<?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-4051669</id><updated>2011-04-21T17:08:30.101-07:00</updated><title type='text'>on the side</title><subtitle type='html'>&lt;center&gt;sometimes I just have a little something to say&lt;/center&gt;</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><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>90</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106490550483009621</id><published>2003-09-30T00:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-30T00:05:28.916-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New site</title><content type='html'>go see the pretty new On The Side at blog.thefirstgirl.com&lt;a href="http://blog.thefirstgirl.com"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THANKS MEG!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106490550483009621?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106490550483009621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106490550483009621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_28_archive.html#106490550483009621' title='New site'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106451996274358619</id><published>2003-09-25T12:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-25T12:59:22.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice Cream!!!!</title><content type='html'>Not that anyone is reading this site... but get yourself over to Baskin Robbins and have some Let Them Eat Cake ice cream before it's gone!  It's the September flavor and I just found it today.  It is SO GOOD!!!!!  I went so far as to call the company to request that it be incorporated in their every day selection.  Heaven, I tell you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106451996274358619?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106451996274358619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106451996274358619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_21_archive.html#106451996274358619' title='Ice Cream!!!!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106446791743112678</id><published>2003-09-24T22:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-25T09:21:12.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'>please excuse the lack of entries</title><content type='html'>I wanted to write a journal entry tonight in expectation of posting at the new site.  But here's what I did instead:&lt;br /&gt;got home and turned over the girl to the daddy&lt;br /&gt;came upstairs, changed clothes, put away some laundry and straigtened up in expectation of a potential buyer coming to look at the house.&lt;br /&gt;got called by the daddy to come rescue the girl.&lt;br /&gt;went outside and watched her play on the front lawn with the next door neighbor 3 year old girl.&lt;br /&gt;sang ring around the rosies &amp; when you're happy clap your hands&lt;br /&gt;came upstairs to give Isa some "boo."&lt;br /&gt;when she was done, found out from the hubby that the appointment from the potential buyer was postponed until tomorrow morning.&lt;br /&gt;turned over the girl to the daddy again.&lt;br /&gt;went back up to my desk to finish the loan paperwork on the new house (which I would have done first if I had known about the postponement).&lt;br /&gt;went back down to let the hubby know it was done.&lt;br /&gt;watched the girl and the 3 year old play some more.&lt;br /&gt;tried to referee the "mine!" tendencies of my Isa and get her to share.&lt;br /&gt;brought her up to go potty but she started to cry the second she sat down, saying "done!"&lt;br /&gt;picked her up from the empty potty that has lost its novelty.&lt;br /&gt;changed Isa to her jammies at her insistance, guess her bath will have to be in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;called my parents who were supposed to come over to watch Isa so we could finish the paperwork, but since they didn't get there in time and we hadn't eaten dinner, asked them to get us some dinner.&lt;br /&gt;ate Mc D's.  &lt;br /&gt;luckily, Isa gets a nutritious lunch plus good snacks at school, so I got over the guilt of french fries and chicken nuggets.&lt;br /&gt;left Isa with my mom watching her favorite movie (rhymes with Bemo) while I went to the office to write a letter for the loan.&lt;br /&gt;played with Isa some more and then gave her some more boo.&lt;br /&gt;watched her play with grandpa and then brought her up to change her diaper since that whole potty thing didn't work out tonight.&lt;br /&gt;spread out her Dora blanket on the floor where we played a couple more rounds of Ring around the Rosie.&lt;br /&gt;cleaned up my room and hers, finished putting clothes away.&lt;br /&gt;nursed Isa to sleep while fighting with the hubby over my neglectful laundry technique (someone's not to happy about being out of underwear again.)&lt;br /&gt;put a load of laundry in.&lt;br /&gt;shot him a bitchy look and received one back.&lt;br /&gt;let him kiss me goodnight anyway.&lt;br /&gt;now, here I am typing this blog post that really could have been a journal entry while watching Felicity re-runs.&lt;br /&gt;somehow throughout the evening I managed to catch a little bit about the debate.  decided that I may just vote for Camejo.&lt;br /&gt;saw about 15 minutes of Ed and the last 15 minutes of the West Wing.  That's some good TV, man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I'm off to bed.  Good night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106446791743112678?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106446791743112678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106446791743112678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_21_archive.html#106446791743112678' title='please excuse the lack of entries'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106412255996248312</id><published>2003-09-20T22:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-20T22:35:59.620-07:00</updated><title type='text'>woof woof!</title><content type='html'>There's a neighborhood dog barking like crazy.  For the past half hour.  If it wakes up Isa, I'm going to be one pissed mommy!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Actually, it might be a coyote, in which case, I'll still be pissed but there won't be any dog owner to direct it at.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106412255996248312?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106412255996248312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106412255996248312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_14_archive.html#106412255996248312' title='woof woof!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106377985976022475</id><published>2003-09-16T23:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-16T23:24:19.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it necessary?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes, my husband can be such a dickhead.  Men suck!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's stressed.  Whatever.  Fuck.  Join the club.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106377985976022475?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106377985976022475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106377985976022475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_14_archive.html#106377985976022475' title='Is it necessary?'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106360724802237326</id><published>2003-09-14T23:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-14T23:27:27.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>twinkle twinkle</title><content type='html'>The other day, Isa was walking around, playing, and humming to herself.  I listened up to hear her sing "teenkew, teenke, ky.  wondew 'tar. teenkew 'tar."  She was singing all on her own!  She suddenly saw me watching her, and she cracked up at herself, bringing her hand to her mouth.  She's been doing it again off and on all weekend.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106360724802237326?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106360724802237326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106360724802237326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_14_archive.html#106360724802237326' title='twinkle twinkle'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106352147148161297</id><published>2003-09-13T23:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-13T23:37:51.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Isa's Dr. Appt</title><content type='html'>In posting about the visit with &lt;a href="http://aon.bhavana.org"&gt;Meg&lt;/a&gt;, I forgot to say anything about Isa's dr. appt.  It went pretty well.   She was at 25 lbs 3 oz and 33 1/2 inches tall.  However, she couldn't offer any solutions for the occasional hives, other than continuing with the benedryl.  