<?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-923931800966276346</id><updated>2011-08-01T13:35:33.866-05:00</updated><category term='A mom story'/><category term='the simple things'/><category term='The Rachel Files'/><category term='A first'/><title type='text'>Morning Miles</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>23</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-4758884545017434655</id><published>2010-10-19T16:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-19T16:14:13.070-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back in the saddle?</title><content type='html'>After months of not posting, I've decided to begin blogging about my morning miles again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a run free day, a much needed run free day. Talk about being tired. I don't think I could've dragged myself out of bed to make it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is it about magazines that make them so enjoyable. I know, journalism is supposed to be a dying profession, but is there anything as satisfying as sitting down with a magazine and thumbing through the contents. Magazines don't require the same attention span as a book. And, if I chose to, I can completely ignore pieces within the publication that don't appeal to me (although some strange sense of obligation- to the subscription fee perhaps- drives me to read what I would like to skip).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One publication I really enjoy is Runner's World. I think they atually only have about 12 different magazines they print- storylines are recycled and the names of up and coming runners change but pretty much the articles focus on the same old things. My favorite part, though, is the piece at the back that focuses on celebrity runners. This month features Bobby Flay. He claims he ran his first two marathons with no training. Oh, get real Bobby. No training? I bet you were popping out some 15 milers before the big day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like the Bobby Flay bit, though. First of all, he looks like a normal person. He's not rail thin or built like a super athlete. Secondly, he admits that he runs so he can eat. I know just what he means.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-4758884545017434655?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4758884545017434655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=4758884545017434655' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/4758884545017434655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/4758884545017434655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2010/10/back-in-saddle.html' title='Back in the saddle?'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-510845031179849984</id><published>2009-07-12T20:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T20:11:30.574-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random thoughts</title><content type='html'>I mistakenly waited until it was miserably hot (instead of just unpleasantly hot) to run today.   Nothing like a slow, miserable run to get the wheels turning.  Mainly I thought about my girls and how big they are getting.  I worry about Rachel and how much trouble she'll get into at school this year.  She's a good kid but so strong willed.  They say she's great at daycare but I don't always get to see great at home.&lt;br /&gt;I worry about Lauren growing a spine and standing up to some of her pushier friends. Guess that's why having Rachel for a sister can only be a good thing!&lt;br /&gt;And I worry about making it to the water fountain but that's my own fault!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dave's trying to figure out his new obsession.  We've got a different house and a different car.  What's next?  I told him I didn't care what the new obsession was as long as he did not start looking fora new woman.  He just rolled his eyes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-510845031179849984?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/510845031179849984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=510845031179849984' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/510845031179849984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/510845031179849984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/random-thoughts.html' title='Random thoughts'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-1913100325072869082</id><published>2009-07-11T22:07:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T20:05:35.240-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello out there? I've waited three months...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Clearly I am not the best blogger ever. Maybe I should put blogspot on my phone...&lt;br /&gt;It has been a crazy ride lately but I can sense that things are settling down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Highlights:&lt;br /&gt;May:Bought a house. Sold a house. Took qualifying exam.&lt;br /&gt;June: Started LAST CLASS!!! Hate the weekly drive to Stillwater but know the end is in site. Traveled to Florida for a conference. My suitcase traveled to Hawaii in route to Tulsa:) Moved the day after I got home.&lt;br /&gt;July: Attempted to get house set up. Recovering from May and June.&lt;br /&gt;Today: Bought a new to us car! 2005 Matrix (no, we won't name it Neo.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The carousel is slowing down, though. Thank goodness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rachel turned 3 June 19th and I think she is (finally) starting to grow out of some of the toddler issues. But every timeI say that, we seem to have a huge set-back, so I won't claim it yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lauren moved into training bras. Really. I'm sure she would love me posting this but, darn it, she is getting big! This December she will move into double digits!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the move I found some of my old running logs. I have not regularly kept a running log since I had Lauren. I was happy to see that my times these days are better than my times 11-12 years ago but it was a real downer to discover my actual pre-Lauren weight. I thought I was 10 pounds above it- turns out I am 13-17 pounds over what I was then. Of course, even with this depressing knowledge I still had ice cream tonight!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have two favorite things about the new house. The first is the back porch, something we did not have at the other house. The second (and this will sound weird) is the ice. I don't know what it is but the freezer makes really great ice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've made it this far you will either be happy or dismayed to know that I am going to try to update the blog twice a week. Good? Bad? Just plain boring? We'll see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-1913100325072869082?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1913100325072869082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=1913100325072869082' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/1913100325072869082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/1913100325072869082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/hello-out-there-ive-waited-three-months.html' title='Hello out there? I&apos;ve waited three months...'