranch or something.  I don't mind being naked.  It isn't a big deal for me, even at this size *gasp* My kids aren't very conservative either, given that they spend their time with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, most of you have heard the story about Ediths, 'clitornuts' Just the other day, she was taking a shower and she mentioned cleaning her clitornuts.  Well, I made the mistake of correcting her and calling it a clitoris, and she got pretty upset at me.  How dare I!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, this morning while we were getting ready to leave for school, Balthezar announces, "Warning!  Naked Granpa alert!"  Balthezar was sitting in a chair facing the hallway and apparently Dick came out of his bedroom and went to his office in his birthday suit.  It was really cute the way that Balthezar said that.  He just kind of laughed again when Dick came back from the office to his room, with a silly smirk say warning! again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I tend to be very northern european in my views about the body.  It is just a body.  Seeing a naked one isn't that exciting.  Of course, I am not quite as free if I am at the gym around 20 year old hardbodies.  Then I feel much more self conscious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3469228686289389868?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3469228686289389868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3469228686289389868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3469228686289389868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3469228686289389868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/04/anatomy-at-grandmas-house.html' title='Anatomy at Grandma&apos;s house'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-785464717664168116</id><published>2009-04-10T23:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T23:47:33.225-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Depression</title><content type='html'>I am having a really hard time right now.  I haven't felt this bad since before I started school back when I first came back from Mexico and was living with my mom.  I have a test that I haven't really studied for on Monday.  I feel like crying all the time.  I am having really ugly thougts.  I tried to get an appointment with my therapist, but she doesn't have an opening for 2 weeks.  I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on thursday - that is just by chance.  I made that appointment 3 months ago.  I just don't feel like doing this anymore.  I am taking my meds, so don't even ask.  I am even going outside and going on walks - damn dogs!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-785464717664168116?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/785464717664168116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=785464717664168116' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/785464717664168116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/785464717664168116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/04/depression.html' title='Depression'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3432641649526419702</id><published>2009-04-09T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T15:31:02.341-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the 'Hotel'</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I took the kids to go see Monsters vs. Aliens.  They are on spring break and I wanted to do something special besides going to daycare all day long.  I found out that it is playing in 3D and on top of that, it was playing in 3D with IMAX at the new Southcenter theater inside the mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We lOVED it.  The imax was awesome and the 3D was awesome.  I would totally recommend it to everyone.  Especially since my kids tend to get bored during movies at the theater.  They get antsy, and if it isn't really exciting, get bored. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the 2nd  time I have been to the mall since it was redone, and the only time I have gone up the escalator to the second or third floor.  The kids loved playing on the excalators.  I remember loving it as a child, so I feel bad telling them not to!  As we were leaving Edith says, "I really like that hotel"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3432641649526419702?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3432641649526419702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3432641649526419702' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3432641649526419702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3432641649526419702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/04/hotel.html' title='the &apos;Hotel&apos;'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5531124027016995300</id><published>2009-03-28T01:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T01:11:14.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sushi and saki</title><content type='html'>I tried real sushi for the first time ever today.  Wow!  Yummy!  First I had this weird salad made from seaweed and sesame seeds.  It looked really weird, like slimy grass.  But it was one of the best salads I have ever had.  Then the waitress came with our sushi.  I had a 6 piece combination with a california roll.  So, I have only had california rolls before -  but these california rolls were so good!  The sushi was just pieces of different kinds of fish on top of a little block of rice.  There was salmon and tuna, and several other types of fish.  I put that green paste - I forget what it is called.  It burns and clears your sinuses.  All I can say is wow.  I think the tuna was my favorite.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5531124027016995300?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5531124027016995300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5531124027016995300' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5531124027016995300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5531124027016995300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/sushi-and-saki.html' title='sushi and saki'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6276351894665696897</id><published>2009-03-25T01:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T01:57:17.514-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Al is a sad fat cat</title><content type='html'>I am upset at a recent event in our household. Edith has become quite the reader, so I have gotten out the Frontline Phonics books that never went over well with Balthezar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is one titled 'Ham and Jam'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is the story of Al the cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Al is a cat (Happy cat curled up looking around)&lt;br /&gt;Al has ham (cat with a big hamhock)&lt;br /&gt;Al has jam (cat licking lips with a jar of jam and jam all over himself, tummy getting distended)&lt;br /&gt;Al has ham and jam (jam halfway empty, ham halfway eaten, has jam everywhere, and the stomach is bigger)&lt;br /&gt;Al is a fat cat (cat rubbing his distended belly with a sad look on face)&lt;br /&gt;Al is a sad fat cat (same as before)&lt;br /&gt;Al ran. Al ran and ran. (cat on a treadmill with tennis shoes and sweatbands)&lt;br /&gt;Al is a cat (Al is happy again and showing off his new figure)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 'questions to ask after reading the book'&lt;br /&gt;What made Al so fat?&lt;br /&gt;What did Al eat first?&lt;br /&gt;What did Al do to become thin again?&lt;br /&gt;Why is Al smiling?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the book, made a happy face on all the sad faces and crossed out the 'sad' and put in 'happy', but Edith didn't like it like that and wrote in 'sad' again. Now I have it and it will not be in her reading anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even childrens books are putting pressure on kids that being thin is good, and if you are fat you should be sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am remembering Maira's reaction when she got on the WII fit. I don't think that she had her height put in correctly, but at any rate, she got on it and it said she was overweight. Now it doesn't just say you are overweight, it shows your little character getting all fat and sad. Poor Maira was really sad about that. I feel guilty for letting them use it and her having that experience. I told her that the game is messed up and not to worry about it. Now it is just pissing me off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6276351894665696897?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6276351894665696897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6276351894665696897' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6276351894665696897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6276351894665696897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/al-is-sad-fat-cat.html' title='Al is a sad fat cat'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-814221110251608894</id><published>2009-03-24T00:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T00:43:01.807-07:00</updated><title type='text'>decide already</title><content type='html'>Okay, so I am being a little crazy about this whole class thing.  I don't know why I can't make up my mind, although for the time being, I have registered for it.  I sent an e-mail to my counselor to see what she has to say.  Maybe I will send an email to my nursing counselor as well.  As I am sitting here, I am realizing that it would mean that I would be in school until 6 pm on Ediths birthday.  Should that make me change it?  I mean, we can do dinner and cake after 6.  I decided to fold up some papers with the names of the classes on them and just sign up for the one that I picked at random, and it was the spanish class. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom says that I can't make up my mind because I am afraid that I will make the 'wrong' decision and regret it.  She points out that any choice that I make will work out.  this is true.  I am still freaking out about it though.  I have too much time on my hands maybe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am making a quilt for Moises.  It is keeping me busy.  I also got a couple of patterns for some cute summer little girls clothes.  I figure I can try my hand at sewing while I have the next week off.  I also make a reservation for Edith's birthday party at Chuck E cheese's.  I couldn't decide on that forever either.  I was going back and forth between her actually birthday, which is a thursday, and the Sunday after it.  I mean, Sunday is probably better, but the time available was at 12, so I am thinking, is that okay for people.  What if people can't come.  Well, who cares?  The poeple who can come will come.  I don't know why I am so worried about making the wrong choice.  It is driving me mad!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-814221110251608894?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/814221110251608894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=814221110251608894' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/814221110251608894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/814221110251608894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/decide-already.html' title='decide already'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5121442215653255615</id><published>2009-03-23T16:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T17:03:45.227-07:00</updated><title type='text'>spanish or business</title><content type='html'>I can't make up my mind.  I need to take at least 1 more credit if I want my full financial aid package.  My nursing courses are only 11 credits.  There aren't very many classes to choose from.  There is a spanish for health care providers, but it is 5 whole credits.  I don't want to get too bogged down with homework.  Then there are some 1 credit online classes that would probably be really simple, but something about taking a simple boring online class just seems like a waste.  I am going to school to learn.  I don't want to take a class simply to take it.  Obviously that spanish class is the better option for me.  It will definately help me in the long run, and just sitting here writing makes it seem like the best choice, but at the same time, my mind is  saying that I don't want to have to work too hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5121442215653255615?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5121442215653255615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5121442215653255615' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5121442215653255615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5121442215653255615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/spanish-or-business.html' title='spanish or business'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1132875163103111505</id><published>2009-03-20T23:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T23:43:26.182-07:00</updated><title type='text'>told ya so</title><content type='html'>yup.  Already too much time on my hands.  Or maybe not the time, per se, but the lack of stuff for my mind to be focusing on.   When I don't have a lot going on in my mind, I tend to fill it with thoughts of food.  What should I eat.  What shouldn't I eat.  When am I going to eat.  How long has it been since I ate.  What sounds good.  What can I eat next.  Why don't I feel satisfied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It goes on and on.  I am trying to find things to do instead.  I am writing on here.  I spent an hour playing pretend with Edith.  I am reading a book.  I read the key points for all the chapters that we will be covering in class once break is over.  I talked to Gen.  I talked to Luth.  I called a friend and wished her happy birthday.  I talked to Josh.  I talked to Moies.  I read books to my kids.  I visited some of my favorite blog sights. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have too much empty space in my head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1132875163103111505?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1132875163103111505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1132875163103111505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1132875163103111505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1132875163103111505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/told-ya-so.html' title='told ya so'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8086024801241193074</id><published>2009-03-20T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T13:55:36.744-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to get out?</title><content type='html'>I am feeling upset today.  It is my own fault.  I had my visiting teachers come over.  For those who don't know, it is a couple of women from the mormon church who come over and visit for a bit and share a short gospel lesson.  I have been open to it in the past.  I like my visiting teacher. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it is probably time to let them know that I am out.  Like - not interested.  How does one do that nicely.  I am assuming that maybe the next time she calls I will say that she doesn't need to visit me anymore.  It will save her time and mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only say this because my visiting teachers came over, one of them happens to be the relief society president.  She got out the church magazine, called the Ensign and wanted to talk about families.  She started by saying something about how people are trying to destroy the family, and brought up proposition 8.  I told her that she had better not start that discussion with me because it wasn't a good idea.  They both then looked really uncomfortable and talked about doing our best for our families and how we need to do our civic duty to keep families save.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, now I am just feeling unsettled.  The last time she came over, she asked what she could do to get me back at church.  I said that there probably wasn't anything.  I didn't go into detail.  I don't know why I can't say - hey, I don't believe in this so stop trying.  I probably should.  I feel like I am lying to them by letting them come and visit me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8086024801241193074?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8086024801241193074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8086024801241193074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8086024801241193074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8086024801241193074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/time-to-get-out.html' title='Time to get out?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8229236212968144626</id><published>2009-03-19T21:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T21:27:27.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>impatience</title><content type='html'>I think that I am so impatient that it is driving me crazy - mostly because my poor little kids are totally picking up on my bad behavior.  Balthezar won't do things if he cant do it perfect the first time.  it is frustrating.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8229236212968144626?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8229236212968144626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8229236212968144626' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8229236212968144626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8229236212968144626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/impatience.html' title='impatience'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-657154592441927543</id><published>2009-03-18T23:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T00:06:48.289-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My new blender</title><content type='html'>I don't know if I have mentioned my new blender here.  I am really excited about it.  Doesn't that sound weird - to be excited about a blender.  Well, it is one of those really cool ones like the Vitamix.  It is called Blendtec though.  Every morning I have a smoothy with tofu, banana, apple, orange, a cup or so of spinach and maybe some frozen peaches or strawberries and ice.  Mix it up and I have a great breakfast that tides me over until lunch time.  Tonight I had one because I wanted to snack on something, had an early dinner.  I used red chard instead of spinach.  Yummy!  I want to start making soups more often with it.  I made some banana bread today with it.  First I made my own oat flour, and then mix everything together in the blender.  It came out really salty though, so I will do it differently next time.  I will probably try 1/2 oat flour and 1/2 regular flour, regular sugar instead of the splenda, and maybe put in some nuts ground up really well first, so my kids will eat it.  Or not - and not add the calories.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-657154592441927543?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/657154592441927543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=657154592441927543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/657154592441927543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/657154592441927543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-new-blender.html' title='My new blender'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8972255011579741743</id><published>2009-03-18T23:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T23:57:20.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two weeks with myself</title><content type='html'>auh! Spring break. I have two weeks with no deadlines. It feels really weird. I have had a test every week for several weeks now, and the pressure was really intense. One of my biggest worries is that my friend Luth would fail out of the program. She got a really bad score one one test, and since the average that we have to maintain is 78%, she had to do really well on the last 2 tests. Well, after the final today, I thought that she was out. I encouraged her to plead case to the staff - the fact that all her other test scores were good, she did really bad on one but it was related to personal issues - so it isn't like she can't pass the NCLEX (nursing exam to get our liscence - they say that the reason they fail people at 78% is that your chances are slim of passing the NCLEX) and I told her to remind them to add in the quiz scores which she did really well on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I came home and was pretty depressed. My friend Ashley is out of the program too. I took a nap, picked up the kids, and was puttering around feeling pretty down, when Luth called. Apparently she had done better than she thought, and Nancy is letting her stay in the program!! I was so excited I was screaming and crying! I know it seems like a huge reaction, but I have spend a lot of time with her in the past few weeks and months (actually, the last 2 weeks I have probably spent more time with her than my children) and I was just so sad about 'losing' her. I hate getting close to people and then having to lose them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew that we would still be friends if she wasn't in the program, but I'm not sure. Only because of how awkward I felt after taking the test and knowing that I was okay and she wasn't. We have bonded besides on school stuff, but I don't know how she would have taken it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I have two weeks to myself without school woes. My new teacher for the next quarter won't even post a syllabus for us because she says she wants us to take the 2 weeks and regroup. I have found vacations in the past to be stressful. I spend a lot of time with my kids, and we can end up getting on each others nerves. I also end up eating a lot, because I want to fill my time, and it is the easy thing for me to go to. My eating has been so well lately, that I hope I can fill my time with positive stuff. I plan on studying too. We have a calender for the next quarter, so I know what the tests are on, so I will go off that. It is nice though, that if I end up not studying, I won't feel guilty about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8972255011579741743?