She didn't want to put Isa through the poking of an alergist which would probably be inconclusive for her age. But she did get a CBC test (total blood count) and I was really nervous about it.  We went to the lab, and the nurse instructed me how to hold her arm.  We watched the needle go in, and she squirmed slightly and whimpered a little.  I tried to calm her saying "almost over. It's ok."  Quickly, the needle was removed and the bandage was applied.  We both said "yay!," and she was impressed to have an injury like momma.  (my splinted pinky - 2 more weeks! ugh).  She earned her "no tears today" sticker.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106352147148161297?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106352147148161297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106352147148161297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106352147148161297' title='Isa&apos;s Dr. Appt'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106343120188262597</id><published>2003-09-12T22:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-12T22:33:21.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fun and Sadness today</title><content type='html'>It was great meeting Meg, today.  Her kids are adorable.  Isa was smitten with her little one.  And her daughter is such a great person and an obviously caring big sister.  We'll definitely get together again soon!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a sad note, I am watching a Felicity rerun, as I often do in the evenings, and am saddened to see John Ritter's character in the hospital talking about dying.  Goodbye, Jack Tripper.  The world will miss you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106343120188262597?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106343120188262597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106343120188262597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106343120188262597' title='Fun and Sadness today'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106330377379614705</id><published>2003-09-11T11:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-11T11:09:33.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>what's goin' on</title><content type='html'>I thought of a good solution to my stepmommy problem, and I can't believe I never thought of it before!   I gave LG a journal of her own.  A special one, that she can write down whatever she's feeling and get it out so that she can understand it on her own, without having to go home to complain to her mom.  This way she can let it out constructively and then talk to me or her dad about it right away without letting her hurt feelings bottle up until she sees her mom.  She was so happy with the idea.  I promised her that it would be her own private journal and no one would see it but herself.  We made up quite nicely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I'm (or Meg is, rather) revamping my journal and blog.  So it's likely that no one is seeing this particular entry but me at the moment.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night at 1:00 am, Isa sat up in bed and started naming off her friends at school.  She must have been dreaming about them.  She knows all of their names so well.  I forget about how much she talks until I see other kids the same age that aren't saying much, yet.  Yesterday she was telling me all about the sunset.  &lt;em&gt;Oooh.  Sun.  sunshet.  down.  moon.  wherseet?  up.  dark.   &lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106330377379614705?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106330377379614705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106330377379614705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106330377379614705' title='what&apos;s goin&apos; on'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106314548927455246</id><published>2003-09-09T15:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-09T15:11:29.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'>big girl</title><content type='html'>I forgot to mention that I put Isa in a Pull-Up for the very first time today.  She's been using the potty at home and at school more, and I thought she might like to try pulling down her own clothes to sit.  She seemed to like it.  Of course, I forgot to pack a few to change her in, so when she soils that one, it will be back to a diaper.  Darn!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106314548927455246?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106314548927455246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106314548927455246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106314548927455246' title='big girl'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106313416341509641</id><published>2003-09-09T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-09T12:02:43.270-07:00</updated><title type='text'>frustrating</title><content type='html'>Ugh!#^*!!!  Damned if I do and damned if I don't!  Sometimes being a stepparent drives me crazy!  Apparently, yesterday I (may or may not have) said something to hurt my stepdaughter's feelings.  The thing is, lately the kids have been going home and "reporting" stuff to their mom.  I feel like I'm always under scrutiny with them.  I'm trying to make time to spend with them like I used to before Isa was born, so that they know they are special to me too.  But it seems like they are always looking for me to be "mean."  I don't remember saying anything like that to her, but both kids say they heard it.  I don't know how this keeps happening... Does she ask them as soon as she picked them up, "what did that Lex do to you today??"  And of course, their mom called up Os today to tell him all about what a rotten stepmom I am.  They got into an argument.  Now he's angry with the kids for the way they've been behaving in general and now add that they are complaining about our household, and he's going to have a big "talk" with them tomorrow.  In the mean time, we're trying to plan a nice celebration for stepdaughter's birthday this weekend.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106313416341509641?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106313416341509641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106313416341509641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106313416341509641' title='frustrating'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106312981205051840</id><published>2003-09-09T10:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-09T10:50:11.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'>new entry</title><content type='html'>Oh, go read a journal &lt;a href="http://thefirstgirl.com/2003_09_08.html"&gt;entry&lt;/a&gt; about Isa's first haircut.  Ok?  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106312981205051840?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106312981205051840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106312981205051840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106312981205051840' title='new entry'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106312973413818131</id><published>2003-09-09T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-09T10:48:53.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>rrreeeeee!</title><content type='html'>Isa hates it when I'm in the shower.  Especially in the mornings.  Sometimes she'll stand there and just cry until I'm done, so I have to hurry.  Yesterday, she didn't even want to come into the bathroom, so I left the door open while I jumped into the shower.  I was trying to talk to her and sing with her so she wouldn't be upset... "If you're happy and you know it stomp your feet!" (she recently learned to stomp.)  Well, the hot steam must have floated into the hallway and triggered the fire alarm.  "AAAAAA!"  Forntunately, I had just rinsed out the shampoo, so I grabbed a towel and got out and picked up a very panicked Isa.  Stupid alarm.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106312973413818131?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106312973413818131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106312973413818131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_09_07_archive.html#106312973413818131' title='rrreeeeee!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106286440783578554</id><published>2003-09-06T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-06T09:18:17.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>troubling</title><content type='html'>There's a young woman I met recently, that was in her last 5 weeks of pregnancy.  I offered to lend my maternity clothes because I could tell that she could use them.  The next time I saw her, I realized that she had been smoking.  It made me want to recind the offer of the maternity clothes.  As it turns out, I didn't have to.  She had her baby 4 weeks early.  He was just barely 5lbs.  