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-4011524967972924151</id><published>2009-04-29T14:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T14:54:06.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost, again</title><content type='html'>It has been a whirlwind month.  We signed a contract on a new house this past Monday.  Whoa.  This means our house is on the market and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;sucky&lt;/span&gt; part of that is how clean our house has to be.  All the time.  Have you met us?  Although we aren't dirty people we do tend to stack.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Alot&lt;/span&gt;.  Keeping the house show-ready may kill me or make me neat (doubt it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls are doing well.  Rachel has had an ear infection this week.  poor little one.  She is such a combo of David and I.  Bossy.  Independent.  Funny.  Nurturing.  And it is a damn good thing that she has a sweet personality and great imagination or the bossy might put me over the edge!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rachel had her first major "boo-boo" Saturday.  David had to work an event so the girls and I went out in search of flowers and flower pots (realtor said to make the house have more curb appeal).  We got back and I got lost in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;repotting&lt;/span&gt;.  Rachel wiped out in the driveway and I felt sure I was transferring millions of microbes into her big scrape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, she acted as if her leg was broken.  For three days she wouldn't bend her left leg while walking.  Sort of like having a short pirate in the house!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-4011524967972924151?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4011524967972924151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=4011524967972924151' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/4011524967972924151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/4011524967972924151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/04/lost-again.html' title='Lost, again'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-2450477041684228925</id><published>2009-04-04T14:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T14:22:59.837-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I am in qualitative analysis 2 this semester.  A major part of the semester is learning how to analyze interview data.  I've done three interviews- one with a grad student that lasted 35 minutes and then 2 with undergrads that lasted about 10 minutes each and are, subsequently on the same tape.  All set, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Except that I lost the tape and tape recorder about a month ago.  It is hard to transcribe then analyze missing data. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So I hunted for weeks and then found it this morning!  Yea!  It is not lost!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;But Dave keeps getting old episodes of Lost from Netflix and I keep getting lost in those- I would not have done the transcribing even if I had the tapes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So perhaps I have lost my ability to complete coursework...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-2450477041684228925?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2450477041684228925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=2450477041684228925' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/2450477041684228925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/2450477041684228925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/04/lost.html' title='Lost'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-5840412494594030518</id><published>2009-03-31T22:43:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T22:55:36.788-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the drought</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I haven't been writing.  Anywhere.  Not only have I not maintained this blog, I also have not been writing grad school stuff the way I should.  I did manage to complete the required 750-1000 word vignette that was due Monday, but I need to be working on the proposal and the like. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Why the drought?  I don't know. It is almost as if I have a physical revulsion when it comes to writing.  One problem has been cookies.  I know it sounds stupid, but I have been spending about 6-8 hours every weekend sitting at a cookie booth.  This is followed by additional time counting money and tracking sales (ok, we don't have to track them but I can't help but embrace my inner geek. Or maybe it is not so inner).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I am going to try to start posting more often (more often than the end of the month, lol!).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;This weekend should be fun.  We are going to see Elmo's Green Thumb.  I can't wait to see Rachel's reaction. That kid is so funny.  Just a piece of work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Rachel threw up early Friday morning.  I heard something and realized she was sick.  When I got to her room I almost laughed.  She had tried to catch her vomit, in an attempt to keep it off her bed. How sweet.  And gross.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;When I told Lauren that Rachel was sick and was staying home, Lauren started crying.  Last time Rachel threw up, she ended up being hospitalized (she vomited so often that she perforated her esophagus. And she was only 9 months old.).  So I had to reassure Lauren.  It was a typical Lauren big hearted moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I was excited to find out that I will be teaching adjunct at TU in the fall (I snagged an OSU-Tulsa adjunct job for the fall earlier this spring).  The TU class will take place during my plan time on Tuesdays.  Yea:)  The OSU-Tulsa class meets one Fri/Sat a month.  I think this should all be manageable and should greatly help our ability to pay for the kiddos' schooling.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-5840412494594030518?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5840412494594030518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=5840412494594030518' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/5840412494594030518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/5840412494594030518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/03/drought.html' title='the drought'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-1413255822971385356</id><published>2009-02-26T20:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T20:49:59.845-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why no one should be smug</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Never brag, especially about your health.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I have been feeling pretty yucky for about a week.  David starting feeling bad a few days ago.  Lauren felt yucky last night- she was running a low grade fever- no biggie.  This morning she was running just under a 104 temp.  Yikes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David took her to the doctor.  Strep and an ear infection.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Then she went with David to the doctor.  