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8972255011579741743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8972255011579741743' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8972255011579741743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8972255011579741743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/two-weeks-with-myself.html' title='Two weeks with myself'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1871822524061094495</id><published>2009-03-09T22:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T22:57:02.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fat Acceptance</title><content type='html'>So I have recently gotten more involved with my eating disorder recovery and have been focused on fat acceptance.  My therapist has made comments about it over the past couple of year, but I have just waved it off thinking to myself - How on earth can I accept myself at this weight?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am finally getting it!  It feels really good.  I have found some really good resources online and some great books.  One that I am really enjoying is called Fat?So!  How ingenious for a title!  It is really funny.  One thing that is common in the fat acceptance community is that there is a misrepresentation on the dangers of obesity.  Now, that for me has been hard to swallow in some terms, but the more I think about it the more it makes sense. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example:  Supposedly we are all getting fatter, right?  (I don't know, I feel like people look the same as always, but maybe people 20 or 30 years ago were thinner)  Who is making more money as we all get fatter?  Doctors, insurance companies, medication manufaturers (who pay for the research to be done) and of course the diet industry.  We are talking about BIG BUSINESS here.   None of these people really want anybody to loose weight.  None of these people want to 'help' people with the obesity epidemic.  They want to make money.  (well, except doctors who do want to help and are just listening to what they are told by 'research'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what would happen if everyone just stopped obsessing about their weight and relaxed a little.   What if we could get rid of the hatred of what a 'fat' body looks like.  I haven't ever been able to change by people (myself included) being mean and hating me.  So, it creates a viscous circle.  Loose weight, loose will power, give up, get distracted, gain more weight, hate yourself more.   Would we all just chill out, love ourselves more, focus on other things, and with that - not focus on food so much, and maybe loose a couple of pounds? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just know that I have been feeling better about myself in the past couple of weeks.  I have stopped eating more of the times that I felt full (which isn't something I do often)  I have asked myself if I really want to eat more, or just want the taste/bored/angry, etc and then decided if I want to eat it.  If I am full, I am reminding myself that it will be there later when I am hungry.  I don't have to eat it now, it isn't going to disappear!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, mind you.  I don't think that being super morbidly obese is healthy (super morbid obese is the technical term for my bmi - kind of feels like I should make a halloween costume and be Super Obese Woman - crimefighter!)  I can feel a difference in how I feel when I am this weight and when I have been other weights.  But seriously, all the times in my life, when I have looked good and felt great, I was still considered 'obese' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am just feeling good about feeling good!  (and spring break is in only one week!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1871822524061094495?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1871822524061094495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1871822524061094495' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1871822524061094495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1871822524061094495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/03/fat-acceptance.html' title='Fat Acceptance'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1185053321948808106</id><published>2009-02-21T13:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T13:42:05.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'>correction</title><content type='html'>I would like everyone to know, that I overestimated the amount of time that Stacie was on the phone that night.  It just felt like a lot to me.  As I mentioned in the post, I wasn't angry or anything.  Just frustrated at the events.  I am sure that most people wouldn't want a bunch of uncomfortable, sad things happening on or around the time of their birthday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My step mother was a fun loving gregarious women.  She was actually a lot like me in some aspects.  I do admit though, that I have held onto the time that we fought and called me an ugly gross fat person. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel that I am becoming more numb to death though, maybe because of the field that I am in.  Although, I feel pretty numb in general lately to everything.  I have had a pretty hard couple of weeks in school and home, and haven't really expressed much of it.  The part that I expressed hurt feelings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel sad when trees and flowers die too.  I just am not 'good' with death.  Whatever that means&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1185053321948808106?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1185053321948808106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1185053321948808106' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1185053321948808106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1185053321948808106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/02/correction.html' title='correction'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2429587190302281944</id><published>2009-02-16T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T21:32:52.751-08:00</updated><title type='text'>birthday mess</title><content type='html'>This year I had a birthday mess. It started on friday (the 13th, 2 days before my birthday) when my sister Stacie decided to come into town to get some stuff for her new house, but also to take me out to dinner. I was really excited! I felt pretty important. Well, life kind of happened, and at that same time my step mother Phyllis went into critical condition at the hospital. So Stacie and I met for dinner, but most of the dinner was spent with me thanking the waiter for the good service, watching and listening to Stacie talk on the phone, and feeling pretty cheesy that I was eating dinner by myself essentially. Stacie asked me to drive home from the restaurant so that she could talk on the phone some more, and I said that her phone talking could wait. I said that she wasn't going to change anything on the phone during the next 10 minutes and so she could spent it talking with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I kind of sound like a bitch. Maybe I am. I totally was not being mad about the situation, but more frustrated. People dying when it is my birthday is frustrating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, go to the next day. Valentines Day. I have always kind of hated Valentines day. First of all, I have never had a valentine, and second, because I always felt that everyone was so wrapped up in Valentines day that they forgot when it was birthday the next day. I decided to get something for the kids and Moises this year. I got both kids a heart box with chocolates. Edith got a cute pair of Valentine pants and shirt, and Balthezar got some Pokemon cards. I got Moises a stuffed dog that says kiss me on it. I hoped that he would show up with something for me, but that didn't happen. (I have only gotten something on Valentines from him 1 or 2 times in 10 years)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Moises came over at around 4 in the afternoon. Right when he got here, I was feeling like taking a quick nap. He wanted to go and visit some friends of his. I told him to give me 15 minutes and I would get up and go. He didn't like that idea, so when I got up and said lets go, he says he doesn't want to go anywhere. He says that he told me that if we didn't go right then we weren't going at all, so now we aren't going. OKAY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on he decided that he wants to take me out to Target or something to get me a birthday present. So we go. I don't really know what I want. We are browsing Target and the kids are really acting up, so we just decide to leave. No present after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Onto the actual day of my birth, the 15th. Long story short, my step fathers family has never really embraced our family. They kind of do, but it always feels different when the 'real' family is around. Essentially, I was invited to a brunch, that was really for James, my step brother because he is in town. I was told it was to celebrate my birthday - but no one was told it was my birthday. So people there were like, oh, I wish I had known it was your birthday, I would have bought you a card. I did get a card from Dick and his mom. Am I a total bitch thinking that I should have gotten something INSIDE the card from his mom - my grandmother? I mean, if it were James, or Karissa - the real grandkids, the card would probably have a couple hundred bucks in it. Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom was going to make dinner, but she got home from clinical and was too tired. And that evening my step mother died as well. Gen called because of something and found out about Phyllis being in the hospital and realized that it was my birthday. Happy birthday Joan! And Stacie wished me Happy Birthday when she called to tell me that Phyllis was dead. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so mom says she will make my birthday dinner today, monday. Well, it ended up being a clusterfuck as well. Kathy was yelling at the kids for not setting the table right, Balthezar started crying because Kathy was being mean, Joan was trying to get Balthezar to calm down. Then Dick asks my mom something about work, so she storms off to get it done. Dick takes a couple bites and leaves, then Kathy goes to see if mom will come back to eat dinner. Mom is just kind of freaking out, so Kathy decided to leave too. I finished my dinner at the table alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOAN!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, don't think that I haven't thought that I should be grateful that on 4 separate days people tried to do something for me for my birthday. I totally see that, and I am grateful. I am also greatful for facebook, because I got a ton of Happy Birthday's from friends around the world. I also called a friend on my birthday and she offered to take me out bowling. That really meant a lot too.  My family in Mexico called me to wish me happy birthday was well.  That felt really good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just think that my birthday was cursed this year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2429587190302281944?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2429587190302281944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2429587190302281944' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2429587190302281944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2429587190302281944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/02/birthday-mess.html' title='birthday mess'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3838397285223224908</id><published>2009-02-13T23:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T23:57:39.403-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Week in review</title><content type='html'>Thinking about my week, it seems like Monday was a million years ago.  I took a test on diabetes and on caring for a patient for surgical procedures.  I thought I was well prepared.  I go to class, I read the book, I do the study guide, I answer questions from extra books with just test questions.  Well, I still got only a 78%, which is the minimum for passing.  Most of my friends did worse than I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that is rediculous.  If most people fail a test, it means something.  The test wasn't written on what we were taught.  She picked weird, obscure things that we hadn't discussed.  It is really frustrating, but one thing I have found out about nursing instructors - they don't like to be wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a horrible day working at the clinical site yesterday.  The day started with Edith screaming about how she didn't have the right jacket.  She was still screaming when I left her at daycare.  Once I got to the hospital, I found out that the patient that I had picked the day before had also been chosen by one of my classmates.  So essentially, the hours of homework I did to prepare myself to take care of that person were out.  I had to find a new patient, and get to work on getting the paperwork for her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I am working, I have a nursing instructor that helps.  The way it works is that we pick 1 patient to take care of and do everything for them.  We do bed baths, shots, med administration, walking, etc.  They have a nurse on duty who is suppossed to take care of them, but if they have a student, the student does the work.  So my nurse got really upset at me for not telling her something about my patient earlier in the day.  She was rude to me in front of a lot of people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had already had enough, so I left and sobbed for a good 10 minutes before going to my post clinical conference.  My instructor didn't seem to notice.  Someone mentioned how it was horrible how the nurse treated me, and the instruction just said, 'well, I don't know, I wasn't there'  It was lame. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did work with the same nurse today and it turned out much better.  Sorry I am kind of vague, I can't go into too much detail because of privacy rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found out today that my step mother is going to die.  I am more emotional than I thought I would be.  We don't see each other often, and have had a fight or two.  We only talk maybe two times a year.  I feel guilty that I didn't call her when I found out she was sick and in the hospital a week ago.  Now she is in a coma and won't ever come out.  I guess it is a good lesson and calling people when you are thinking about them, instead of putting it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worry about the future and what it holds.  My dad will be alone.  He hasn't ever been alone.  He is pretty close with my sister Stacie, and I am sure that she will be a big support for him.  I worry that she won't be able to handle the additional pressure.  She has 4 kids of her own.  In the short run it is obviously what she needs to do.  I just don't know about the future.  My dad needs a lot of care because of his disabilites.  It isn't something stacie and her family are able to do.  He will probably find a nice senior living type of place with help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am just feeling somewhat depressed about the whole thing.  Dying is so weird.  I don't think I believe in an afterlife.  I don't know about that.  It seems that the people who hurt the most are the ones who are still alive.  Working in the hospital, I have seen people who have gotten to a point in their lives where they are unable to do anything for themselves, or who are comatose and don't even speak or move.  Death seems better than that, but if there is nothing after that, I can see how people would be afraid to die.  I have had a patient who had a feeding tube in their stomach and all they could do was open their eyes.  How is that being alive?  Is that being dead?  I can't even imagine.  I would never want to live like that.  It seems like such a waste. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should go to bed.  I am probably mispelling, not making sense, and I am falling asleep as I am sitting here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3838397285223224908?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3838397285223224908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3838397285223224908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3838397285223224908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3838397285223224908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/02/week-in-review.html' title='Week in review'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6794071331742413949</id><published>2009-02-07T00:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T00:16:31.501-08:00</updated><title type='text'>they like me, they really like me</title><content type='html'>I am just glad for the support that I have gotten the past week.  One of my best friends from the time that I was taking my prerequisites called me for the first time in forever.  We have just kind of drifted apart because of life.  We used to spend every day together, hanging out, studying, eating her awesome homemade food.  Now we are both super busy and never see each other.  It was really nice for the call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my dad called me and offered me support.  We don't talk often.  I am  not good at communication with him on my part.  It seems that if I am not seeing people all the time, I have a hard time writing or calling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister called and wanted to make a date - which didn't work out in the end, but I guess it is the thought that counts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was invited to a party for someones new blog.  Not sure if I will go because I am not really hip, and she is a really hip Seattlite.  I would like to though - I just don't want to stick out like a sore thumb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister Gen called -we talk pretty often though, but it is nice that we do.  Once she got married and moved away we barely talked for a year or two.  Slowly it has become much more often which I enjoy.  It is hard when she comes to visit though, because I don't want to let her go back home!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just several ways that I was reasurred that people actually do care about me.  Thanks guys!  I love you too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6794071331742413949?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6794071331742413949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6794071331742413949' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6794071331742413949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6794071331742413949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/02/they-like-me-they-really-like-me.html' title='they like me, they really like me'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6827269856752736420</id><published>2009-02-04T00:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T00:51:23.468-08:00</updated><title type='text'>asshole and a slob</title><content type='html'>I have a secret.  Well, truth be told not a huge one because those who have ever been to my house know it - or lets just say my family knows it.  I am a HUGE slob.  I hate cleaning.  I constantly have shit all over the place.  Books, papers, pens, crayons, random shit, pretty much everywhere.  I try to keep it from getting too crazy, but it does, because I am an asshole and I dont like to clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not trying to be sarcastic.  I really believe that.  I feel guilty about not cleaning more, but not guilty enough to actually make some real progress.  I mean, today, I sorted some socks.  Progress?  I don't know if that counts.  I try to clean up dishes after myself, but I don't sometimes.  And not only am I am asshole slob, I am that slob, in someone else's home.  It isn't my home.  I can't just live that way and have it be the way it is, like my sister Gen.  No.  I get to constantly feel the pressure of my assholeness from being messy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, no matter where I go I feel that pressure.  It is inside my head.  I get clues from other people, but I only make it mean stuff in the space in my brain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent Saturday afternoon until sunday morning at my old house in Puyallup.  It looked so nice.  Now, if me and the kids were living there, it wouldn't look so good.  Right now, it is just moises.  But I thought to myself how lovely it would feel to be able to have all my crap where ever I wanted it, and not have to worry about it getting thrown around, peed on, chewed up, or in someone else's space - because get this - it would actually be my space.  I wouldn't have to feel guilty about having my stuff, I would just have the guilt of being messy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is wrong with being messy?  Really, what is wrong with it?  For some reason there is a judgement about if you have a neat tidy house you are a good person, and of course, I am a bad person for being messy.  That of course is linked to childhood drama - and it pisses me off that I still use that pitiful excuse.  