I get the feeling the dad's not around.  The sad thing is, she really needs the money and wants to return to her job now.  Less than a week after giving birth.  What's going to happen to her little baby?  Why did she smoke?  Didn't she know how bad that is for the baby?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106286440783578554?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106286440783578554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106286440783578554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_31_archive.html#106286440783578554' title='troubling'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106283066620614461</id><published>2003-09-05T23:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-05T23:45:38.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Choices</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://aon.vazka.org"&gt;Meg&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.hippycrites.com/critical/"&gt;Aimee&lt;/a&gt; posted some very thought provoking items recently on life and parenting.  While I may not live the same way or make similar choices, I respect them.  Go read.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106283066620614461?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106283066620614461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106283066620614461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_31_archive.html#106283066620614461' title='Choices'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106282989527828411</id><published>2003-09-05T23:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-05T23:39:25.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The 5</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://fridayfive.org"&gt;Friday Five&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. What housekeeping chore(s) do you hate doing the most?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dishes.  It used to be that I cooked, he cleaned up afterward.  One day, I said that my New Year's Resolution would be to contribute to the cleaning more.  I've been doing dishes ever since.  Well, lately, I've been slacking due to a refuse-to-go-to-sleep stage that Isa's been going through.  I used to clean up the dinner mess after putting her to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. Are there any that you like or don't mind doing?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mind doing laundry.  In fact, I prefer to be the one.  But as a result, I have a lot to do at the moment.  A big pile.  I plan to spend much of the weekend catching up on that.  I'm out of underwear after tomorrow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. Do you have a routine throughout the week or just clean as it's needed?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The routine during the week, is that the hubby maintains the cleanliness, since he works at home.  On the weekends, I catch up with laundry, washing the sheets, and stuff.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. Do you have any odd cleaning/housekeeping quirks or rules?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The quirks in our household all belong to the hubby.  He's the neat freak.  But for some reason, he can't run the dishwasher.  He can clean the entire kitchen, completely load up the dirty dishes, but I have to come along and throw in the soap and press the buttons.  I don't get it, but I just do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. What was the last thing you cleaned? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The toilet in the most used bathroom.  &lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106282989527828411?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106282989527828411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106282989527828411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_31_archive.html#106282989527828411' title='The 5'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106192011773732266</id><published>2003-08-26T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-26T10:48:37.630-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Interviewed!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://aon.vazka.org"&gt;Meg&lt;/a&gt; interviewed me: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;1. Do you vote?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Absolutely!!!  I hate it when people say they don't vote because they don't think they'll make a difference.  Every vote counts, and it's the best way that every person can participate in the decision-making of our government.  Even more so on the local level.  I can't believe people think that voting for President every 4 years means more than voting for their City Councilperson.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;2. What's your favorite way to spend your "me" time?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I had a jacuzzi tub at the condo (3 years ago) I loved to sit in there with my favorite book, or playing some relaxing music.  I really miss that.  Nowadays, my "me" time tends to be during breaks at work where I either read a book or write an entry.  Or sometimes I go to the mall and just walk around looking for a little something to brighten my day (I wish they'd open up another book store there though!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3. Name one (non-physical) thing about yourself that you would like to &lt;br /&gt;change.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a terrible procrastinator.  I tend to put off the things I hate doing.  Like the bills, which can really get me into trouble.  Or a dawnting work assignment.  Or filing, yuck!  I know, this is something I have the power to change.  I can "Dr. Phil" myself to death about it, yet it continues to be my worst flaw.  My sister thinks I may have ADD (she does) and says I should go get check it out.  But  again, the procrastination.  Besides, I don't want to be medicated for it, especially while nursing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;4. How did you meet your husband?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Short version - My college roommate "Ann" introduced me to him while we were freshmen.  Many years later, we were both single and Ann insisted that we date (at his persistant pestering) and I finally gave in and agreed to go out with him and the rest is history.  The Long Version includes facts such as-- Ann &amp; Os were high school sweethearts and continued to "date" off and on for a while;   The summer before our sophomore year, she tried to set me up with someone else and that guy was a creep so when I showed up at her house, she shoved Os in my car and we went to the movies - I was so attracted to him I could hardly stand it but kept my distance out of respect for their history and he felt the same way;   Over the "many years", he got married and had two kids while I had a 7 year relationship; I fell hard for a co worker (Mr. Wrong) who hurt me again and again and when I was fed up, I finally relented and let Ann set me up with Os;  Then right when Os and I were starting our romance, Mr. Wrong came calling and in the dumbest move ever, I went.; 6 depressing months later I came to my senses and we finally got it right.  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;5. What is your best memory from childhood?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one is tough.  I think on any given day, I'd answer this differently.  I think I'll go with the day we went to pick up my mom and little brother from the hospital when he was born.  My dad kept us out of school.  We made signs and decorated the car windows saying "Welcome home" and "We love you."  We were so excited.  I still remember the look of surprised joy on my mom's face.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106192011773732266?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106192011773732266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106192011773732266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_24_archive.html#106192011773732266' title='Interviewed!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-10614943855050219</id><published>2003-08-21T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-21T12:33:05.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Isa's new words</title><content type='html'>Just spoke to my hubby who is home with Isa today while she is recovering from Pink Eye.  Apparently my dad (who works with Os) was over and they were in the office discussing business matters.  She overheard some choice phrases and was going around saying "Oh Shit" and "Such an Ass."  Nice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a new journal &lt;a href="http://thefirstgirl.com/2003_08_20.html"&gt;entry&lt;/a&gt; up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-10614943855050219?