And David was diagnosed with Type A flu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So we have a bacterial infection and a viral infection with two host organisms.  Great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I plan to get strep tested tomorrow.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Rachel seems healthy.  We'll see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Darn karma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-1413255822971385356?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1413255822971385356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=1413255822971385356' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/1413255822971385356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/1413255822971385356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/why-no-one-should-be-smug.html' title='Why no one should be smug'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-2232283314149942753</id><published>2009-02-21T20:54:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T21:09:16.578-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Too much information</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;What are your middle names? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;My middle name is Rene, his is not to be mentioned.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;How long have you been together?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We have been married for almost 14 years but started dating 20 years ago come March.  Bear in mind we did break up for a while between dating and marriage.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;How long did you know each other before you started dating?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Hard to say. We knew each other before we went out for the first time but mainly because my roommate was dating a guy on his dorm floor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who asked whom out?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Vodka asked us both&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;How old are each of you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I am 37 and he is 38.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Whose siblings do you see the most?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Since my brother is a bit of a jerk and lives in Florida that leaves his super-nice brother and sister-in-law.  Love them (really)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Was hardest?  Is hardest?  The hardest ever was when we had to live in separate states for 9 weeks due to job changes.  These days, holiday dinner seating arrangements.  One of the only things we ever really fight about.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Did you go to the same school?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Yep.  OSU&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Are you from the same home town?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;No, Pawhuska (D) and Owasso (me).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who is smarter?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We have different kinds of intelligence.  His memory is amazing, especially with names and faces. I am very statistically oriented.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who is the most sensitive?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We are pretty even on this- we both get hurt feelings over odd things but I am more of a crier.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Where do you eat out most as a couple?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Home&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Boston?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who has the craziest exes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Him&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who has the worst temper?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We have different types of tempers.  Dave has plenty of little eruptions.  I take a long time to anger but once I am mad it takes a long time for me to cool down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who does the cooking?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Me.  But I like to cook (unless the girls are fighting).  He can cook though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who is the neat-freak?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Don't know.  He is a neat-freak about the inside of a car.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who is more stubborn?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;He is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who hogs the bed?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Don't know but we have this green blanket on our bed that gravitates toward me- it is between layers and those layers can be where they're supposed to be and the green blanket will still be on my side.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who wakes up earlier?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I have always been an early riser but lately he has been keeping pace with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Where was your first date?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Somewhere in Stillwater&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who is more jealous?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We don't have issues with this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;How long did it take to get serious?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;About a month and a half&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who eats more?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Hard to say.  We both have a sugar problem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who does the laundry?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David.  One of the many reasons I love him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who's better with the computer?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Who drives when you are together?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David.  Partly because he goes totally ADD (paws at the windows and the like) when he is the passenger and partly because I am a much better navigator than he is.  Much better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-2232283314149942753?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2232283314149942753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=2232283314149942753' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/2232283314149942753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/2232283314149942753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/too-much-information.html' title='Too much information'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-291712344376225770</id><published>2009-02-18T20:24:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T20:34:02.624-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Death, Doom, and Destruction</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So no, this is not an apocalyptic email.  Instead, this is about the Hamby women elbows.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Some people nickname "special" body parts.  Not us.  Lauren and I have nicknamed my elbow points death, her elbow points doom, and Rachel's elbow points destruction.