Why don't I just stop being a lazy asshole and get my shit together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And no, I don't believe that it would be sunshine and lolipops if I lived in Puyallup.  I would have some other person telling me I am a lazy asshole.  He would just say it out loud, instead of being passive aggressive about it.  Well, he would probably be passive agressive about it too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, I will refer to a recent conversation with Balthezar.  It went something like this:  me: Balthezar, you need to pick up your room.  B:  Why?  Me:  Because it is messy!  B:  SO?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is right, SO?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6827269856752736420?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6827269856752736420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6827269856752736420' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6827269856752736420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6827269856752736420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/02/asshole-and-slob.html' title='asshole and a slob'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2013156819550105118</id><published>2009-02-03T23:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T23:51:49.813-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate what goes on in my head</title><content type='html'>Do you ever wish that you could just shut the voice in your head up? I do. I think it constantly. I think too goddamn much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what fucking sucks? It sucks that my asshole husband is the most steady person in my life. He may be an asshole, but at least he sticks around for me. He comes back with his fucking tail between his legs and apologizes if it was real bad, but he comes back. He calls me. He makes jokes with me. He tried to make plans with me. He continues to be an asshole, but I guess I at least get some attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate my fucking family. Yes. That is how I feel today. I might not feel it tomorrow, so give me a fucking break when I feel better, alright? Or is that not allowed. And can I please just be angry and fucking vent without having some other person be codependant and feel bad because I had some strong fucking emotions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I am having some realizations about why I do the things I do, although it doesn't make it any better. I have been abandoned a lot. Sometimes for real, sometimes just in my adult head that still feels like it is a little kid not wanting to be abandoned. I know on an adult level that when someone doesn't return your phone calls, it is just that life has happened, right? In my brain, I hear 'well, they don't love you, they don't have time for you, they don't really care about you'. When someone that I like makes plans that I hear about - lets say for a camping trip or some other thing, and I am not part of it, my brain says, 'see, no one really likes you and they never will. Why would they invite you in the first place. You aren't really their friend, you aren't important to them.' I hate the phsycotherapy shit about how you try to fix mistakes from your past with people from your present. The f-ing weird part is that it seems to be true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, I hate that I turn something outside myself into something about me.  I mean, I guess I can see how if someone is planning something with someone else, they aren't thinking 'screw you Joan' but that is how I feel sometimes.  I know that it is a kind of learned behavior from other people in my family.  What bothers me too, is that when other people in my family do it, it bothers the hell out of me.  I know that I am kind of talking in code here.  Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I have sat here crying for 10 minutes with a million more thoughts going through my head but I can't even write them down, because in the end it will all just come back to bite me. I am just having a lot of self loathing right now. I hate myself for not studying more. I don't know why I can't force myself to do more. I have free time on my hands on most days, but instead of doing something productive, I usually just sleep, eat, and use the computer. I do study, but in my head it just isn't enough. I spend time with my kids, but it usually isn't a lot of time, and half of it I just feel like strangling my daughter. Some days are better than others. I am working 16 hours a week at the hospital, and I do have about 7 hours of lecture a week - but what about all that comes inbetween that. What really sucks is that most of the time, I feel so lonely. I mean, really really lonely. I can't seem to be alone with myself, without filling the time with food to distract me from feeling so lonely. At least when I feel sick from eating I can focus on that. It feels better to have a stomach ache than to have a heart ache. And I don't even know why. I am around people a lot. I still just feel alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish that life were always fun and pretty, with cute puppies that don't chew or pee on things, and rainbows and kittens, and money and peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2013156819550105118?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2013156819550105118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2013156819550105118' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2013156819550105118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2013156819550105118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-hate-what-goes-on-in-my-head.html' title='I hate what goes on in my head'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7270485195255321348</id><published>2009-01-27T00:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T01:28:33.164-08:00</updated><title type='text'>oh, I don't know</title><content type='html'>Gosh.  I am feeling like I want to write, but don't want to at the same time.  I find that I wish I were more witty when writing on this blog, but really, it is just like it says, Diary of a redhead.  I can write boring stupid stuff too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend I passed my certified nursing assistance test, so I can apply for my license now.  It doesn't mean that much because I don't plan on working as a CNA, at least not right now.  I have started to consider getting a job as a Nurse Tech, which is a fancy name for a CNA who is in nursing school.  I would get paid more than a nursing assistant, but have most of the same responsibilities.  The nice thing is that if I were to get a nurse tech job they know I am in nursing school so I would only be working 8 hours every other week, but would give me an idea of how the hospital works, and get my foot in the door for applying to get an internship once I have graduated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School is going okay so far.  I constantly feel guilty for not studying more.  You would think that I could just study more so as to not feel guilty, but apparently I like feeling that way.  I ended up getting a 92% on my first test this quarter.  Originally I got an 84, but the teacher gave back points for questions that everyone missed or that she had scored incorrectly.  It was kind of scary at first, because several of my friends got failing scores.  I have become attached to people and don't want to see them leave the program.  Thankfully points were added back and now they have passing scores.  (under 78% is failing)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Changing topics completely....Moises.  Well, I did end up talking to Moises the next day, and telling them that he was being rediculous and that I wasn't going to give him any of my financial aid money.  I did tell him that he didn't have to pay child support - but he has been paying it anyways.  He was just drunk and stressed and being a jerk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO, I am not making excuses for him.  He can be too much, I totally admit that, but I have my problems too.  I realize that I only talk about the bad parts of Moises, which makes everyone think he is horrible.  Well, any time of abuse and control feels really nasty, but unfortunately I have become accostomed to it.  I have to learned to shake it off, I suppose - if that means eating myself to death......(I am so melodramatic)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, but really.  Moises does have some really good qualities.  He is a very hard worker.  He has always pulled his fair share of the financial responsibilities.  Since the time that I quit working when I was pregnant with Edith, he has paid 100% of the household bills (I know I know, that is what he is supposed to do, but he could be a deadbeat and not)  He takes care of the kids when I need him too for school.  He has taken them on weekend when I need to study or when I am working.  He took me to Vegas a few years ago - that way pretty cool.  He can be supportive when I am having a hard time with life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That kind of seems like a lame list.  I wish I felt that I could share more of myself with him.  That sounds weird, but I mean in terms of things as simple as Facebook.  If he were ever to see my facebook account he would FREAK OUT!  Big time.  Why?  Because I happen to have males as friends.  I mentioned that I was considered working in the prison system once graduating (I know it sounds crazy, but they need health care too, and the nurses get really good pay and benefits)  he got upset.  I mean, not super upset, but told me that I couldn't apply to do that.  I told him that I would apply where ever I wanted to.  Sadly, he isn't worried about me getting hurt or something, it is pure jealousy.  Like I would find some great guy at the prison - right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It bothers me that there is a part of me that would like to break free and just get divorced and over with, but at the same can't do it.  I know that my family and friends think I am crazy/stupid/sad and I don't know what else for putting up with his crap.  I know that I think that way too.  I guess I feel like I have tried to leave (yes, right now I am not living with him, but we are still 'together') so many times and I always get pulled back into the relationship - I feel guilty, I don't want to hurt him, I want the kids to have their father, I know I would not get into another relationship so I would be alone.  I am good at being alone, but still, it is nice that somebody wants me ever though I am disgustingly fat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the time being, it is what it is.  I need to remember that I have told myself not to get wrapped up in it until I am finished with school.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7270485195255321348?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7270485195255321348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7270485195255321348' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7270485195255321348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7270485195255321348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/oh-i-dont-know.html' title='oh, I don&apos;t know'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4170394102406842708</id><published>2009-01-19T23:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T00:19:33.107-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy and Sad</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SXWEaHAzWKI/AAAAAAAAAVI/jAFGkE0FIN0/s1600-h/img073.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293282521137764514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SXWEaHAzWKI/AAAAAAAAAVI/jAFGkE0FIN0/s320/img073.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't really talk about it anymore, because time has gone by and people aren't really that interested, I suppose - but the best year of my life was spent in a little town in northern Greenland.  I definately had ups and downs, but in all, it was amazing.  I have done and see things that most people never will - like walking on the frozen ocean, riding on a dogsled, ate seal and whale.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The only time that I went back was 10 years ago, right before I got married.  Shortly after that, my host family came to visit me here in the states.  My sister Ivalu stayed behind to live with my family.  It turned out not to be a good match.  My family is loud, fights a lot, kinda crazy, and it really freaked Ivalu out.  Ivalu didn't seem to want to be here, so long story short, she went home.  I heard from my mom one time after that, and then for 8 years haven't heard anything from them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, happily, Facebook has given me the ability to find all my old friends and my family.  My heart has been so full the past couple of days because I have been thinking about the good times that I had while I was there.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Unfortunately, I talked with my host sister Parnuna, and found out that my brother Aputsiaq had committed suicide in 2002.  My heart really hurts now.  I started crying right then while talking to her, and couldn't talk anymore.  I feel weird being so emotional about it.  I mean, it happend 7 years ago, and I didn't even know him anymore.  But I am REALLY sad about it.  My heart has been heavy all afternoon.  I got my parents phone number and will call them in the morning.  I just keep crying about it and feel sick.  I can't imagine what that would be like for his mom and dad and sisters.  Unfortunately, Greenland has a very high suicide rate.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think that it has impressed upon me though,(besides that I am grateful for prozac, lithium, lamictol, celexa, etc.)  that I would really like to see what psychiatric nursing is like.  When I was inpatient at Valley after Balthezar was born, and I had really bad post pardom depression, there was an awesome nurse.  It made me want to be a nurse.  I have had the lowest of lows, so I can definately feel the pain of others.  I have also been able to find a way to live with my issues, and to constantly work to do a better job, and be the person that I want to be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4170394102406842708?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4170394102406842708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4170394102406842708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4170394102406842708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4170394102406842708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/happy-and-sad.html' title='Happy and Sad'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SXWEaHAzWKI/AAAAAAAAAVI/jAFGkE0FIN0/s72-c/img073.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-665239820374738064</id><published>2009-01-07T20:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T21:33:15.281-08:00</updated><title type='text'>donde chingada andas?</title><content type='html'>I am feeling really sad and feel like crying, but the tears won't come out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moises got to his parents house last night. He called to let me know he got there and I said I would call today to talk more. I called 3 times during the day, and he wasn't home. He went out with his counsins. I know that this means he is out being force fed alcohol, and probably won't come home until tomorrow morning or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was out shopping with the kids, and on my way home when he called. Donde chingada andas? Que chingada haces? He says. Which means, essentially, where the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing. I tell him that I went to the store to buy some things. What exactly, he wants to know. Well, I went to get a pom pom makers, but no one seems to stock them. I ended up buying 2 bras, socks for the kids, q-tips, cotton balls, and detangler spray, to be exact. I say I was just picking up some stuff for around the house. I am not meaning to be evasive, but when someone is saying what the fuck are you out doing at 8 o clock at night, and yelling at me, I am not thinking, well hey, I got xyz. Plus, if I do tell him what I have bought, he will find some way to be like, gosh Joan, why do you spend so much money?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then asks me if I have paid for my ticket. I got a ticket for no insurance when I was hit in the accident last year. I told him that yes I paid it. He asks me how. Well, I got my financial aid check on Monday, so I paid the $94 with that. Oh, he says. Well, how much did I get for financial aid, he asks. I didn't want to tell him. I probably wouldn't have told him except for the fact that my stupid bank statement still gets sent to the house in Puyallup, so he can see where I spend all my money and how much I have. (why on earth I haven't changed it, I don't know)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2000 dollars. I know it is a lot of money. And I want it all for me. I don't want to share it. I have spent so much time being worried about money, that I just want it. Is that wrong? It means I will have an extra 500 or so a month for the next 4 months. It means that I won't have to worry about buying new shoes if the kids need it. It means I can fill up my car with gas without worrying. It means I can buy clothes that looks nice instead of ugly cheap shit. It means that I can pay for daycare without worrying. It means that I can buy my kids clothes when they need it and it can be something new that I actually like, instead of hand me downs. It means so much to me. I fucking hate living like a pauper, and financial aid money gives me the option to not live like that. And he wants me to give it all to him, and the fucking sick sad thing, is that I feel bad for not giving it to him!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, Moises, who is drunk of course, asks me how much of it I am going to give to him. I asked him how much he wanted - and what he wanted it for. He says that he wants 1500 to make a house payment. He says that it isn't fair that he is the one that pays for everything and that I don't help out. Well, I say, I go to school full time, and I take care of the children. Well, that doesn't count, or that doesn't matter, he says. He needs help too. He says that if I am unwilling to help out, that if he sells the house and makes a profit, the profit will all go to him. Well, I don't really care, so I just say, sure. I do tell him that it isn't a good time to sell the house, and that it would be a bad idea. He just goes on and on. At this point, I don't want to get angry so I tell him that we should talk another time when he isn't drunk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He keeps talking, and I don't hang up because that isn't a good idea. Or maybe it would be a better idea. I don't know. I am a wimp, and I guess maybe I don't think it is fair, and I feel like maybe I don't deserve to live above extreme poverty with a whole $2000 for a quarter. I tell him that if he feels like I am not helping out, that I can give him 400 dollars a month. He says that it isn't enough and that I should help out more because how is he going to make the house payment. If that is all I am willing to give, then I guess that means he'll sell the house, he says. I tell him that is ridiculous, because Emily will be paying 200 a month and if I am giving him 400 a month, it is like what Antonio was paying for rent, so he should be fine. No, that isn't what matters, apparently. I should give him all 1500 of my financial aid because otherwise I am just being selfish and not helping out the family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fucking bullshit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-665239820374738064?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/665239820374738064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=665239820374738064' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/665239820374738064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/665239820374738064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-am-feeling-really-sad-and-feel-like.html' title='donde chingada andas?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5461561732589449418</id><published>2009-01-03T22:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T22:36:06.615-08:00</updated><title type='text'>rocking out at Chuck E Cheese</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBXop67PSI/AAAAAAAAAVA/BslDbIVT9hE/s1600-h/img039.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287322318492351778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBXop67PSI/AAAAAAAAAVA/BslDbIVT9hE/s320/img039.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBXobs9jqI/AAAAAAAAAU4/UWX6F7ezjV0/s1600-h/img038.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287322314675687074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 222px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBXobs9jqI/AAAAAAAAAU4/UWX6F7ezjV0/s320/img038.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now that Stacie lives up in Oak Harbor, we have started a tradition of spending Christmas Eve at the Chuck E Cheese in Burlington. It is about 45 minutes from her house, and about 1 15 minutes from ours. The place is almost empty, so we have the place to ourselves and it isn't too loud and crazy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This year, Grandma Muriel got guitars for the kids for Christmas. The kids LOVE them.   The blue screen at ChuckE's makes a movie and puts in on all of the tv's in the place.  That is one of their favorite things to do as well - watch themselves on tv.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5461561732589449418?