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/10614943855050219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/10614943855050219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_17_archive.html#10614943855050219' title='Isa&apos;s new words'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106075390178525937</id><published>2003-08-12T22:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-12T22:51:41.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I do still have a journal</title><content type='html'>If I can get the laptop to connect to the DSL router... and if Isa stays asleep sound in her crib... I may just update tonight.  If not, I'll just be curling up in bed next to my Isa reading a good book.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106075390178525937?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106075390178525937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106075390178525937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_10_archive.html#106075390178525937' title='I do still have a journal'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106070834441955914</id><published>2003-08-12T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-12T10:12:24.406-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Movies</title><content type='html'>I got this from &lt;a href="http://atypicallife.net"&gt;Andrea&lt;/a&gt;, though I don't know what about my answers gave this result--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.quizilla.com/S/SuperCurlz/1059295384_pBringiton.jpg" border="0" alt="CWINDOWSDesktopBringiton.jpg"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Bring It On!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://quizilla.com/users/SuperCurlz/quizzes/What%20movie%20Do%20you%20Belong%20in%3F(many%20different%20outcomes!)/"&gt; &lt;font size="-1"&gt;What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;BR&gt; &lt;font size="-3"&gt;brought to you by &lt;a href="http://quizilla.com"&gt;Quizilla&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106070834441955914?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106070834441955914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106070834441955914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_10_archive.html#106070834441955914' title='Movies'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-10605784418530330</id><published>2003-08-10T22:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-10T22:07:21.810-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're back!</title><content type='html'>Everything went great.  Isa did just fine with her "Gamma" and "Gappa" and we had a fabulous time at the wedding and enjoyed some "honey" time to ourselves.  What a relief.  It's nice to be home with my baby girl.  After she woke up from her nap this afternoon, she saw her daddy and said with a big smile,  "Daddy here!"  "Mommy here!"  I guess she missed us, too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-10605784418530330?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/10605784418530330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/10605784418530330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_10_archive.html#10605784418530330' title='We&apos;re back!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106044400476012581</id><published>2003-08-09T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-09T08:46:44.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leavin' on a Jet Plane</title><content type='html'>In 20 minutes, we're leaving to the wedding with my little Isa staying home with Grandma and Grandpa.  sniff.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106044400476012581?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106044400476012581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106044400476012581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106044400476012581' title='Leavin&apos; on a Jet Plane'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106039481669138792</id><published>2003-08-08T19:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-08T19:06:56.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Meg-</title><content type='html'>Meg, I'll miss your daily postings.  Enjoy your break!  Mwah!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106039481669138792?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106039481669138792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106039481669138792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106039481669138792' title='Meg-'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106035974777967973</id><published>2003-08-08T09:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-08T09:22:27.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cinco</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://fridayfive.org"&gt;The Friday Five&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. What's the last place you traveled to, outside your own home state/country? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years ago, we took the kids on a Family Honeymoon (6 mos. after our Honeymoon) to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.  While there we did the brilliant move of buying a Timeshare.  So, now we have 2 weeks "banked" because we haven't gone anywhere since and a lovely monthly payment to go with it.   Great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. What's the most bizarre/unusual thing that's ever happened to you while traveling?  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When driving to the airport in Cabo, we looked off in the not far enough away distance to see two funnel clouds.  We waited in the airport for the storm to die down, wondering if we were about to get on a very dangerous flight.  By the time we boarded, the rain was gone and so were the scary looking cyclones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go?&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;I'd go to Spain again.  I just loved it there when I went in '96.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. Do you prefer traveling by plane, train or car?&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;If it's more than a 4 hour drive, get me on a plane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. What's the next place on your list to visit?&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;We're flying up to San Jose this weekend for my college friend's wedding.  Leaving Isa for the first time overnight.  Oh, my mommy heart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106035974777967973?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106035974777967973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106035974777967973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106035974777967973' title='The Cinco'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106027759322654834</id><published>2003-08-07T10:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-07T10:33:13.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Hogwarts Quiz! Wheee!</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://images.quizilla.com/N/NimueMage/1049045731_figuration.JPG" border="0" alt="tranfiguration"&gt;&lt;br&gt;You excel at Transfiguration.  One of the most&lt;br&gt;dificult classes, you seem to be a natural at&lt;br&gt;turning a coke bottle into a homework pass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://quizilla.com/users/NimueMage/quizzes/Which%20Class%20at%20Hogwarts%20Would%20You%20Excel%20at%3F/"&gt; &lt;font size="-1"&gt;Which Class at Hogwarts Would You Excel at?&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;BR&gt; &lt;font size="-3"&gt;brought to you by &lt;a href="http://quizilla.com"&gt;Quizilla&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taken from &lt;a href="http://www.atypicalife.net/blog/"&gt;Andrea&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106027759322654834?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106027759322654834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106027759322654834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106027759322654834' title='A Hogwarts Quiz! Wheee!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106021316521549955</id><published>2003-08-06T16:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-06T16:39:25.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ouch!</title><content type='html'>I’ve been working on an entry in my head over the last few days.  But at the moment I can’t recall any of the things I wanted to write about.  The reason for my distraction is this weird looking plastic torture chamber taped to the tip of my left pinky finger.  Yesterday, in a graceful move only &lt;i&gt;I&lt;/I&gt; could have managed, I smacked my little pinky with a heavy set of keys belonging to my hubby.  