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I could probably use my super sharp and pointy elbow as an ice pick (except that I hate to be cold).  As a kid, I used the tip of my chin and my elbow to bore pain into my brother (typically when he tried to fart on my face).  Now I threaten the elbow when David is up to something.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;These are the quality thoughts I have.  No nicknames for private parts (aren't you lucky)- only for weapon-like elbows. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I did want to unleash the elbows on a family at swim lessons tonight.  The 3 or 4 year old little girl was dressed in a barely-there bikini.  Now I think toddlers in two-pieces are cute when the two-piece is not hoochie.  But it was like some sort of stripper audition outfit (no pole at Miller's though).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Anyways, the tot, her dad, and g'ma were sharing *special* conversations.  At one point g'ma says, "When you get out the water make sure your boobies are still in your suit."  Say what?  Boobies?  On a three year old?  NO! So wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And that is just a highlight of the wonderful conversation.  Death was twitching to give an accidental poke but I held back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-291712344376225770?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/291712344376225770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=291712344376225770' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/291712344376225770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/291712344376225770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/death-doom-and-destruction.html' title='Death, Doom, and Destruction'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-6768472171353650569</id><published>2009-02-17T15:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T15:18:02.368-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Too many thoughts</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I have had a really hard time sleeping the last two nights and I think the problem is that I can't stop thinking about my research project.  I keep waking up and thinking about sections that need more detail.  It would be funny if I wasn't tired!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And to add to this, I actually really enjoy my Monday night class.  We have the weirdest sessions.  Last night we spent almost 45 minutes discussing interviews (as a data source) through both the positivist and the post-modernistic perspectives.  Very stimulating.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;In case you don't know, I totally buy into the theory that toddlers go through cycles of independence and dependence.  I agree with the research that posits that this cyclic behavior is what leads to fits.  Further, I think that as kids move closer to the age of 4 they spend more time in what I will call the "good mood" cycle and less time in the "bad mood" cycle.  I was pleased this weekend to see Rachel back in the good mood cycle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;But I can sympathize with kiddos when they throw fits (notice: sympathize- not condone or encourage).  It has to suck to have someone else constantly get to make all of the choices about your life.  That is why I love Love and Logic- choices are paramount.  And why my kid (occasionally both of them) looks like a hobo sometimes- I am not willing to fight over the clothes she wears.  As long as she isn't asking to shop at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Massad's&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-6768472171353650569?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6768472171353650569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=6768472171353650569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/6768472171353650569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/6768472171353650569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/too-many-thoughts.html' title='Too many thoughts'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-300898969063373077</id><published>2009-02-14T13:19:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T13:34:43.385-06:00</updated><title type='text'>V-day, whatever</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The older I get the less I appreciate romantic gestures. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And I know that makes me sound like scrooge. But I started developing a theory a few years ago that people (read this as men) fall into one of two categories: romantic or reliable. I realize that assigning dichotmous categories is silly and that there are always shades of grey, but I have mainly seen one of these groupings in the men I know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Case 1: Romantic. My dad is an example of this group. I love my father dearly. But my dad has consistently been the chief in my parents house. Everything is based on when he wants to do things. When I was little he rarely came home from work before Micah and I were in bed. When we got older, no one could eat dinner until he was home. Mom had to pretty much put the meal on hold until he arrived- and that could be anywhere from 6-8:30. He got mad if she let us eat before then and he also forbade after school snacks. Yet he made romantic gestures to my mom often- bringing her flowers, perfume, or a box of chocolates. Buying her special things that she wanted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Case 2: Reliable. David is the perfect example of this. He understands if we eat before he gets home. He loads the dishwasher (he says I do it wrong) and he does the laundry. He spends time with the girls. He doesn't believe in giving flowers and he isn't big on gifts "just because." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;When I was younger I might have (probably did) think romantic is better but I now know that reliable trumps romantic any day, any place, any time. Hands down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Thanks David.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And the m&amp;amp;ms rocked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I should add that I have become less romantic over time. For our second v-day as a married couple I created 26 little baggies of oreos, one for each letter of the alphabet, and put a note for whatever letter it was in the baggie too. I hid these all over the house. This year (year 13 as a married pair) I gave him a shark steam vac and the first season of Dexter. A steam cleaner and a bloody tv show. Not so romantic.  ne should reliably clean the hardwoods and the other is likely to reliably be entertaining.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-300898969063373077?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/300898969063373077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=300898969063373077' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/300898969063373077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/300898969063373077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/v-day-whatever.html' title='V-day, whatever'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-3486027373736841243</id><published>2009-02-11T20:52:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T20:58:51.539-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the memory of an 89 year old</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;It has been a while since I posted and when I run I always come up with great topics.  