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5461561732589449418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5461561732589449418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5461561732589449418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5461561732589449418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/rocking-out-at-chuck-e-cheese.html' title='rocking out at Chuck E Cheese'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBXop67PSI/AAAAAAAAAVA/BslDbIVT9hE/s72-c/img039.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7917789320844191652</id><published>2009-01-03T22:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T22:28:16.782-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas play</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVudyYGKI/AAAAAAAAAUw/N23itpEEfqI/s1600-h/img037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287320219291228322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVudyYGKI/AAAAAAAAAUw/N23itpEEfqI/s320/img037.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVt0YyGkI/AAAAAAAAAUo/tdypuaa0thk/s1600-h/img036.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287320208178027074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 199px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVt0YyGkI/AAAAAAAAAUo/tdypuaa0thk/s320/img036.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVtkOx4lI/AAAAAAAAAUg/Dp8PrdmsGPQ/s1600-h/img035.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287320203841102418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVtkOx4lI/AAAAAAAAAUg/Dp8PrdmsGPQ/s320/img035.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVtT08KoI/AAAAAAAAAUY/p459akirm2E/s1600-h/img034.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287320199437757058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVtT08KoI/AAAAAAAAAUY/p459akirm2E/s320/img034.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The daycare that the kids go to put on a play each year for Christmas.  This year it was pretty lame, as the kids didn't have lines memorized and didn't speak loud enough for anyone to hear - except Balthezar - yay!  Edith was in the Chorus and she sung her little heart out.  My heart was bursting with joy watching them both.  Edith was always dancing as she was singing, which rubbed off on the kids she was standing around.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish that I didn't look like an alien in this picture. My eyes look beady and my forhead is huge. My kids look super cute though! I do have really attractive kids. I was talking to Carol today about the fact that my kids not being complete food addicts like me and my family is amazing. We can have a bowl of candy around for ages and they won't eat it all. And they even ask for permission. When I was a kid I would just steal it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7917789320844191652?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7917789320844191652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7917789320844191652' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7917789320844191652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7917789320844191652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/christmas-play.html' title='Christmas play'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SWBVudyYGKI/AAAAAAAAAUw/N23itpEEfqI/s72-c/img037.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7520476435240757180</id><published>2009-01-03T20:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T21:10:14.740-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am really ticked right now at Mexico. Why? How? How can I be mad at an entire country? Well, not totally. I am just ticked off because Moises is in Ciudad Juarez right now, registering 2 trucks that his brother Antonio is taking home with him(he has been living here for 5 years and is now going home). I was able to load up the trucks with lots of goodies for my in laws. Tons of clothes and toys. Now, this isn't nice stuff from the store, it is okay second hand stuff from me, Stacie, friends, and Value Village. Well, Moises lets me know today that he might not be able to bring it all with him because it is for kids and he isn't travelling with kids. Why the fuck do they care? Why does customs give a shit about a bunch of second hand kids clothes and toys. I don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I have just realized that our cat, Leo is missing. I haven't seen him in a couple of days. Cats do that sometimes, but cats in our house who go missing don't ever come back. We know that there is a neighbor around who is taking care of one of our cats, because he came home once wearing a colar. Hopefully Leo has been stolen and not eaten by a coyote. I mean, coyotes need to eat too, but I really loved Leo. I hate the stupid dogs at my moms house. They are nice and all, but cats are so much better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, I forgot to pay my fucking ticket. (yes, I am swearing a lot, get over it) I hope that I don't get pulled over and arrested. I don't know how I forgot. I just hope that since I will be paying late, they will still let me pay only 81 dollars instead of the original 550. My luck stinks, so I don't know why that wouldn't happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I can't stop eating, or obsessing about eating. Obviously, given my size, I eat a lot. I feel like all I can even think about it what I will or will not eat, and if I eat too much, how I can go throw it up without anybody finding out. Again, I don't know why I care if someone knows I am throwing up my food. I mean, it will end up in the toilet at some point anyways. I don't know how to stop myself from doing it. I want help, but I don't know where to get it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7520476435240757180?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7520476435240757180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7520476435240757180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7520476435240757180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7520476435240757180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-am-really-ticked-right-now-at-mexico.html' title=''/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5446948116177685031</id><published>2009-01-02T20:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T20:54:10.569-08:00</updated><title type='text'>friends</title><content type='html'>I have found myself at a weird point in my life. I have friends that really like me. I have always had some friends, but I have never really felt like I was really their friend. They were Stacies friends, or were friends, but I was always the only one who put effort into the relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year at school, I have found a group to study together I really like them, and they like me. I know it sounds kind of silly, but it is true. I find that they are calling me to see when we are getting together. We got together on the last day of class to have a drink and celebrate finishing our first quarter. We study for a few hours every Sunday at Panera together. We even had a Christmas gift exchange. It is really nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have also reconnected with some people from my past through facebook. On one hand facebook is weird. I find myself requesting to be friends with people, and then afterwards think to myself, why? I guess part of it is curiosity. It is interesting to see where other people are in their lives. What they are up to, what they do for a living, that sort of thing. I have managed to connect with a friend that I have known since 7th grade. She liked me even though I looked like this (see below) scary! On the other hand, I am like, lame. For example - there was a girl in school who I thought had to perfect life. Pretty, popular, smart, athletic. She got full scholarships to go to school. I remember talking to someone and saying that it was probably as good as it is going to get for her, right? Wrong! From what I can see, she still seems to have a perfect life, with a perfect boyfriend, perfect job, and get this, over 500 friends on facebook. I mean, who has 500 fucking friends on facebook. Her, of course. (sorry if you ever read this Heidi, but you know its true) My sister Stacie did say something that made me think. How good of a friend can you really be when you have 500 friends. I will try to remember that, but knowing her, they probably are all dying to see her and go out with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SV7qgDRLQRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CKxrqKfx-ms/s1600-h/img029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286920848933601554" style="WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SV7qgDRLQRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CKxrqKfx-ms/s320/img029.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carol and I are getting together tomorrow (the friend I was talking about before I went on the tangent about miss perfect) and I have to admit that I am a little bit intimidated. She is a hairdresser who is trendy and lives in SanFransisco. I am really fat, wear ugly clothes and a student. I always feel uncomfortable seeing people from my past. I am embarrassed that I have gotten to be the size that I am, and worry what they will think of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It shouldn't matter - what they think of me. But it does. I wish I could stop judging myself. Nothing is ever going to change while I am so mean to myself.   Although, I have to admit, even though I am fat, I really am beautiful and have aged well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also reconnected with a friend that I was an exchange student with. She also lives in California, and has been working her way to stardome for years. She is super talented and hardworking, and kind and generous. She even sent me a really awesome handmade bag. I was shocked when I opened it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is what I mean. I can't believe that people are thinking of me. Now - family, yes, you think of me, I know that. But it really means something to me that others actually enjoy me as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SV7qgDRLQRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CKxrqKfx-ms/s1600-h/img029.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SV7qgDRLQRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CKxrqKfx-ms/s1600-h/img029.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5446948116177685031?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5446948116177685031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5446948116177685031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5446948116177685031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5446948116177685031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2009/01/friends.html' title='friends'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SV7qgDRLQRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/CKxrqKfx-ms/s72-c/img029.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1187206569134524031</id><published>2008-12-29T20:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T20:58:47.551-08:00</updated><title type='text'>worrywart woes</title><content type='html'>I am my family's worrywart.  I can and do worry about most everything.  Something that I think about off and on is the economy, and how it will effect my family and way of life.  I am lucky, because I have learned to live very frugally.  My kids wear a lot of hand me downs, or clothes from Value Village.  I like that when I buy something that has already been used, I am not contributing to some poor young girl in China having to work 14 hours a day for a dollar.  I mean, it is almost as impossible to get something that is not from China, as it is to buy food from the grocery store that isn't made with high fructose corn syrup or sugar.  That is another tangent.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.  The snow storm that we had last week made me think of a recent conversation with my brother Josh.  My step father Dick asked him what he thought about all the new 'energy efficient' cars that are coming out.  Josh said that it doesn't really matter, as soon as we use up all the gas, we are all going to die of starvation.  Well, most people will die of starvation, and it probably won't be him or Dick, but he pointed to Edith, and said it will be them.   Dick said he is crazy and why would that be, Josh point out that pesticides are made with oil, etc, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, Dick just thinks Josh is crazy.  I don't.  I agree with him.  I went to the grocery store during the storm and half the store was empty.  With no truck able to get food to the super markets, they were running out of stuff.  That was just after a couple of days.  What happens when big companies like Albertsons or Safeway go out of business, or what about it we run out of gas to ship the food.  Only the rich will be able to afford it.  The rest of the people will need to learn how to live off a garden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many people do you know that know how to garden?  What about how to can the stuff afterwards to use throughout the year?  Who even has a yard big enough to grow a garden?  How about living without electricity?  Heat? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel blessed in the fact that I can do most of that stuff.  Living in Mexico off and on has given me an appreciation of the luxuries that I have in the US, but I don't really mind living without the luxuries.  It can be annoying - like the house in Puyallup that we never us the heat, just firewood, but do able.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1187206569134524031?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1187206569134524031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1187206569134524031' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1187206569134524031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1187206569134524031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/worrywart-woes.html' title='worrywart woes'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-861862974207422601</id><published>2008-12-22T23:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T23:36:10.880-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tobbagon ride</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-f210052ce211ce72" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Df210052ce211ce72%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6CB2CE7067C48BA3EEA5688EDDCCCFE8E26FFA3.7BCE2AC3A1C0AA690D1B8101BE25D37AFA80E3EA%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df210052ce211ce72%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DGeLsjKg0ksQQX5GHYZ0B4JtV0qY&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Df210052ce211ce72%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6CB2CE7067C48BA3EEA5688EDDCCCFE8E26FFA3.7BCE2AC3A1C0AA690D1B8101BE25D37AFA80E3EA%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df210052ce211ce72%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DGeLsjKg0ksQQX5GHYZ0B4JtV0qY&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;This tobbagon has been in our family since the mid 80's.  When we lived in  New Hampshire our Uncle Walt sent us money for Christmas and this is what we got.  We got a lot of use out of it back then, but has been in storage since we moved to Washington.  Josh got it out the other day, and we took it for a spin today.  We took a few kids from the neighborhood with us, and they all fought over who got to ride in front - kind of like who wants sit in the front of a roller coaster.  I really enjoyed it.  I went many times by myself and with the kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-861862974207422601?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=f210052ce211ce72&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/861862974207422601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=861862974207422601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/861862974207422601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/861862974207422601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/tobbagon-ride.html' title='Tobbagon ride'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3776692240106623762</id><published>2008-12-21T17:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T17:50:22.747-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Winter wonderland</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xagDQoqI/AAAAAAAAAUI/UIJMbzoMF9E/s1600-h/Stacie+and+027.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282424850534671010" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xagDQoqI/AAAAAAAAAUI/UIJMbzoMF9E/s320/Stacie+and+027.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Kathy is bracing herself against the snow and wind.  We probably needed to find a bigger tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xaU3wp4I/AAAAAAAAAUA/_XS-f0MBFTw/s1600-h/Stacie+and+030.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282424847533647746" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xaU3wp4I/AAAAAAAAAUA/_XS-f0MBFTw/s320/Stacie+and+030.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Edith on her last trip down the hill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xaCRe0zI/AAAAAAAAAT4/8akXVWIe0vU/s1600-h/Stacie+and+025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282424842541257522" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xaCRe0zI/AAAAAAAAAT4/8akXVWIe0vU/s320/Stacie+and+025.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We got to the hill to sled and two of Balthezar's friends were there.  Jessie in front, Balthezar in the middle and Conner in the back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xZ9-OxXI/AAAAAAAAATw/yeJ7TXeUUYA/s1600-h/Stacie+and+023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282424841386771826" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xZ9-OxXI/AAAAAAAAATw/yeJ7TXeUUYA/s320/Stacie+and+023.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Even I got in on the action.  Sledding is much scarrier as an adult!  I had a really good time, despite the tumbles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xZpNLUiI/AAAAAAAAATo/NdwgPooXNB8/s1600-h/Stacie+and+013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282424835812315682" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xZpNLUiI/AAAAAAAAATo/NdwgPooXNB8/s320/Stacie+and+013.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The long walk home...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-fc956d78671033a" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v2.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D0fc956d78671033a%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4A9F5DAF61F2C2BDFA785B7853C514606F884DB7.69C3277F5B5391D9C0ECE92A0FD2F15EFBD59407%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dfc956d78671033a%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DrsBbAIXfOTLYym4w_-KGtFyAs-U&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v2.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D0fc956d78671033a%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331207650%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4A9F5DAF61F2C2BDFA785B7853C514606F884DB7.69C3277F5B5391D9C0ECE92A0FD2F15EFBD59407%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dfc956d78671033a%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DrsBbAIXfOTLYym4w_-KGtFyAs-U&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3776692240106623762?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3776692240106623762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3776692240106623762' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3776692240106623762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3776692240106623762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/winter-wonderland.html' title='Winter wonderland'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SU7xagDQoqI/AAAAAAAAAUI/UIJMbzoMF9E/s72-c/Stacie+and+027.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6258419724291579037</id><published>2008-12-11T23:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T23:12:00.328-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Big enough family?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SUIN8H1rcnI/AAAAAAAAATg/OFTT06lMtfU/s1600-h/img024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278797039779148402" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 173px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SUIN8H1rcnI/AAAAAAAAATg/OFTT06lMtfU/s320/img024.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; When you add Davids family with our family (well actually only half of it) we are a big group!  This photo is taken from Maira's babtism in November.  I won't bore you all with the names of everyone, as most of you all who read this already know who everyone is.  I especially like this photo because you can't see my body, and me and Edith look so cute next to each other.  I also like how Amira's dress is up to her neck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6258419724291579037?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6258419724291579037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6258419724291579037' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6258419724291579037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6258419724291579037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/big-enough-family.html' title='Big enough family?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SUIN8H1rcnI/AAAAAAAAATg/OFTT06lMtfU/s72-c/img024.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-9168372604667476204</id><published>2008-12-11T00:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T00:54:12.239-08:00</updated><title type='text'>eating and sleeping and eating, oh my</title><content type='html'>So, being on break isn't very fun.  