The result-- a hyper-extended possibly fractured finger tip.  Luckily the ER was mostly empty and Isa never even knew I was gone.  I keep banging it on accident.  And learning to type minus the pinky again was fun. (I broke it before 4 years ago).  I'll post to the journal soon.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106021316521549955?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106021316521549955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106021316521549955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106021316521549955' title='Ouch!'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106011462710806460</id><published>2003-08-05T13:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-05T13:17:07.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Which Pooh friend are you?</title><content type='html'>I'm Pooh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;CENTER&gt;&lt;A HREF="http://www.half-asleep.com/pooh/interact/quiz/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.half-asleep.com/pooh/interact/quiz/pooh.gif" width="300" height="175" border="0"&gt;&lt;BR&gt;Take the 100 Acre Personality Quiz!&lt;/A&gt;&lt;/CENTER&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106011462710806460?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106011462710806460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106011462710806460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106011462710806460' title='Which Pooh friend are you?'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-106003009717097857</id><published>2003-08-04T13:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-04T13:48:17.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Palabras</title><content type='html'>This weekend, Isa learned to say &lt;em&gt;Hola&lt;/em&gt; and &lt;em&gt;Adios&lt;/em&gt;.   Adding this to the several other Spanish words she knows (&lt;em&gt;Agua, Leche, Te cais, and Vamonos).&lt;/em&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's been quite the little parrot lately.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-106003009717097857?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106003009717097857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/106003009717097857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106003009717097857' title='New Palabras'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105988765727424453</id><published>2003-08-02T22:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-02T22:14:17.246-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Wish</title><content type='html'>that my husband would try for once to see things from my point of view.  Is that so much to ask?   bleh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105988765727424453?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105988765727424453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105988765727424453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105988765727424453' title='I Wish'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105984278756903983</id><published>2003-08-02T09:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-02T09:46:27.563-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hair</title><content type='html'>I'm finally getting my hair colored and cut today!!!! I'm so relieved&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105984278756903983?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105984278756903983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105984278756903983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105984278756903983' title='Hair'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105978132344214453</id><published>2003-08-01T16:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-01T16:42:03.306-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday Five</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:30 am, unless Isa is trying to get me to wake up earlier because she wants "boo,"  like this morning at 5:00am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;um... 7:00?  if I'm lucky, 8:00.  That's not really sleeping in though.  Pre-mommyhood days I could easily snooze til noon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. Aside from waking up, what is the first thing you do in the morning?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hit the snooze.  Nurse Isa.  Pee.  Whichever is calling out for the most attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. How long does it take to get ready for your day?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About an hour... but that includes getting Isa ready.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. When possible, what is your favorite place to go for breakfast?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yum...  Mimi's Cafe.  Love the Pain Perdu (forgive my murderous spelling of the French).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105978132344214453?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105978132344214453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105978132344214453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105978132344214453' title='Friday Five'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105978013768991748</id><published>2003-08-01T16:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-08-01T16:22:17.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it a home or a house?</title><content type='html'>Last night, the hubby and I had a pretty heated discussion.  (Not a fight, mind you, but yes tears were shed.  I was freakin' tired is my only excuse.)  When we moved to our house in February, I had accepted that it was another "stepping stone" house that we would fix up and live in for a couple of years, and sell for investment purposes.  Well, lately, since the real estate market is moving faster then McD's french fries, if we were to sell today, we would make above and beyond what we expected to make in 2 years time.  The hubby found a property with a huge lot so that we can add to the house and build our "dream" home.  The problem with his whole take on things is he sees houses as investments and I want a Home.  I wonder if we'll ever stay in one place long enough to unpack.  I probably shouldn't make such a big deal, considering how very fortunate we've been.  But his unattached and unemotional take on things is such a strain on my heavy emotional way of making decisions.  bah. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105978013768991748?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105978013768991748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105978013768991748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105978013768991748' title='Is it a home or a house?'/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105968295035856052</id><published>2003-07-31T13:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-31T13:22:30.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Just when I get my work "to do" list under control, I get assigned new duties.  That I'm getting because the person who used to do them is being reassigned to fill in for someone else who left.  People keep transferring, promoting, or retiring and the work gets shuffled without replacing the person.  Pretty soon, I'm going to have to clone myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe not... I'm applying for a promotion.  Which I may not be "ready" for, but when opportunity knocks... you know.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105968295035856052?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105968295035856052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105968295035856052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105968295035856052' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105954416027702165</id><published>2003-07-29T22:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-29T22:49:20.246-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I hate the way the hubby's computer is set up on the new desk.   He has no slack to the cord to the mouse.  I really need to call the stupid wireless router fuckheads and get them to help me get the laptop connected once and for all.  mmmm frustrated, much?  going to bed now.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105954416027702165?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105954416027702165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105954416027702165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105954416027702165' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105952077313615995</id><published>2003-07-29T16:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-29T16:19:33.116-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>there's a new &lt;a href="http://thefirstgirl.com/2003_07_29.html"&gt;entry&lt;/a&gt; up &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105952077313615995?