And then I forget them...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;On the "stupid things about me" front, about 3 months ago I severly overplucked only one brow.  That's right- just one.  So I have been trying to grow it out.  And, of course, it has grown back patchy.  For the last two weeks one of my brows has looked liked it belongs to Vanilla Ice- you know, the fade.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Remember- I forget the quality stuff.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-3486027373736841243?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3486027373736841243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=3486027373736841243' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/3486027373736841243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/3486027373736841243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/memory-of-89-year-old.html' title='the memory of an 89 year old'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-2839506496292515922</id><published>2009-01-28T21:13:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T21:26:38.203-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Rachel Files'/><title type='text'>Never argue finer points with a toddler</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David usually handles bath time but I've had the chance to give Rachel her bath twice this week.  Both nights have been a ton of fun but tonight illustrates why toddlers often are poor conversationalists.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;There is a set of railroad tracks about a mile from our house.  Thanks to the cold weather and the snow/ice blanket, the train horns have been a lot easier to hear.  So during bath time tonight I heard the train horn blaring and asked Rachel to be very quiet and listen with me to hear the train.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"What you say, mommy?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"I said that if we get really quiet we can hear the train."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;A moment of silence follows.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Is that the train?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Yes. That woo-woo noise is the train."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Mommy.  That's no train.  There no trains at our house."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Rachel, I know trains aren't at our house.  This one is about a mile away but we can hear it because of the cold weather."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Mommy (very impatiently).  There no train at our house.  That no train.  Stop being silly."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So what do you say at this point?  I mean, she is the child of David Hamby.  She will argue a point till the cows come home.  So I said, you're right, the train is not at our house.  Hey, show me how you blow bubbles again!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Ah, conversations with toddlers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-2839506496292515922?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2839506496292515922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=2839506496292515922' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/2839506496292515922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/2839506496292515922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/never-argue-finer-points-with-toddler.html' title='Never argue finer points with a toddler'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-338427726151674219</id><published>2009-01-27T16:10:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T16:17:49.692-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Lashes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The Tulsa World had sort of a funny story this morning.  It wasn't meant to be funny but it was about the latest in eyelashes.  Apparently there is a place in Tulsa that can perform a "lash thickening" treatment and/or a lash perm.  That's right- a lash perm.  The tech (lash perming lady) said that it smells just like a regular perm.  OMG!  Can you imagine how potentially dangerous that is?  Let only costly!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The lash thickening treatment was on sale for $75- essentially the lady uses industrial grade glue to mix synthetic eyelashes in with your real eyelashes- normally it is $150.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Hello?  Ever heard of drugstore falsies?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;On Sunday there was a story about a new lash thickening drug coming on the market.  The drug was initially developed as a treatment for glaucoma but the lash thickening element of it was discovered as a side effect.  It is $250 for a one month prescription.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And we wonder what the hell is wrong with our country?  There are people willing to spend hundreds of dollars monthly for thicker lashes when they could just go down to the drugstore and buy mascara and a lash curler (or some fake lashes) for less than $20.  Puh-leeze.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Speaking of cosmetic changes, I have been playing with chocolate in the kitchen today.  Being trapped, I mean being inside the house in the ice makes me want to bake.  Bad for the old waistline.  If only I had some level of self-control...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-338427726151674219?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/338427726151674219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=338427726151674219' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/338427726151674219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/338427726151674219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/lashes.html' title='Lashes'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-8825664285396441441</id><published>2009-01-23T07:08:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T07:17:36.548-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Toothy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Lauren lost a tooth this week. She'd lost all the front ones a few years ago. This was one of her pre-molars. Being the sweet, gullible thing that she is, she still totally believes in the tooth fairy. Tuesday night (evening of dinner-time tooth loss) at bed time she announced that she wasn't going to put her tooth under the pillow yet. She said that she wanted to know what the tooth fairy does with the teeth. Essentially, if the tooth fairy uses the teeth in a manner that Lauren is ok with then Lauren will put the tooth under the pillow. Luckily she did not have time to write the note then because it was time to go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I spent Wendesday annoying my coworkers (more than normal) with tooth fairy questions. I could come up with plenty of reasons but mine were all a bit morbid. And although a large part of me did think about how much money we could save (ok, not that much!) by making it so Lauren never left a tooth under her pillow again, the other side of me- the side that loves Lauren's ability to believe in fantasy and be a kid- knew that was a bad plan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Shelly gave me the answer. What happens with the teeth is an occupational secret. Like ancient Chinese secret but with the tooth fairy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lauren finally got around to writing the note and putting the tooth under her pillow last night. I spent 20 minutes crafting a tooth fairy-worthy response. And even managed to exchange everything out when I woke from my nap on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can't wait to see what she thinks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should add that the tooth fairy has written Lauren before. One time the tooth fairy did not leave anything- Lauren was bummed but left her tooth under her pillow again the next night and got a nice note about how the tooth fairy had been on vacation and couldn't get back. Talk about guilt!