Well, I feel like this all the time, but I guess being in school gives me something else to obsess about in between.  Currently, all I have to do is eat, sleep and watch tv while the kids are in school.  I know that there are probably lots of other things that I could be doing, but I haven't gotten myself to do them yet.  I did look over the next 5 chapter that I have to read for class, so I guess that is a start.  I just feel lately that things are getting worse, although it may just be in my head.  I doubt that.  If I could eat all day long, I probably would, but then nothing is satisfying.  And if I do eat too much, then I will just purge, and then I have more room to eat again.  I don't really do that all too often, because my gag reflex isn't so great after doing that to myself on and off for 15 years.  I should probably consider myself lucky, because if I didn't have an eating disorder, I would probably just be a huge alcoholic/drug addict.  I can totally see myself that way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-9168372604667476204?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/9168372604667476204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=9168372604667476204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/9168372604667476204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/9168372604667476204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/eating-and-sleeping-and-eating-oh-my.html' title='eating and sleeping and eating, oh my'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7536265024835283473</id><published>2008-12-09T01:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T01:37:13.126-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gold and Happiness</title><content type='html'>Day before yesterday I was sitting in the hot tub with the kids and I asked them what they would like to get for Christmas.  Balthezar says, 'Well, I don't know if Santa can bring this, but I would like for this to be the best Christmas ever for everyone'  Edith on the other hand, says that she would like a treasure chest full of jewelry and some gold.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7536265024835283473?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7536265024835283473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7536265024835283473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7536265024835283473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7536265024835283473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/gold-and-happiness.html' title='Gold and Happiness'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1474595890153538200</id><published>2008-12-05T00:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T00:37:51.265-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Speaking of friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjknGohNsI/AAAAAAAAATY/Nlqo71MgVEw/s1600-h/img019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276218323911128770" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjknGohNsI/AAAAAAAAATY/Nlqo71MgVEw/s320/img019.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is my host family from when I was in Greenland.  It was at the airport the day that I was leaving to go back home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjkm-7E_WI/AAAAAAAAATQ/aUUjuruMO5c/s1600-h/img020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276218321841487202" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 224px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjkm-7E_WI/AAAAAAAAATQ/aUUjuruMO5c/s320/img020.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Ivalu was my best friend that year (her name was Eva back then, she changed it to have a more traditional Greenlandic name)  Ivalu and I have been in contact here and there.  I really loved her so much - I still do.  Does it make sense that my heart sometimes aches for the life that I had that year with her?  I had a couple other good friends that year, Cesar of course, and a girl named Carla.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course I miss it.  I went dancing 3 times a week, and hung out with friends almost every day of the week.  I hung out at friends houses drinking tea and smoking cigarettes for hours.  It was the life!  I am totally like Peter Pan.  I don't want to grow up.  Having kids and having to work, that is so lame sometimes! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although, I don't think it is necessarily that I don't want to grow up.  I love going to Mexico too, and it is for a similar reason - the people.  I know that I can go walk to someones house - a friend across the street, or any of my sister in laws, and I will be welcomed in, given some food or drink, and can sit and chat about whatever.  I think that it is that I feel important because people have time to visit.  Our american lives are so disconnected from each other, it seems like we don't know how to just be anymore.  I mean, who needs to sit and chat with friends for a couple of hourse, when there are things to be bought, errends to run, work to be done, house stuff, etc etc.  (although, in mexico they do everything s l o w, like cooking from scratch and washing clothes by hand, but still have time for people)  Does that make sense?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1474595890153538200?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1474595890153538200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1474595890153538200' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1474595890153538200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1474595890153538200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/speaking-of-friends.html' title='Speaking of friends'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjknGohNsI/AAAAAAAAATY/Nlqo71MgVEw/s72-c/img019.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5387022915786677234</id><published>2008-12-04T23:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T00:07:35.851-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I am Sara"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjd-ZciG0I/AAAAAAAAATI/PC6UNOLZ3oM/s1600-h/img016.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276211027516726082" style="WIDTH: 238px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjd-ZciG0I/AAAAAAAAATI/PC6UNOLZ3oM/s320/img016.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Edith is really getting into making 'books' with paper that she tapes together.  She then draws pictures and has me write the story down for her.  This is a page of one.  The story is "The sun was out.  Then the clouds covered the sun and it started to rain.  Sara got out her umbrella."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edith really likes the name Sara.  I have never met any of her playmates with that name from school or day care, but it is what she calls stuffed animals, pictures for stories, and even sometimes like me to pretend her name is Sara.  (maybe she was a girl named sara in another life....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Modern technology is such a weird thing.  You know, I have never felt really self confident when it comes to friends.  I will have a friend for a period of time, and then they move or I move, or school is out.  I always wondered how people kept in contact with friends, and I mostly attributed it to the fact that people just don't like me, I am not really that important, and I am not a good enough friend to put the effort in to making it work.  Humans are fickle, and I have a hard time handling that.  I mention this with technology because I recently have gotten on Facebook, and have come in contract with several friends from my past.  There is the initial, 'hey how are you!!  How's it going?" (if at all) and then me, being the type of person I am, write a letter writing about how I am, and whatnot.  And I get........................nothing.  I realize that I am obviously not a top priority.  I mean, these are people that I haven't seen in over 10 years, I am not that important, but still.  The sensitive, needy little kid in me who always felt left out, wants to be important.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5387022915786677234?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5387022915786677234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5387022915786677234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5387022915786677234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5387022915786677234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-am-sara.html' title='&quot;I am Sara&quot;'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STjd-ZciG0I/AAAAAAAAATI/PC6UNOLZ3oM/s72-c/img016.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6170104093790631025</id><published>2008-12-03T21:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T21:09:33.757-08:00</updated><title type='text'>kids art school brain fart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STdlJgnD-kI/AAAAAAAAATA/Nf1bPZA_98U/s1600-h/img012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275796702534826562" style="WIDTH: 210px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STdlJgnD-kI/AAAAAAAAATA/Nf1bPZA_98U/s320/img012.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; My kids made some cute art.  I have a scanner now, so I can scan it and not have paper all over my house.  I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STdlJdLy_jI/AAAAAAAAAS4/rRqVEutQhD0/s1600-h/img011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275796701615160882" style="WIDTH: 204px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STdlJdLy_jI/AAAAAAAAAS4/rRqVEutQhD0/s320/img011.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't think I spelled that right. I did pretty lame on a test today, and so I am a bit bummed out by it. I got a 73%, so I passed, but barely. Since when do I barely pass a test! I even studied for it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I only have one more test until the quarter is over - well besides a take home lab final and a short quiz tomorrow. I am excited to officially be 1/6 of the way finished with nursing school. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a TON of reading to do over break, and I really am going to have to get to work and study more, because this next quarter is a lot harder than this first quarter. I have about 200 pages of reading to do during winter break. Luckily I have an awesome study group, and we will be meeting a couple times a week to study. It is really cool to have a group of people who are all working on the same thing. I am such a social person, so it is nice to have an excuse to hang out with people all the time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6170104093790631025?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6170104093790631025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6170104093790631025' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6170104093790631025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6170104093790631025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/12/kids-art-school-brain-fart.html' title='kids art school brain fart'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/STdlJgnD-kI/AAAAAAAAATA/Nf1bPZA_98U/s72-c/img012.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4482340545242958998</id><published>2008-11-26T23:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T23:21:28.479-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Clinicals are finished</title><content type='html'>I am breathing a deep sigh of relief.  I got through clinicals for this quarter without any problems.  I have a couple weeks left of class, and then I am on holiday until January.  I will be at Valley Medical Center for winter quarter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was definately a very interesting experience working at the VA hospital in the spinal cord injury unit.  I always assumed that if you had a spinal cord injury and were paralyzed, that you also couldn't feel anything.  That is true for some people, others have exactly the opposite.  I won't get into neurons and sensory receptors, but essentially,  a simple touch can overstimulate them, causing extreme pain,  so some were on so many pain medications you wouldn't believe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following may have some references to poop and rectums, so it is not for the faint of heart......beware!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned how to change a simple dressing, flush a catheter (next quarter is when I get to learn how to insert one....anyone interested in letting me practice on them?)  I also learned how to do a bowel program.  That is really interesting.  People who can't feel their bowels and don't have control of their rectal sphincter can train their body to go to the bathroom once everyday or so.  The inner sphincter still works, so essentially, you glove up, put on some lubricant on your finger and use it to stimulate the inner sphincter.  It stimulated the colon to push stuff down a bit, so you use your finger to pull it out - the feces.  Weird!  Today I did it for the first time and I can't stop thinking about it.  I keep trying to go back to a happy place in my head instead of thoughts of putting my fingers up someones ass............&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4482340545242958998?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4482340545242958998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4482340545242958998' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4482340545242958998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4482340545242958998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/11/clinicals-are-finished.html' title='Clinicals are finished'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7860785837226059517</id><published>2008-11-08T22:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T13:29:25.901-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Civil rights anyone?</title><content type='html'>I am feeling really angry right now. I am not sure why I am having such a strong reaction. So there is now a ban on gay marriage in California. Apparently, a lot of people are mad at mormons because they were the biggest financial supporters who used propaganda to get people to vote for it. (fyi, propaganda just means using persuasive words, images, etc to get people to think the way that you do) Apparently many other churches had people donate money, but mormons donated upwards of 20 million.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to today, and you have a bunch of upset people. Mormons, because they will tell you that it is NOT authorized by the church to tell you who or what to vote for, but will say that you need to think about what we (being the church) believe in, pray about it,  and vote that way. Well, obviously it went much further than that for Proposition 8.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am saddened about a video that I saw that shows some mormon youth at the temple in LA where people are protesting get into it with the protesters. The protesters had put up posters and written things on the temple gates. The youth tore them down, and were yelling at people for doing that to their church. They won't show what pursues because it is fighting and using bad language, but essentially, 3 protesters went to the hospital and the boys are going to be investigated for a hate crime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, how would a gay person like to have a bunch of signs saying that they are wrong on their house? How would they feel if people came over and yelled about them being bigots or whatever. Uh....they probably would get pretty damn angry. So I can totally see how these young boys got VERY upset. It is the TEMPLE for heavens sake!!! Should the people who vandalized the temple get investigated for a hate crime because they are basing it on religion and were fighting, or are hate crimes just reserved for the gays?  I know that for most people it is just a building (the temple) but to mormon people  it is a sacred building, and doing that means much more to them that an average building.  Of course, on the other hand, I don't think that a lot of mormons are open to understanding how a person who isn't allowed to get married to the person they love is feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the whole situation. I think that anybody should be able to get married to whomever they want. Why the hell should I care? I mean, yeah, I got pretty pissed when my sister Gen decided to marry Scott. Should it be legally mandated that since I didn't agree with the marriage choice that they aren't allowed to get married? That would be RIDICULOUS. (I like you now scott....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think what makes me the most angry is probably my family. I hate the whole thing about how if you are gay that it up to you, but marriage is between a man and a woman. UH.....whatever. Civil rights means that everybody has the same rights as the other. All other groups are allowed to get married, whether you are fat, religious, disabled, stupid, white, black, asian, etc. Gay people aren't in that mix. It bothers me that people can't see how it isn't fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It reminds me of my stepdads mom. She 'likes' black people (so she says) and says that she really like those cute girls that work in the restaurant where she lives. They are great. In the same breath though, she will say that a black man shouldn't be president because he isn't smart enough. It just sucks that people think like that. It is her opinion, but it is really annoying. And when it come to gay rights, people can't even see how they are doing the same thing.  Saying, well that is fine for them, it is their choice, BUT they can't get married like me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I don't understand is why so many mormons gave money for the proposition.  I thought that we were taught that being on earth is your chance to make decisions.  FREE WILL.  Taking away our free will was what SATAN wanted.  So doesn't that mean that if you are mormon and forcing your beliefs onto other people that you are being like satan?  I think that it is a right to be involved in politics no matter what your belief, but this is a civil rights matter.  This involved not letting other people choose for themselves.  It is a little different, in my mind, than supporting health care for everyone or not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrote a paper about gay marriage in college 10 years ago. Interesting that the people who were the strongest opponents of gay marriage either turned up to be gay, or were trying to 'save the sanctitiy of marriage' but had been married several times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now all you mormon people that are out there, reading my blog (I know you are out there because my whole family is) why the hell do you care? And, in fact, why the hell does the church care? I mean, mormons have a pretty damn high divorce rate, just as high as the rest of the country. I think that 20 million would be much better spent in more easily obtained couples counseling, required counseling before marriage, and many other things to deal with your own mess. Hell, every mormon person I know who is married has been divorced at least once. So, please tell me, I would love to hear you tell me about the sanctity of marriage. Please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7860785837226059517?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7860785837226059517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7860785837226059517' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7860785837226059517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7860785837226059517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/11/civil-rights-anyone.html' title='Civil rights anyone?'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4964285169352551944</id><published>2008-11-04T21:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T21:26:43.721-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cunty follow up</title><content type='html'>So, I did consider the whole cunt thing.  I personally am feeling pretty comfortable with the word, but I couldn't get myself to have Edith say it.  Just not that liberal I guess&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4964285169352551944?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4964285169352551944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4964285169352551944' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4964285169352551944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4964285169352551944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/11/cunty-follow-up.html' title='Cunty follow up'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3454146407584104477</id><published>2008-11-04T21:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T21:24:54.065-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Teary eyed</title><content type='html'>How I felt when I found out that McCain had conceded and Barack Obama is our new president elect.  Yes, I am a cynic and I doubt anything will change, but WOW!!!!!!  I am moved!  Despite all  the hatrid that this country still carries around, we have a black president.  I am just amazed.  I never thought that in my lifetime that could ever happen.  I am speechless........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3454146407584104477?