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105952077313615995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105952077313615995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_27_archive.html#105952077313615995' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105915499646705816</id><published>2003-07-25T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-25T10:43:16.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've been a little absent this week.  Busy at work.  Then, Isa got sick and I was home with her for two days and managed to contract the icky virus for myself.  A journal entry is coming soon.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105915499646705816?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105915499646705816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105915499646705816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_20_archive.html#105915499646705816' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105874121656296636</id><published>2003-07-20T15:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-20T15:46:56.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Can I get a WOOHOO?!!!  ISA IS WALKING!!!  Ok so, it's only 4 or 5 steps from Mommy to Nina but she's been doing it since yesterday!!!  A little more practice and she'll be on the loose!  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105874121656296636?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105874121656296636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105874121656296636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_20_archive.html#105874121656296636' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105854854231402055</id><published>2003-07-18T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-18T11:52:42.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This morning, as I was trying to get up to get ready for work, Isa tried to stop me.  She grabbed on to my shirt and aiming for her Boo saying "Mine!" &lt;em&gt;(This was after having nursed her for at least a half hour). &lt;/em&gt;I talked her into taking some juice instead.  Silly baby... while they provide lots milk and comfort for her, they are still &lt;em&gt;mine&lt;/em&gt;!  hee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105854854231402055?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105854854231402055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105854854231402055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_13_archive.html#105854854231402055' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105830914710221606</id><published>2003-07-15T15:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-15T15:45:47.100-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>does anyone else get Spammed in their guessbooks?  It's really pissing me off.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105830914710221606?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105830914710221606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105830914710221606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_13_archive.html#105830914710221606' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105829912130749507</id><published>2003-07-15T12:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-15T12:58:41.083-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hi there!  A new &lt;a href="http://thefirstgirl.com"&gt;journal&lt;/a&gt; entry is up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105829912130749507?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105829912130749507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105829912130749507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_13_archive.html#105829912130749507' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105790483562748143</id><published>2003-07-10T23:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-10T23:27:15.560-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tonight, I've been feeling "off."  I think stupid thoughts of what if?  Looking back at all the choices I made wondering where things would have turned out differently if I had made another decision.  Kind of like that Sliding Doors movie.  But when you think about stuff like that too much, it can drive a person nuts!  Going to bed now before my head explodes. Good night.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105790483562748143?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105790483562748143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105790483562748143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105790483562748143' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105781207812596485</id><published>2003-07-09T21:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-09T21:41:18.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>new one up in the &lt;a href="http://thefirstgirl.com"&gt;journal&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105781207812596485?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105781207812596485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105781207812596485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105781207812596485' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105779021709632049</id><published>2003-07-09T15:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-09T15:36:57.003-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In case you've been following along...&lt;br /&gt;if I had just waited another day, I wouldn't have needed the test.  Midol alert!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105779021709632049?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105779021709632049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105779021709632049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105779021709632049' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105777292078235181</id><published>2003-07-09T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-09T10:48:40.660-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I took a test.  It was negative.  I didn't think it was really possible because of the whole not having sex during that time but I still needed to know for sure.  bleah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105777292078235181?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105777292078235181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105777292078235181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105777292078235181' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105764450086745888</id><published>2003-07-07T23:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-07T23:08:20.840-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ok, I know Reality TV is loaded with crap.  But I managed to get sucked into the season finale of For Love or Money.   I want a refund.  NBC owes me a movie or something.  Because that was beyond crap.  With even more crap on the side (commercials of Who Wants to Marry my Dad? ugh.)  Someone bring me some West Wing or something.  Quick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105764450086745888?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105764450086745888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105764450086745888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105764450086745888' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105760288067293634</id><published>2003-07-07T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-07T11:34:40.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dear Period, &lt;br /&gt;I know you're in there... ready to spring into action when I'm least expecting it.  I've been prepared for you for about a week.   You're playing games with me, I know.  It's not funny.  &lt;br /&gt;Lex&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105760288067293634?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105760288067293634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105760288067293634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105760288067293634' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105751887639336784</id><published>2003-07-06T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-06T12:16:42.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://fridayfive.org"&gt;friday five&lt;/a&gt; - Okay so, I'm doing these late, but Friday was a holiday.  Plus, I love the questions this week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;1. What were your favorite childhood stories?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Three Little Pigs.  Goldilocks &amp; the Three Bears.  Hansel &amp; Gretal.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;2. What books from your childhood would you like to share with [your] children?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grover's "There's a Monster at the End of This Book" cracked me up.  