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-8825664285396441441?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8825664285396441441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=8825664285396441441' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/8825664285396441441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/8825664285396441441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/toothy.html' title='Toothy'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-8551142739654499521</id><published>2009-01-19T19:27:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T19:33:11.600-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Trauma</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Lauren and I had dental appointments this morning and we both have to go back because we both need a filling.  This is my first new filling in 17 years (although a lovely root canal has happened in the meantime along with a lovely porcelain crown).  This will be Lauren's first filling.  And when she found out she needed a filling she sobbed.  And sobbed.  And sobbed some more.  As if she's just learned that a dear friend had died or something horrid had happened.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;In those moments I have a hard time responding.  On the one hand, I want to comfort her.  On the other, it is just a filling.  Good gravy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So I talked her down a bit and made some corny asides.  I bet there'll be more tears in mid-February when she goes back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;She has been tearier than normal (ok, she's actually cried a few times versus her normal, non-crying mode) and I keep wondering if we are heading in puberty.  NOOOOOOOOO!  Once it starts I lose my sweet girl for several years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Now I want to cry!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-8551142739654499521?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8551142739654499521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=8551142739654499521' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/8551142739654499521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/8551142739654499521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/trauma.html' title='Trauma'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-281269193996036941</id><published>2009-01-17T14:28:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T14:37:50.760-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Techno-savvy?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David bought an i-pod nano for me as a surprise Christmas gift.  Although I had never mentioned wanting one, he knew that I would like it.  But what really made me excited about the nano is that it uses the Nike-Fit+ technology.  Let me say upfront that I cannot wear Nike shoes.  Oh, the pain!  Plus, I have to wear a size 12 in them and my ego can't take that.  But you can order the chip and receiver on their own (for only $30).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;My receiver cover came in the mail yesterday so today I gave it a try.  Of course, I read the directions again after my jog was over- had some real "duh" moments with it.  It is pretty cool- sort of like having a Garmin watch (we have an old Garmin- it went on the fritz but is now back to working).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;All of this has made me feel like a technologically advanced person (of course, in my family that's not saying much since my mom want to go to hooker.com to find chairs...).  So I bit the bullet and joined Facebook today.  I have sent out several invites to be friends (so junior high).  One lady (was a girl not so long ago) accepted and when I viewed her profile I found a photo album posted by a guy who lived on David's dorm floor with- surprise- pics of David back in the old mullet days!  Makes me wistful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;If you have a facebook account, let me know and I'll add you as a friend. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I am not sure I have the time needed to keep up with an additional distraction but surely I can fit it in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;While we're talking technology, we got the Wii Outdoor Challenge game and man, is that thing fun.  Funny to watch people do it, fun to play.  I even earned a bronze crown last night.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-281269193996036941?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/281269193996036941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=281269193996036941' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/281269193996036941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/281269193996036941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/techno-savvy.html' title='Techno-savvy?'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-5264186856517006824</id><published>2009-01-09T20:27:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T20:39:37.315-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Daily grindstone</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I so enjoyed my winter break (the multitude of religions at Uschool has forever impacted my ability to call it Christmas break).  So heading back to work this week totally sucked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;One highlight was Sunday night when I apparently dreamed about a helicopter circling above our house (I swear it was real).  I got out of bed and was watching it circle once while shining a spotlight and woke David up (while at the window).  We had a lot of debates about whether or not the copter was there.  Who knows?  But it was pretty tough to get back to sleep after that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;This bizarre Okie weather has been a source of more confusion than normal.  It gets nice, it gets cold, it gets nice, it gets cold, it... well, you've got the point.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;David and I rented a few movies over break.  We saw Iron Man (which was surprisingly enjoyable) and Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull (even Lauren thought it was stupid- I mean, I liked the campy bits but the end, geez...).  We also caught Oh Brother and Dodgeball on tv (probably good old TBS).  I work with some people who have never seen either of these.  I know Dodgeball is silly, but I swear it cracks me up every time.  Every single time.  And then I want to quote it.  Not so great around kids.