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3454146407584104477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3454146407584104477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3454146407584104477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3454146407584104477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/11/teary-eyed.html' title='Teary eyed'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4987948194094838640</id><published>2008-11-04T16:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T19:51:47.493-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Election Day</title><content type='html'>so the powers that be, and even just the way we have been raised, have led us to believe that by voting today we are taking part in democracy (right) and with the new president, 'change' will occur. Isn't that what every president promises. Yeah, the cabinet changed and the linens might change, but that is about it. The only way to change the world is through the people, not by a politician. I got swept up into the  wave of Obama, and I will defend him when people start talking about stupid blacks, how he is muslim (who cares if he is?) etc.  But in the end, but he sold out to big money for the campaign. McCain was okay. He has had some good ideas for immigration that I liked, but he picked a total dip from Alaska as a running mate. It just shows how irrational he can be, and we don't need that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess when push comes to shove, when everybody is expecting something from this election, all it will be is relief from the crazy ads, and someone new to blame the problems of our country on. I mean, if I believed that Jesus was god and would come down to earth and became 'president', I am sure that the people would think that even he did it wrong - especially the extreme 'you name your group' people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyhoo. I am such a light sparkle in the dark of the world aren't I?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4987948194094838640?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4987948194094838640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4987948194094838640' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4987948194094838640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4987948194094838640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/11/election-day.html' title='Election Day'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2012408106917365104</id><published>2008-10-25T00:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T00:19:17.154-07:00</updated><title type='text'>crazy people</title><content type='html'>So I am expanding on my last post.  As I left my house this morning, trying to calm down, I realized that I see myself as a crazy person who is trying to act normal.  Every once in a while there is a crack and that crazy person gets out and acts crazy.  I wonder how I will have a high stress job and not freak out.  I know that this is something that Josh has been talking to me about lately. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I am not really a 'crazy' person, and that word doesn't really mean much anyways.  I am embarrassed about the fact that I have stayed in a mental ward 3 times, because I couldn't handle my life and emotions and wanted out.  I take medications daily to help 'stabilize' my moods.  We went around the group for clinical and everyone talked about why they wanted to become a nurse.  I didn't really tell the truth, because the first time that I felt like nursing was something that I would like to do was the first time I was in the psychiatric ward at Valley.  There was a nurse working there who seemed like a nice normal guy who was willing to share about his past.  He told us that he has bipolar disorder, but has learned to live well with it.  I thought that I would like to help other people realize that what they 'have' isn't so horrible and that help is there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random change in topic - or not.  But I sent an e-mail about 1 word that would describe me.  So far I have gotten:  fun, mega-intelligent, committed, and 'loving one'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2012408106917365104?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2012408106917365104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2012408106917365104' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2012408106917365104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2012408106917365104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/10/crazy-people.html' title='crazy people'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-7414211760132647375</id><published>2008-10-24T23:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T00:05:49.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>learn to love it while you have it</title><content type='html'>This quarter I am doing my clinical work at the VA hospital in Seattle in the spinal cord injury unit.  Talk about learning to love your body.  I hate my body most of the time.  I constantly think about how ugly it is, how embarrassing it is, how I wish I could get up the gumption to change it, etc, etc.  Well, imagine it just not working anymore, accompanied with extreme chronic pain and nausea from reflexive muscle spasms.  It occurs to me that maybe I should be a lot nicer to myself once in a while and be grateful for what I do have - a functioning body.  It may not be what looks really good, or normal, or .......but it works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up late this morning with an hour to get dressed and get to my clinical.  For some reason when I first woke up, I thought that I was already late and didn't have any time.  I flipped out.  I had an anxiety attack, and was hyperventillating and sobbing.  I called my clinical instructor, while trying to control my sobbing to let her know I was on the way.  She told me to calm down and take some deep breaths and get there as soon as I could.  I ended up being one of the first ones there, and felt like an idiot.  My instructor just seems like a really awesome person and like she takes everything in stride.  I am glad for that with this being my first experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a test again on monday, so I will spend the weekend studying.  I don't feel as panicked this time around though - but if you ask me on sunday night, it will probably be a different story.  I found out that I had the highest grade in the class on the first test.  That was pleasantly surprising.  I mean, I know I am smart, but I lot of the time I don't feel really smart.  I have a feeling most of the time that I am going to fail - in life, as a mother, as a spouse, at weight loss, in a job.  I don't really like feeling like that, but it is hard to change.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-7414211760132647375?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/7414211760132647375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=7414211760132647375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7414211760132647375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/7414211760132647375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/10/learn-to-love-it-while-you-have-it.html' title='learn to love it while you have it'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2895989233752588001</id><published>2008-10-19T23:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T23:43:15.568-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Paid to Study</title><content type='html'>My instructor sent an email to me and a couple other students in my class.  She needs people to be 'peer tutors'.  We get paid 8.50 from the school after getting trained.  I guess a lot of people did bad on the test, so they qualify for free tutoring. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCORE.  I mean, 8.50 sucks as a wage, but I will have the know the stuff anyways.  And teaching a subject makes you remember it much better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2895989233752588001?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2895989233752588001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2895989233752588001' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2895989233752588001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2895989233752588001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/10/getting-paid-to-study.html' title='Getting Paid to Study'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2565023162930968668</id><published>2008-10-19T23:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T23:39:05.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't get it</title><content type='html'>So, seriously people.  I am really confused, and I am not being sarcastic here.  Several 'well educated' people that I know seem to think that having Obama as our president is 'scary'.  Okay, well, either way, McCain or Obama, things will probably be the same as they always were.  Every election is about changing this or changing that, but the rick always get richer and the poor always get poorer, etc, etc.  But SCARY, really?  Apparently he hates 'the white man' and it is obvious from the book he wrote, 'Dreams of my Father'.  Now, I haven't read the book.  Maybe I should, to get clarification.  I guess I think that if he hated white people so much, we would know.  I mean, there are MILLIONS of white people voting for him.  Is it possible that none of them have read the book and found out that he hates us?  Oh, and that all his publicists are in cahoots with all the book stores to put his 'nice' books at the front of the store, and this book hidden in the back, so that we won't know the truth.  Really?  I am usually totally down for conspiracy theories, but wouldn't a publicist/editor  want to sell as many books as possible?  I dunno, maybe I am being naive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dinner tonight at my house, SNL was brought up (funny!)  Instead of it being a funny conversation though, a certain person I know started talking about 'that Obama' who is going to become president and start a war with Kenya.  WOW.  That is news to me.  Something about how all his relative are from there, blah, blah, blah.  I walked away because I didn't want to here it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I happened to be sitting next to that same person weeks ago at a restaurant for dinner, when it was brought up.  The person said, all 'those blacks are going to vote for Obama'  I said that wasn't necessarily true, but the person started going on about it, and I excused myself from the table.  I mean, since Palin has a cunt, I will vote for her right.  Women are just as stupid as 'those blacks' because they are all just going to vote for him because he is black, and we women will all vote for Palin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is a black woman suppossed to vote for then?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2565023162930968668?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2565023162930968668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2565023162930968668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2565023162930968668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2565023162930968668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dont-get-it.html' title='I don&apos;t get it'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-6312926583264442761</id><published>2008-10-13T13:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T14:01:32.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Josh's word is the truth</title><content type='html'>My brother Josh is an interesting guy.  He is intense, caring, emotional, a feminist, anarchist, nurse.  It would be impossible to put him in a box.  And exceptionally witty and funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I got into nursing school, he said, your worries are over!  You are in, no need to worry about getting perfect grades, etc.  I agreed with him, but with a grain of salt.  I mean, everyone talks about how hard nursing school is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I took my first test and got a 96%.  NICE!!  Of course I studied, but not a crazy amount.  I found that test to actually be pretty easy.  I wonder what is wrong with me, because the teachers have been talking about how tests in nursing school are so much different that other classes test, and how it is very hard, blah, blah, blah, blah....Uh, really?  Maybe it is just because it was the first test and so it was simpler, but it wasn't THAT hard, and actually it was easier to rule out obvious wrong answers that almost any other test that I have ever taken. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Word to the wise - Josh is always right!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-6312926583264442761?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/6312926583264442761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=6312926583264442761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6312926583264442761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/6312926583264442761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/10/joshs-word-is-truth.html' title='Josh&apos;s word is the truth'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-230932240628520889</id><published>2008-10-13T13:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T13:53:53.068-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cunts</title><content type='html'>I am reading a book that is called 'CUNT'  So far I really like it.  It has me thinking about things that I never thought about before.  For example - did you all know that 'vagina' means a sheath for a sword?  I think I'd rather have a cunt.  In fact, when my daughter starts talking about her 'cliternuts' as she like to call her womanly erectile tissue, I will make sure that cunt is what she will use to refer to her second meatus in her genital area. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Furthermore, she discusses an interview that she had with a woman who must be famous in feminist cicles (as I am clueless as to who she is) about how her aquaintances have 'menarche' parties for their preteens.  For the layman, menarche is the term for a womans first mentral cycles.  So, the party is focused on the girl.  She wears a red dress, has a red cake, presents are presented in red wrapping paper.  How wonderful!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember starting my period as extremely embarrassing and something that I didn't want anyone to know about.  How wonderful it would be for girls to love their bodies and what having their first period means.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-230932240628520889?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/230932240628520889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=230932240628520889' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/230932240628520889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/230932240628520889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/10/cunts.html' title='Cunts'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3025021472176825183</id><published>2008-09-25T22:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T22:46:59.669-07:00</updated><title type='text'>first week of school</title><content type='html'>I started school this week.  I have had a couple near crying misses.  I started to have a panic attack when class first started on Monday.  I was able to calm down with an exercise that my therapist taught me.  You use all of your sense and focus on them.  What you are smelling, what you taste, what colors are in the room, what you are touching, and all of the different sounds that you are hearing.  It worked and I calmed down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost started crying today doing a skills test for nurse assisting.  I had to transfer someone from a bed to a wheelchair.  I was having a hard time and the instructor had to help out.  I was all red and sweating and felt like an idiot.  Then poor David, my partner had to transfer me.  I guess it is good practice because we will probably have overweight patients, but the tranfer belt wouldn't even fit around me, so we had to 'pretend'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to another thought.  I am obviously stressed and have been eating too much.  I am getting financial aid this year, and it happens to equal about exactly what it would cost to get a lap-band.  I know that my therapist would kill me if she knew I was even thinking about it - she wants me to love myself as I am before I make any changes, and really believes in the fat acceptance movement.  I totally get that, but I am just too fat and not getting it under control by myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edith had an 'intervention' today.  It was for SPITTING when she was angry for being told to settle down during book reading time.  She also keeps throwing temper tantrums at school.  NICE!  I got a call and a pink slip to sign, and she was kept inside and in her classroom during lunch and recess. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have about 15 chapters of reading to do over the weekend.  I am not feeling very confident in my ability to keep up.  I only have to get a 78% to pass my class, so hopefully I will keep my grades in the 80's, but I am feeling really overwhelmed.  It doesn't help that I don't think my instructor likes me, and I am feeling really vulnerable going into the health care field weighing over 300 pounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I painted my nails today with a really cute set that I got at the Puyallup fair.  I have a base coat with red, green, and white stars on them.  I feel guilty about spending time doing that, but whatever.  It was nice to treat myself, and I feel pretty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3025021472176825183?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3025021472176825183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3025021472176825183' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3025021472176825183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3025021472176825183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/09/first-week-of-school.html' title='first week of school'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-4879251666735239779</id><published>2008-09-13T23:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T23:30:42.642-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Saying Goodbye to Cosleeping</title><content type='html'>I have slept with my children since they were born.  It was never a thought in my mind when Balthezar was born that he would sleep in a crip.  Especially being married to Moises.  It is kind of like circumcision in Mexico - nobody does it.  I remember asking Moises what he thought about circumcision and he was shocked that they do that to babies when they are born.  He also couldn't understand why someone would make a baby sleep by itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time that Edith came around, I was finished with cosleeping.  We had a queen sized bed, Balthezar was 3 and still sleeping with us, and I couldn't imagine where an extra baby would go.  But, Moises was completely against forcing Balthezar to sleep on his own ("he's only 3, he is too little to sleep by himself") and again, a new baby sleeps with his mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ended up sleeping with Edith proped on my lap in a recliner.  I think about that now, and wonder how I didn't kill her or something (I did drop her once....)  When she got a little older, she slept on the bed, and I ended up sleeping in the recliner.  It was more comfortable for me that way - I couldn't share a queen sized bed with 3 other people.  Since moving in to my mom's house, it has worked out better with just me and the kids, but still a little cramped for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After years of trying to get Balthezar to sleep on his own, it has finally happened.  While we were in Mexico my mom bought a bunk bed for the kids, and they knew that it was going to happen.  They knew that it was going to be where they sleep.  I didn't think that it was going to go over well - being that we had tried before, but amazingly, BOTH of my children and now sleeping without me!!!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is wonderful, but I have to admit that when I lay down at night, I definately miss snuggling up to them, and having their warm little bodies next to mine in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-4879251666735239779?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/4879251666735239779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=4879251666735239779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4879251666735239779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/4879251666735239779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/09/saying-goodbye-to-cosleeping.html' title='Saying Goodbye to Cosleeping'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1560768051388647122</id><published>2008-09-06T16:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T20:38:59.522-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Partying Mexican style</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO2af3UsI/AAAAAAAAANE/EF3_BJF4s0s/s1600-h/P6300027_027_007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050719178085058" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO2af3UsI/AAAAAAAAANE/EF3_BJF4s0s/s320/P6300027_027_007.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; My photos here are a bit out of order, but here goes.  In Moises town, they love to celebrate.  They have parties for Babtisms, weddings, first comunion, mothers day, birthdays, day of the children, graduation, and so on and so on.  Now, whereas we are used to going to a kids party for games and cake and such, the parties there are usually focused on a meal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year I was asked to be the madrina for Medardo's graduation from elementary school, and for Abimael's graduation from kindergarten.  As madrina - godmother?- I accompany them at the school when they graduate, and give them a gift.  