I loved to read The Frog &amp; Toad stories.  When I got older I liked Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator.  Then, Harriet the Spy.  All the Judy Blumes.  &lt;br /&gt;And my all time favorites... the Laura Ingalls Wilder collection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3. Have you re-read any of those childhood stories and been surprised by anything?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read my stepdaughter's Little House in the Big Woods.  I can still get into those books as much as I did when I was little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;4. How old were you when you first learned to read?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know, but I must have been very young.  Around 3 or 4 I think.  I know that I already could read when I started Kindergarten.  I'm going to have to ask my mom about that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;5. Do you remember the first 'grown-up' book you read? How old were you?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the 7th grade, I read My Sweet Audrina by V.C. Andrews.  I was hooked on her books and read every one up until she died.  Then her estate continued publishing books in her name based on her outlines and notes.  But they just aren't the same.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105751887639336784?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105751887639336784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105751887639336784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105751887639336784' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105751713150315842</id><published>2003-07-06T11:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-06T11:45:31.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It's so friggen hot.  We're waiting for the bathing suits to finish drying in the dryer.  Only so we can put them on again and jump into the pool.  Kind of stupid.  But who wants to put on a wet bathing suit?   Not me.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105751713150315842?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105751713150315842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105751713150315842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_07_06_archive.html#105751713150315842' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105737330774769918</id><published>2003-07-04T19:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-04T19:48:27.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Yummy bbq with friends and family.  a refreshing swim kahlua cheesecake for dessert.  and as far away from fireworks as possible.  The best 4th of July for me.  Hope you all have a happy and safe one!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105737330774769918?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105737330774769918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105737330774769918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_29_archive.html#105737330774769918' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105727187806077331</id><published>2003-07-03T15:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-03T15:37:57.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I had some time to myself today for lunch.  So I decided to go to the mall, buy Pamie's book,  grab a yummy bite and find a nice little cozy bench and read.  The one and only bookstore in the damn Galleria went OUT OF BUSINESS.  The kind sir at the information booth directed me to Border's as the nearest bookstore, located 3 blocks from the mall!!   Damned if I was going to go out in the heat and back in my hot car again!  So  I went to Hallmark for some cards, grabbed a not so yummy bite and then headed back to work.  Dammit when my plans are foiled!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105727187806077331?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105727187806077331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105727187806077331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_29_archive.html#105727187806077331' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105727073427657148</id><published>2003-07-03T15:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-07-03T15:18:54.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Adding comments... Does it work?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105727073427657148?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105727073427657148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105727073427657148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_29_archive.html#105727073427657148' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105700979011519310</id><published>2003-06-30T14:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-30T14:49:49.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>a first go at &lt;a href="http://orangeclouds.org/positives.html"&gt;Participation Positives&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*possibly avoiding a bill paying boo boo&lt;br /&gt;*on page 836 of the Order of the Phoenix&lt;br /&gt;*taking steps to get organized (I'm such a mess!)&lt;br /&gt;*making new friends (Hi Meg!)&lt;br /&gt;*a refreshing and fun swim in the pool&lt;br /&gt;*Ghiradelli double chocolate brownies&lt;br /&gt;*new words for Isa&lt;br /&gt;*some "me-time"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105700979011519310?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105700979011519310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105700979011519310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_29_archive.html#105700979011519310' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105699924035486645</id><published>2003-06-30T11:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-30T11:54:00.193-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm almost done with the Order of the Phoenix.  Which means I may finally get around to writing a real journal entry.  I promise.  Amazingly, last week was my highest number of page hits.  And yet there was no entry.  heh.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, Isa knows her name.  When asked "what's your name?" she answers with a very muddled but identifiable "Isa" (but really her actual full name.)   She also knows she's "uhn" (one) year old, but she's known that since her birthday.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105699924035486645?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105699924035486645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105699924035486645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_29_archive.html#105699924035486645' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-105665112549093917</id><published>2003-06-26T11:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-26T11:12:05.480-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I spent yesterday at home with Isa.  Starting at 5:30 a.m., she couldn't keep anything down until after 4:00p.m.  Together, we went through 6 changes of clothes.  At one point she actually said to me "tro uh,"  right before she lost her half a cracker and applesauce all over the both of us.  She finished off the day by pooping in the bath tub.  This morning she woke up all smiles and ravenous.  I am one wiped out mommy.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-105665112549093917?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105665112549093917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/105665112549093917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_22_archive.html#105665112549093917' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-96005577</id><published>2003-06-24T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-24T22:12:51.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm looking into moving this thing over to the journal site.  If it doesn't work out well, I just might move the whole site to a new host.  I also want to write an entry.  But Chapter 7 is calling me.  I have to go find out what's going to happen to Harry.  Just thought you all would like to know where I went.  Isa is snug as a bug in my bed.  After 3 tries in the crib, she won. G'night!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-96005577?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/96005577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/96005577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_22_archive.html#96005577' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95971165</id><published>2003-06-23T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-23T22:24:17.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'd write an entry in the journal but I'm off to curl up with my new book. :)  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95971165?