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Lauren's first basketball game of the season is tomorrow.  Heaven help me.  Last year we were on a Park and Rec team and we lost every game.  Plus Lauren played like a statue.  I am hoping for better this year.  She can actually dribble this year but the coach isn't working them very hard and they really haven't practiced enough (versus last year's too many practices!). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-5264186856517006824?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5264186856517006824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=5264186856517006824' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/5264186856517006824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/5264186856517006824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/daily-grindstone.html' title='Daily grindstone'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-7727197228640202307</id><published>2009-01-02T19:56:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T20:14:39.311-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='A mom story'/><title type='text'>Add furniture please</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So my mom called the other day.  If you know my mom, this story is par for the course. If you don't know her, just understand that she is a very nice person but sometimes, well, a bit dense.  For example, one time she had been working on the crossword in the paper but was stumped.  I looked over her answers.  One clue was looking for a 3 letter word meaning "genetic information."  She filled in "gna" (this is for real- I may not be the most brilliant but as a science teacher I was quite aghast).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Back to the phone call.  She and my dad are in the middle of a big remodel.  The remodel started in August and I think they'll be lucky if it is done in February.  My dad had dropped her off at the mall on his way into work the other day.  She went to Macy's and Dillard's to check out chairs (apparently she is looking for wing back chairs) but the stores didn't have what she wanted.  So she had decided to shop on-line and was asking me how to look for them.  She had found some Hooker chairs she wanted.  She said, "so do I just type in www. hooker . com?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Um, no.  I said, "Mom, I think you might actually get a real hooker if you type that in." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Mom "Oh."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The thought never even entered her mind.  I spent the next 15 minutes trying to explain to her that google is a search engine (she had a few other, less potentially interesting, thing to find).  But part of me wishes she would have tried the hooker URL.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;It made me think of a mistake I made a few years ago- I meant to type in hotmail but inadvertently entered homtail.  Not what I was expecting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And I would blame my mother's lack of computer savvy on her age but Dave's parents are older than she is and they are both pretty with it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Obviously, I haven't mentioned this blog to my mom.  She would check it every day, after I spent 2 hours explaining what a blog is.  And she would post super sweet responses like, "I love you honey" and "how dare you post such ugly pictures of my darling grandchild- you are out of our will." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-7727197228640202307?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7727197228640202307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=7727197228640202307' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/7727197228640202307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/7727197228640202307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/add-furniture-please.html' title='Add furniture please'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-8875666615846996133</id><published>2008-12-31T09:37:00.012-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T13:04:13.608-06:00</updated><title type='text'>No Shame, No Mother of the Year</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I'm quite certain that posting this is going to put me in a special league. Ever since the day that Rachel (accidentally) ate the Scooby band-aid during dinner (it was on the tip of her finger for goodness sake! Hard to believe those things don't digest at all) I've known that I was never going to be a "mother of the year" contender (actually there was evidence prior to her band-aid ingestion incident but I refuse to give details). I think this post will guarantee that I will not be a nominee for either mother-of-the-decade or mother-of-the-new-millennium. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Rachel is a pretty cute kid. She's got big eyes and a wicked sense of humor. But she definitely was not the most beautiful baby. I mean, she was cute, but she was a bit cross-eyed and it took a while to really get a hold of her personality. Dave and I often wonder how anyone who has so much personality at 2 1/2 could have ever had very little personality. Maybe it is just that Lauren was such a charmer- from day one- with those big blue (now green) eyes and that smile. Lauren smiled at 10 days. Really. We don't remember Rachel smiling that early. But looking back at pictures has shown that she did. So maybe we have faulty memories.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;That said, there is a baby picture of Rachel that has to be one of the absolute ugliest (or perhaps funniest?) baby pictures I have ever seen. In fact, it makes me wonder if there's some sort of "Ugly Picture" contest I could enter it in. Maybe I could host one of my own? I'm guessing that no "good" mother would be so willing to share pictures of her child looking so bad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;That said, are you ready?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is bad. Really bad. I've warned you! Avert your eyes so that the image does not bore a hole into your retina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285985960796322770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVuYOZj3e9I/AAAAAAAAAAo/yYX3tiuxQYM/s200/crosseyed+baby.JPG" border="0" /&gt;But wait, that's not the REALLY bad one- there is a whole series shot (on the same day) of her propped up on the pillows in our bed. This one is pretty bad but here is the worst:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285986501495410306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVuYt30kzoI/AAAAAAAAAAw/MXVubMNdcL8/s200/Rachel_funny+0806.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Yep, that's our girl.&lt;br /&gt;In order to offset the bad karma I am currently creating, here is a cute one from the same time period.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285986982234095538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 156px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVuZJ2tm_7I/AAAAAAAAAA4/4dQQMx6Rjtw/s200/Rachel+Smile.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;More to come on my mom trying to find furniture on the web.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And feel free to share your ugly pics.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-8875666615846996133?