After the graduation the family invites friends and family to eat, drink, and be merry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first foto is at my sister in law Delia's house for the food.  She is standing with a plate - cleaning up or serving food, and Moises parents are sitting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO26tSKaI/AAAAAAAAANM/zQB07OmY-DI/s1600-h/P6300032_032_008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050727824304546" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO26tSKaI/AAAAAAAAANM/zQB07OmY-DI/s320/P6300032_032_008.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Delia, Medardo and my suegra (mother in law) at the party.  Notice the plate full of limes and tortillas on the table. No meal is served without tortillas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO3B6myzI/AAAAAAAAANU/t-jGrHXtcys/s1600-h/P6300037_037_009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050729759230770" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO3B6myzI/AAAAAAAAANU/t-jGrHXtcys/s320/P6300037_037_009.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The kids at the party playing in the yard on the swings at Medardo's graduation party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO3RvioQI/AAAAAAAAANc/BJqKet3eUsc/s1600-h/P7030061_061_014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050734007787778" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO3RvioQI/AAAAAAAAANc/BJqKet3eUsc/s320/P7030061_061_014.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Abimael with his new bicycle.  We gave him one of Balthezar's gently used bikes.  Having a bike in mexico is a big deal.  Most kids don't have one.  Many adults do, but use it for getting around town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO3kk_B5I/AAAAAAAAANk/tIOwMxyGjz8/s1600-h/P7030064_064_015.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050739063785362" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO3kk_B5I/AAAAAAAAANk/tIOwMxyGjz8/s320/P7030064_064_015.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Moises, Abi and I at the school graduation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMOQoQBFBI/AAAAAAAAAMc/p-Ew4VtLFSc/s1600-h/P6300015_015_003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050070034682898" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMOQoQBFBI/AAAAAAAAAMc/p-Ew4VtLFSc/s320/P6300015_015_003.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; When the kids graduate it is a big event at the school.  All the kids have to get a nice suit or dress.  They decorate, have a mariachi band, several different groups of younger kids dance a nicely choreographed routine, and the kids who are graduating also dance.  They practice for weeks beforehand to get prepared.  Here is Medardo with his partner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMOQ_q5sFI/AAAAAAAAAMk/zNtn3f2Rbm0/s1600-h/P6300006_006_001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050076321460306" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMOQ_q5sFI/AAAAAAAAAMk/zNtn3f2Rbm0/s320/P6300006_006_001.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; At Medardos graduation.  A group of second graders did a dance, and sprayed silly string.  All the little kids ran in afterwards to pick it up and play with it.  Edith loved that part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMORQywnhI/AAAAAAAAAMs/TGMPieidTis/s1600-h/P6300019_019_004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050080917822994" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMORQywnhI/AAAAAAAAAMs/TGMPieidTis/s320/P6300019_019_004.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Feliciano, Medardo, and Delia with his certificate of graduation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMORiQN6bI/AAAAAAAAAM0/SbzRYU7JY3o/s1600-h/P6300022_022_005.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050085604780466" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMORiQN6bI/AAAAAAAAAM0/SbzRYU7JY3o/s320/P6300022_022_005.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; You notice that Medardo has flakes of confetti in his hair.  It is a tradition at celebrations for the people to hug you while throwing confetti in your hair and say congratulations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMOR7dBqUI/AAAAAAAAAM8/pSOqfzKl4Js/s1600-h/P6300025_025_006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243050092369389890" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMOR7dBqUI/AAAAAAAAAM8/pSOqfzKl4Js/s320/P6300025_025_006.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is Feliciano at Medardo's party cooking the carnitas.  They bought a small pig for the party.  The big tub is set on top of a gas fire and all the pork fat is melted down to use to cook all the meat.  In the background is their alfalfa for their cow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1560768051388647122?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1560768051388647122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1560768051388647122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1560768051388647122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1560768051388647122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post.html' title='Partying Mexican style'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMMO2af3UsI/AAAAAAAAANE/EF3_BJF4s0s/s72-c/P6300027_027_007.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1189490829045434288</id><published>2008-09-05T19:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T19:40:44.020-07:00</updated><title type='text'>work and play in the milpa (corn plants)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHoUssOCKI/AAAAAAAAAMM/-xTQP_Eq0Bo/s1600-h/P8160167_167_044.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726883527624866" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHoUssOCKI/AAAAAAAAAMM/-xTQP_Eq0Bo/s320/P8160167_167_044.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; One morning we woke up and decided to go and weed in the fields, but decided to take all the fixings to cook and eat with us. We asked Leticia to come along with her kids. We put up a swing with a rope in a tree, left the kids to play while we weeded. After a while I started up the barbecue and we got our eat on. Here are the kids enjoyin their tacos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHoU7LUd_I/AAAAAAAAAMU/XzZbEUSXi3o/s1600-h/P8160163_163_042.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726887416166386" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHoU7LUd_I/AAAAAAAAAMU/XzZbEUSXi3o/s320/P8160163_163_042.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Leticia cooking up the pork strips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn7nxz9fI/AAAAAAAAALk/iFVbPiTRGkM/s1600-h/P8070113_113_028.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726452712175090" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn7nxz9fI/AAAAAAAAALk/iFVbPiTRGkM/s320/P8070113_113_028.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; All ready to go out to work. We hook up the horse to the cart and everybody jumps on. The only problem is that the cart has no shocks, so it is a very bumpy ride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn77L2OlI/AAAAAAAAALs/pS9Hd5KXfus/s1600-h/P8070116_116_030.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726457921649234" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn77L2OlI/AAAAAAAAALs/pS9Hd5KXfus/s320/P8070116_116_030.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Working with a little sickle posing for the camera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn8VOIHEI/AAAAAAAAAL0/gvjpngvk6pw/s1600-h/P8070115_115_029.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726464910531650" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn8VOIHEI/AAAAAAAAAL0/gvjpngvk6pw/s320/P8070115_115_029.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I enjoyed working in the fields. It is good exercise, beautiful scenery, and Delia and I would gossip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn8lb16yI/AAAAAAAAAL8/9HyprM2EEc0/s1600-h/P8080119_119_032.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726469263026978" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn8lb16yI/AAAAAAAAAL8/9HyprM2EEc0/s320/P8080119_119_032.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is one of the days that we went with Delia. She packed the food to eat and brought it with us. We cleared a spot to sit on with a machete and had a great meal. After all that exercise, food and drink tastes so good. Double click on the picture and check out the huge cactus tree in the backgroud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn836T6SI/AAAAAAAAAME/zwIBwRgNWfc/s1600-h/P8160169_169_045.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242726474222659874" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHn836T6SI/AAAAAAAAAME/zwIBwRgNWfc/s320/P8160169_169_045.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Next to some big maguey plants. I wanted a picture to show how huge they are. People plant them around the border of their fields.  (check out the great hair on me!!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1189490829045434288?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1189490829045434288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1189490829045434288' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1189490829045434288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1189490829045434288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/09/work-and-play-in-milpa-corn-plants.html' title='work and play in the milpa (corn plants)'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHoUssOCKI/AAAAAAAAAMM/-xTQP_Eq0Bo/s72-c/P8160167_167_044.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1891606291619479751</id><published>2008-09-05T18:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T18:56:26.545-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Fotos</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHffclDeeI/AAAAAAAAAKc/wAWrWyV3zS0/s1600-h/P8230209_209_062.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242717172576516578" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHffclDeeI/AAAAAAAAAKc/wAWrWyV3zS0/s320/P8230209_209_062.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Going from left to right, here is Feliciano (Delia's husband), Giovanni (Maricella's husband), Aaron (my father in law), and Javier (Leticia's husband). Marta's husband went to Monterrey to work, so he in't in these photos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHezmeTe9I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/6ZMcBaP0wbk/s1600-h/P8230202_202_057.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242716419318315986" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHezmeTe9I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/6ZMcBaP0wbk/s320/P8230202_202_057.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Feliciano took this picture, and I looked at it and just busted out laughing. Just seeing how much taller and larger than they all are. It is no wonder people are always staring at me! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHez1_O28I/AAAAAAAAAKE/O-c-mwvEMKo/s1600-h/P8230204_204_058.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242716423482956738" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHez1_O28I/AAAAAAAAAKE/O-c-mwvEMKo/s320/P8230204_204_058.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Here are the grandparents with every single grandchild. Starting at the top left is Medardo (Delia's son who is 12) he is holding Carla (Leticia's 13 month old), next is my mother in law with Sarai (Maricella's only child, 6 months), father in law with Angel (Martha's 3 month old), then Delia (named after her mother, 10). The middle row is Ismael (Leticia's 3 year old), then Antonio (Delia's 3 year old) and Osbaldo (Martha's 2 year old). Bottom row is Edith, then Belen Guadalupe - we call her Lupe (Leticia's oldest who i 7) with her 6 year old brother Abimael, and finally Balthezar. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHe0NV0-eI/AAAAAAAAAKM/D6QqPpHBKpQ/s1600-h/P8230199_199_054.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242716429751744994" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHe0NV0-eI/AAAAAAAAAKM/D6QqPpHBKpQ/s320/P8230199_199_054.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Moises mom and dad with all his sisters. From left is Maricela, Leticia, Aaron, Margarita, Delia, and Martha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1891606291619479751?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1891606291619479751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1891606291619479751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1891606291619479751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1891606291619479751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/09/family-fotos.html' title='Family Fotos'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/SMHffclDeeI/AAAAAAAAAKc/wAWrWyV3zS0/s72-c/P8230209_209_062.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3014841310794468540</id><published>2008-08-31T17:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T17:57:47.822-07:00</updated><title type='text'>moms and politics follow up</title><content type='html'>so, apparently, Sarah's husband is a stay at home dad.  I am down with that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3014841310794468540?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3014841310794468540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3014841310794468540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3014841310794468540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3014841310794468540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/moms-and-politics-follow-up.html' title='moms and politics follow up'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1588455931373639774</id><published>2008-08-30T16:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-30T16:57:40.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'>moms and politics</title><content type='html'>I can't stop thinking about the presidential election, although that is quite normal this time of the year.  I am just really surprised and actually kind of turned off and angry at McCains choice for vice president.  I think it is irresponsible for a woman with a 5 month old special needs child to accept that kind of position.  I know some feminists will hate me, but come on.  That is a really important job - taking care of a baby, and how can that be done well with a job like the VP of the US.  I just need to get over it.  People have babies and work full time all the time.  Famous people have nannies, which is what she will do.  I am just not a believer in the whole supermom superstition.  There is no such thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyhooo......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1588455931373639774?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1588455931373639774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1588455931373639774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1588455931373639774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1588455931373639774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/moms-and-politics.html' title='moms and politics'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3088929645380876371</id><published>2008-08-20T10:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T10:59:48.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the origins of Picnics</title><content type='html'>I wrote earlier that I had gone to the campo to help weed the corn fields.  I mentioned that they dont buy herbicides, which I figured was because of how much it costs.  Well, I know realize that it isn´t that at all.  They weed the field and use the weeds to feed their cows and goats and horse.  Which continues the cycle, because they use the manure from the cows on the fields so that what they are planting will grow well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the campo again, but this time to a different part.  My mother in law thought it would be a good idea to invite Leticia and her kids, and we could bring stuff to make a picnic outside, and cook bistek of pork.  We got to the field, and my mother in law set up a swing with some rope on a tree for the kids to play on.  I went with my inlaws into the fields to help weed.  After about 1/2 an hour, I look up and Balthezar was calling to me.  I told him to come here.  He wouldn´t and then fell on the ground (he is a bit melodramatic)  My mother in law said that she would go an see what what wrong.  Apparently, he wanted to come and see what we were doing, but he had to pass some barbed wire, and he stepped on it.  My mother in law cleaned up the blood and got some branches from a nearby tree and used the ´milk´from the inside to put on the cuts.  It is a type of medicine that they use.  I then took off one of my socks and wrapped up his foot with it.  Then he was fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to the kids to start up the barbecue so that we could cook the meat and eat.  It was a nice little picnic.  I can see how this is probably how picnics got started.  People going to work in the fields with the kids and taking a break to play and eat.  As farmers started to die, people keep up the tradition.  That is my theory at any rate.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3088929645380876371?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3088929645380876371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3088929645380876371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3088929645380876371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3088929645380876371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/origins-of-picnics.html' title='the origins of Picnics'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-429806736313720392</id><published>2008-08-20T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T10:46:54.134-07:00</updated><title type='text'>the last week sucks</title><content type='html'>I have noticed that the last week that I stay here is always the worst.  I don´t know if it is because I am excited to get home and fed up with certain things.  Or it could because everyone kind of gets into a bad mood because it is easier to say goodbye when you are sick of someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had a couple of rough days the past week.  First, I went to Tecamachalco to pick up the photos that I had developed.  I got home and I was huffing a little and sweating.  (I was trying to go fast because Delia and Leticia were over at the house and I wanted them to see the photos before they went home.)  I got into the kitchen where everyone was eating corn on the cob, and my father in law said, ¨You are that tired just from walking 2 blocks to the store?¨ Now, I hadn´t just walked 2 blocks, more like half a mile or so.  Someone said that I hadn´t just gone to the store down the street but to Tecamachalco.  I got pissed because he always has something to say about my weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went into my room and sulked a little, but then decided to go back into the kitchen and eat with everyone.  I got into the kitchen and someone asked me if everything was okay.  I said, no, that I am sick and tired of mi suegro making fun of me.  Then I got emotional and started to tell him that I have asked him nicely over and over again to stop.  He said that I make jokes of him too, which is completely falso.  I said, when? what? Of course he couldn´t come up with anything.  I said that I don´t walk around telling him that he is fat and ugly and lazy (which is all true!) so that I really want him to stop doing it to me.  At this point of course I was yelling at him, he was yelling at me, and everyone was a bit uncomfortable.  He left and I cried and cried. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to a birthday party later that day, and brought him back a piece of cake as a ....I can´t think of the word.   The next day he bought me some bistek - like thin sliced pork, because he knows that I like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, then this past sunday I went to the store - the one that is only 2 blocks away.  Well, at this particular store they sell beer, so men from the neighborhood sit outside and drink on sunday (because on saturday they get paid)  I walked by and one guy in particular was pretty drunk and he offered me a beer.  I told him no thank you, and went into the store.  Well, he followed me into the store, and said that now that we were alone without all the guys outside, could he buy me a drink.  I said no, that I didn´t think that was okay.  I told him that my husband would get really angry with me, and that I was busy making lunch for my kids.  He was pretty adament.  The woman who runs the store told him that of course I couldn´t take a beer from him.  He started to say that it was because I wouldn´t accept what he was offering, kind of like I was being rude.  She told him that it wasn´t rude, that my husband would get mad.  At that point her son started talking to him and got him to go outside again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went around the corner, to another store to buy limes.   On my way back, with the guys that were drinking, was a street vender selling cups of fruit (the street venders around her ride bicycles that are set up with what they are selling.)  The kids had asked me earlier if I would buy some watermelon for them.  Well, I asked him how much they were.  Right then another street vender came by selling raspados, which are like snow cones in a bag.  The fruit guy asked me if I would take a raspado, which at that point, I thought, well, I can accept a snow cone instead of a  beer.  So I said yes, and got one.  The fruit guy also gave me 2 watermelon cups for the kids, and paid the snow cone guy with a beer.  I thanked him and went on my way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home and told Leticia what happened, because I thought it was funny and nice that I ended up getting fruit and a snow cone.  She told me that what I did was wrong and that she was mad at me.  I was confused, and I was like, really?  Are you really mad?  And she was like, uh, yeah.  That isn´t something that you do.  Wait till Moises finds out and you will know if I am joking or not.I said, why, they are just guys from the neighborhood, and if it was so bad that Moises would get really mad, then I wouldn´t tell him.   She said that you never accept something from men who are drinking, especially if you are alone on the street.  I went to the kitchen and asked my mother in law if what I did was wrong - she had overheard the story.  She said yes, that around here, that is something really bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now let me stop here and say a couple of things.  I can see where they are coming from, a little.  But at the same time, these are men from this tiny little neighborhood.  I also know from going to peoples houses and going to parties, that when people offer you something, it is considered rude not to accept it.  Knowing this, I didn´t think that it was inappropriate for me to accept what they were giving me.  I thought that it was a nice thing, and that if I didn´t accept it, they would think I was rude. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after talking to my mother in law, I started to get mad, and called home and freaked out on the phone with my sister Stacie.  I was pretty hysterical.  I mean, the last thing I need is for the people in town to say that I am a whore or something.  (which apparently is a big problem here right now because so many men leave to the US or other parts of the country to work, and the women cheat on their husbands.)  Stacie reassured me that I hadn´t done anything wrong, and that if I had in their eyes, who gives a damn.  They can all go to hell.  So, I calmed down, but was still really upset.  I went outside because I was heating up water to give the kids a bath.  My sister in law said that she was going home because she had upset me, and it was better if she left.  I said that it was her that was mad at me.  I was still crying and she came and hugged me and told me that she was sorry.  She didn´t mean to upset me so much, that it was because mexican people are jealous, and to please please calm down and forgive her.  I calmed down after a while, and now it is past history. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We´ll see what else happens this week!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-429806736313720392?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/429806736313720392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=429806736313720392' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/429806736313720392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/429806736313720392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/last-week-sucks.html' title='the last week sucks'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-1752533439797590341</id><published>2008-08-14T18:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T18:20:28.015-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Olympics</title><content type='html'>I know this is kind of a randon topic for me.  I have just been watching the olympics and been shocked and surprised about how the Chinese seem to be whipping everyone elses butts.  I wondered to myself, if it is anything like the cold war, when if you were an athlete in the USSR, your entire family got huge benefits. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An article on yahoo is talking about how some of the girls on the gymnastic team are underage.  Hmmmm......you think?  I mean, gymnasts usually look on the young side, but these girls look like they are about 8.  Of course, the team is denying it.  How on earth could we get their ages to be changed?  You are kidding me right?  I am sure that it is very easy.  Especially in a year when your country wants to look good in front of the rest of the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-1752533439797590341?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/1752533439797590341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=1752533439797590341' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1752533439797590341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/1752533439797590341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/olympics.html' title='Olympics'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5449846735243877114</id><published>2008-08-13T18:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T18:41:35.964-07:00</updated><title type='text'>town is changing</title><content type='html'>It is so interesting to see the changes in this town over the past 7 years since I first came.  Near our house, there used to be a steep enbankment, that was a shortcut to get to the other part of town.  Well, 2 years ago, the neighbors got together and started raising money to build a bridge.  That is house work gets done around here.  It isn´t done by taxes or some city organization.  Well, the bridge is almost finished.  It will be done in a couple more months.  The city did end up pitching in and helping with some funds to build it.  Only after the neighbors had raised enough money to show that they really wanted it to happen.  So, it a few months, what used to be a 15 minute exhausting trip down and back up, will be a 5 minute saunter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of the roads are getting paved too.  Well, not actually paved.  They are done with 6 sided bricks.  It is all done one by one laying down the bricks.  It is really pretty.  Apparently the county president is from this town, and the new town mayor are both on the same political side, and are helping this town out a lot more.  Unfortunately, like with the bridge, everyone who lives on a street that is going to get paved, has to put in a lot of money to make it happen, even if you don´t really want the road paved.  I mean, everyone wants a paved road, but getting the money to pay for it is hard.  Right now, my sister in law Delia is having to save up 1500 dollars to get her street paved.  Not too much really, but when you make 120 a week, that is a lot of money.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5449846735243877114?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5449846735243877114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5449846735243877114' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5449846735243877114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5449846735243877114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/town-is-changing.html' title='town is changing'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-5857632608663552514</id><published>2008-08-09T15:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T15:58:44.102-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La Campesina</title><content type='html'>On thusday and friday (day before yesterday and yesterday) I went to work in the fields for the first time ever.  The only reason that they finally took me is because Moises told his mom that they needed to take me.  My sister Delia said that she didn´t think that I could handle it, and that I would really hate it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually had fun.  We only spent a few hours both of the days.  Essentially, we are weeding a cornfield by hand!!  Can you imagine!  They don´t have money for herbicides to kill the weeds, but they do have the time to do it.  It is exhausting work.  I was going to go today as well, but my leg muscles hurt so bad, I couldn´t.  I ended up washing laudry all day instead - which is still a long of work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-5857632608663552514?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/5857632608663552514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=5857632608663552514' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5857632608663552514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/5857632608663552514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/la-campesina.html' title='La Campesina'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-89435157429166034</id><published>2008-08-06T18:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T18:23:27.582-07:00</updated><title type='text'>be careful what you wish for</title><content type='html'>In my last blog I mentioned going to a party and hoping that it wouldn´t be barbecued sheep.  Well, we got to the party, and I saw that they had a big metal meat cooker out, that is usually used to make carnitas - my favorite.  It is pig meat cooked in its own fat.  We sat down to eat, and as usual were served a plate of rice.  After that, the hostess came in carrying a big plate of fried pig skins.  I am talking about 3/8 inch think skin, with the hairs still on it, that is greasy and rubbery and chewy.  GROSS.  My mother in law said, just a minute, they will bring out the carnitas, but she was wrong.  That was it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is funny how time is.  The other day my mother wrote to me and said that it has been exactly 15 years since I left New York City to go spend a year as an exchange student in Greenland.  Her bringing that up obviously stirred up memories for me.  A few days later I had a dream with one of my best friends that year.  He was an exchange student too, from Columbia.  I really loved him, not like a boyfriend, but as a friend.  My other best friend Eva too.  I really loved her too.  I wrote to him and he updated me on his life.  It is just so weird to think that it was 15 years ago.  That seems like such a long time.  It feels like it was a different liketime for me.  I wish that I had kept in better contact with people from my past.  Although, I am embarrassed at times, and don´t want to see people from my past, because I have gotten so fat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-89435157429166034?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/89435157429166034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=89435157429166034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/89435157429166034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/89435157429166034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/be-careful-what-you-wish-for.html' title='be careful what you wish for'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-870018726526604737</id><published>2008-08-05T10:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T10:44:31.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>grrrr</title><content type='html'>I am a little grumpy today.  Moises didn´t deposit money into my account yesterday, which is frustrating.  I have some money, but it is annoying.  I paid to get the pictures that I have taken put onto a disk so that I can upload them onto the computer.  I got the disk and came to the computers and the disk is blank.  I will go back and hopefully they will try again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a good note, my mom finally heard from the insurance company and it was determined that they have to pay for all my damages.  That is nice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am feeling a bit blue today.  The kids are bugging me.  Balthezar is the biggest cry baby.  He cries about everything.  I am making him do 4 pages of school work everyday.  He cries every day about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am invited to a birthday party today.  Hopefully it will be food that I like.  I always hate it when they serve barbecued sheep because I don´t really like sheep meat.  And they always serve blood soup first, then tripe soup.  Both are disgusting, and at the same time it is rude to turn it down.  I always do anyways.  I get a pass because I am american.  I am sure that they still think that I am rude.  I just can´t get myself to eat it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-870018726526604737?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/870018726526604737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=870018726526604737' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/870018726526604737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/870018726526604737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/grrrr.html' title='grrrr'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-8133730875075694354</id><published>2008-08-02T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T11:17:53.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>restless legs</title><content type='html'>Balthezar seems to have developed our families sleep issues.  He has sleep apnea.  He had his tonsils and adnoids removed about a year ago to try to remedy the problem, but it is still an issue.  As soon as we get back home I am going to take him to a sleep specialist.  Lately, he has complained about his legs.  At night they really bother him.  He says that he has to move them.  He will twitch and move them around, and he can´t go to sleep.  Last night it was really bad.  He was so tired and wanted to sleep, but his legs kept him up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to our family history of mental illness.  That is one thing that I worry about my kids sometimes.  As far as I know, 4 generations of Greens have been in a mental ward or hospital for issues.  I recently found out that Moises grandmother on his fathers side also spent many months in a mental ward before she died.  She talked to herself and saw things that weren´t there.  Nice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Balthezar is feeling much better today.  He still says that he wants to come home.  I just want him to eat more.  He doesn´t find anything apetizing.   Hopefully it will improve with the medicine and time.  I was the same way for a while.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-8133730875075694354?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/8133730875075694354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=8133730875075694354' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8133730875075694354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/8133730875075694354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/restless-legs.html' title='restless legs'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3945936861254375991</id><published>2008-08-01T11:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T11:21:30.821-07:00</updated><title type='text'>poverty and peace</title><content type='html'>A while back ago I touched on poverty.  I will write a little more about some thoughts.  People here are poor, but I would say have a lot more peace than people at home have.  Sure, a glass of milk in the morning, and then beans all day sucks, but they get enough to eat.  They aren´t worried that their car payment, or mortgage payment isn´t going to get paid.  You build a house block by cement block, and before that, you live with your parents.  Most people don´t have a telephone, but it is more common now for people to have cellular phones for emergencies, that you use a calling card for.  Who really needs a phone when your entire extended family lives within a 30 minute walk of you?  My in laws have a car that Moises gave them several years ago.  Most people don´t have cars, and thus, don´t worry about the price of gas.  Or if they worry about gas, it is only because the bus fare went up recently from 30 cents to 40 cents. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the first time ever I have noticed that my sister in laws are worried about their weight!!  Popular culture is seeping in, and now most people have a television.  Just as at home, commercials and shows are all about looking good and loosing weight and staying in shape.  My sister in laws are about 5 feet tall and probably weight a little over 100 pounds.  VERY VERY small women.  Yes, they have a belly, but come on.  That is what women are supposed to look like!!!  When you have children it happens!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Total change in subject.  Moises will be coming back down while I am here to bring Juans stuff home for him.  I was wondering if people had any nice used toys that they could send over to my mom or Moises house, so he could bring it down with them.  Dolls, rattles, blocks, whatever.  My kids are always the only ones who have toys, and I would like to leave some here for the kids to use when they come to visit their grandparents.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3945936861254375991?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3945936861254375991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3945936861254375991' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3945936861254375991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3945936861254375991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/poverty-and-peace.html' title='poverty and peace'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-2157156329327115732</id><published>2008-08-01T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T10:56:11.078-07:00</updated><title type='text'>skeleton boy</title><content type='html'>So, Balthezar has lost weight since we got here.  As you all know, he is already a very thin boy.  Well, lately, all his bones stick out even more.  I am having a hard time getting him to eat, and every other day his stomach is bothering him.  Well, I got him on some antibiotics today, to kill off anything that is in there causing problems.  I should have given him medicine sooner, but he would be fine for a few days, and then have a tummy ache, so I didn´t really think that there was anything wrong - I thought that maybe he just didn´t want to eat the food that I was offerering. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night he was up quite a bit in pain, and threw up  in the morning.  (I am so sick of cleaning up vomit!!!)  I look at his tiny body, and I just want to come home.  This visit has been good, but we just can´t seem to stay healthy.  (I wonder if the fact that my father in law milks the cows, then comes into the kitchen and eats after washing his hands with water, no soap, and wiping them dry on his dirty shirt, makes any difference?)  Let´s just say that it is impossible for us to keep things clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually bought trip insurance this time around.  I asked my mom to look into what it will take to change our flight to come home, with him being sick.  I don´t know it it is an option.  Part of me wants to stick it out, part of me just wants to just have it be over with.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-2157156329327115732?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/2157156329327115732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=2157156329327115732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2157156329327115732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/2157156329327115732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/08/skeleton-boy.html' title='skeleton boy'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983728841645924577.post-3521530777374083983</id><published>2008-07-29T10:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T10:15:53.618-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Walking with donkies</title><content type='html'>So I get off the combi (a large volkswagen van that is the main trasportation system) today and start to cross the street.  I looke over to my left and a donkey is walking along with me.  I look around wondering where its owner is.  Finally she appeared, with about 20 sheep to go into the fields to eat.  Sometimes I wished I carried a camara with me everywhere.  It is interesting to see something like that, while crossing a busy street with cars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which reminds me - have you ever heard a donkey?  I think that they must be the loudest animal alive.  I have been pleasantly surprised this visit.  The neighbors donkey must have died or something, because it isn´t waking me up at all hours of the night with its noise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some baby sheep that live next door.  They sound like a baby crying.  The first time that Edith heard it, she asked me where the baby was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some say that there are more dogs that people in this town.  At night I can believe it, because they are all howling.  It isn´t too bad though.  It is amazing how you start to filter things.  Like when we first arrived, I thought the stench of cow manure was going to kill me.  But now I don´t even notice it.  We don´t have pigs though, so everytime we pass by someones house that has pigs, it makes me want to gag.  I am not sure that I could get used to that smell.  It is really horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven´t really heard from anybody in a few days, so I am feeling a bit disconnected.  The computer is my link to home.  I am glad that I get along so well with my sister in laws.  They are a lot of fun to hang around with.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983728841645924577-3521530777374083983?l=diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/feeds/3521530777374083983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983728841645924577&amp;postID=3521530777374083983' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3521530777374083983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983728841645924577/posts/default/3521530777374083983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diaryofaredhead-joan.blogspot.com/2008/07/walking-with-donkies.html' title='Walking with donkies'/><author><name>Joan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06620895406543855839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8cZET3TxQjc/Scn1OdpTlVI/AAAAAAAAAVs/WvPxFpl2da8/S220/img034.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