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8875666615846996133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=8875666615846996133' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/8875666615846996133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/8875666615846996133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/no-shame-no-mother-of-year.html' title='No Shame, No Mother of the Year'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVuYOZj3e9I/AAAAAAAAAAo/yYX3tiuxQYM/s72-c/crosseyed+baby.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-578048179777866336</id><published>2008-12-31T09:08:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T09:23:19.774-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the simple things'/><title type='text'>My Favorite Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;During this winter break David has introduced me to a new guilty pleasure. David has all sorts of guilty pleasures- things like Post Secret and taunting me until I get angry (sort of like being wooed by a teenage boy- or should I say like my memories of being wooed by teenage boys).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unlike trying to anger me or viewing notes found by people, this new guilty pleasure has turned into something I really enjoy too. If you haven't visited Fail Blog (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.failblog.org/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;http://www.failblog.org/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;) then you just HAVE to go there. Soon. Take some time, peruse the offerings. What a hoot. I need to add that David's friend Kevin sent the link to David.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;This unseasonable spell of weather, coupled with being off of work, has led to another guilty pleasure- being able to run during the day. In shorts. Ahh. When I taught in Texas the principal of my school was ok with letting us do whatever we wanted during our 55 minute plan period. So once or twice a week the Language Arts teacher on my team and I would head out for a run during plan time. I wish I could do that now (I'd actual settle for plan time at the same time every day!). But running during the day over break has been extremely enjoyable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-578048179777866336?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/578048179777866336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=578048179777866336' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/578048179777866336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/578048179777866336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-favorite-things.html' title='My Favorite Things'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-4406996980397794825</id><published>2008-12-26T12:21:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-26T12:33:14.421-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Money for Nothing</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;One of the things I love the most about running is finding change on the street. Talk about your simple pleasures! I ran late this morning (David is kind enough to take the first shift on non-work days) and found a nickel. I was stoked. It was even on a street that I had not found money on before today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day after Thanksgiving netted a whole $1.38, all in change. I found it in three separate locations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the only things I like about running in cooler weather is that my winter running pants have zippered pockets for change. When I wear shorts I end up storing change in my sports bra which can make me kind of jingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;David and I usually both find at least a penny when we run (this is only weekend running- when I run early during the week it is too dark to spot money- except for the time when I was 6 months pregnant and found a 5 dollar bill).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope this post give you an idea of the mundane things that excite me that I know no one else gets excited about!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about you? What mundane things get you excited?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-4406996980397794825?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4406996980397794825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=4406996980397794825' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/4406996980397794825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/4406996980397794825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/money-for-nothing.html' title='Money for Nothing'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-923931800966276346.post-815301899586041604</id><published>2008-12-26T09:24:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-26T09:40:15.726-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='A first'/><title type='text'>Hello?  Is this thing on?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;After much contemplation, I have decided to become a blogger. I can only promise one thing: my life is sure to bore you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope everyone had a great holiday. I really enjoyed the holidays this year- apparently I was a good girl because all of the gifts were great and on target. We still have more Christmas to go with a trip to the blazing metropolis of P-town tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tonight we are taking the girls to a hockey game (free tickets through D's work). Let's hope they are well behaved (not sure if I mean the girls or the hockey players). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have included some pics of two of my favorite people: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rachel loves to dress up in Lauren's old dance class leotards (she even wears Lauren's old ballet shoes).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284122764874526850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVT5qH3msII/AAAAAAAAAAc/OIAByNmcNyE/s200/IMG_2559.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Lauren at her birthday party a few days before her 9th bday. She had a cooking party. And a lot of fun.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284122146280841906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVT5GHbYIrI/AAAAAAAAAAU/f-d7WzLxtds/s200/IMG_2612.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Enjoy the spring-like weather and have a great day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/923931800966276346-815301899586041604?l=morningmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/815301899586041604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=923931800966276346&amp;postID=815301899586041604' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/815301899586041604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/923931800966276346/posts/default/815301899586041604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://morningmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/hello-is-this-thing-on.html' title='Hello?  Is this thing on?'/><author><name>morning miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14471650247937287030</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__X46QFvq6h4/SVT5qH3msII/AAAAAAAAAAc/OIAByNmcNyE/s72-c/IMG_2559.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