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95971165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95971165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_22_archive.html#95971165' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95952902</id><published>2003-06-23T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-23T10:56:01.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This morning, when the Count (Sesame Street) was doing his "number of the day" on the organ.  Isa shouted out "Two" before he did and then whispered "three" under her breath before he got there.  The number of the day was 4.  She was giddy with pride.  Wow.  My baby can count to three!  She turned 16 months old yesterday.  Whooosh!  She's growing so FAST!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95952902?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95952902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95952902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_22_archive.html#95952902' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95877905</id><published>2003-06-20T16:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-20T16:14:54.186-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm thinking about moving myblog so that it's with the journal under the same URL.  I just haven't figured out how to do that yet...  I'm not even sure who reads the blog since I don't even have a counter on it.  So it could just be for me.  In which case you wouldn't care anyway.  Ok.  Tree... forest... and all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95877905?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95877905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95877905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_15_archive.html#95877905' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95853501</id><published>2003-06-19T22:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-19T22:56:13.363-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm so exhausted.  Too  tired to write tonight.  Isa's in her own bed for now.  I think I'll spread out in mine for a while. At least until she wakes up.  I don't know why I'm so tired today, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. YAWN&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95853501?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95853501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95853501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_15_archive.html#95853501' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95637832</id><published>2003-06-13T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-13T11:34:12.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://fridayfive.org"&gt;Friday Five&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;1. What's one thing you've always wanted to do, but never have?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Write a book.  A children's book.  Maybe a novel.    In the 3rd grade, we had to write our own story called "The Day My Peanut Butter Sandwich Ran Away."  I think that's what sparked my interest in creative writing so long ago.  When I was in high school, a friend and I used to write a fictional serial column for the newspaper, a teenaged soap opera kind of thing.  It was so much fun.  Every month, kids at school would await the next issue.  It was a great feeling.  One of these days, I keep saying I'll do it.   I will.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;2. When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It depends on who it is.  It's hard to be honest about an opinion that isn't favorable.  I think my sister's new haircut is a little too short.  But she didn't ask what I thought.  So I didn't say anything.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;3. Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn't? What happened?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day before my friend's wedding, I found out (from my husband) that her husband had a VERY wild bachelor party where he did some VERY bad things with two strippers (no, my husband wasn't there, but the groom spared no details).  I struggled with that information all day, knowing that telling her would change everything.  Either she'd call off the wedidng.  Or (and I am still sure to this day that this would have been the result), she already knew because he confessed and she decided to forgive him and marry him anyway and she'd tell me some sort of explanation to excuse her husband's behavior.  And what if the story I heard from my husband was nothing more than "guy talk" from the groom?  He often makes up stories to make himself seem something he's not.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find out a lot of things about my friend through her (now) husband who tells my husband.  But my friend never confides in me.  There have since been lots of information that I have learned that I wish I didn't know.  It's like the person she presents herself to be isn't real.  And I continue to act as though all I know is what she tells me.  As a result, I no longer confide in her as I used to.  How can I when I know that she holds back so much?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;4. If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not really fictional, but when I was a kid, I used to want to live in the days of Laura Ingalls.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  But, why on earth would I want to bathe in the barn and rise at dawn to feed the chickens and milk the cow?    Now, I think I'd like to go to Hogwarts and learn some useful spells.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;5. What's one talent/skill you don't have but always wanted?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To sing.  I love to sing along to my favorite songs on the radio.  Whenever I try to sing all by myself, it's usually a miss.  It's sad.  I sing to Isa all the time.  &lt;i&gt;Itsy Bitsy Spider.  It's a Small World.&lt;/i&gt;  One time when she was a few months old, I made her cry by singing  &lt;i&gt;Somewhere Over the Rainbow&lt;/i&gt;.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95637832?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95637832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95637832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_08_archive.html#95637832' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95355775</id><published>2003-06-05T21:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-05T21:01:00.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Isa's asleep in her crib.  She's been there since 8:00.  I'm watching the baby monitor like crazy, expecting her to call out to me.  I'm hoping to make it through dinner first.  Hey, maybe she'll sleep long enough to have some grown-up time with the hubby!  (she says, crossing her fingers).   I made meatloaf for dinner, from an untested recipe.  I'm "letting it stand" for the 10 minutes as directed.  I'm so hungry, it'd better be good!   Journal entry coming soon!  Why is it so damn cold in June?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95355775?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95355775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95355775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95355775' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95246459</id><published>2003-06-03T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-06-03T10:57:05.736-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dropped off Isa this morning... and cried on my way to work!  Waaah!  My baby is growing up!  For the first time, she didn't cry when I left her at school.  It hit me that she is becoming a "big girl!"  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95246459?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95246459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95246459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95246459' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-95059067</id><published>2003-05-29T18:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-29T18:18:47.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well, we made it home just fine.  As I left work, I heard the freeways had opened back up.  So I had no problems getting to Isa.  Whew!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-95059067?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95059067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/95059067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#95059067' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94946958</id><published>2003-05-27T09:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-27T09:51:06.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Isa's almost 100% back to normal.  Just a little pinky on her cheeks and a few other little spots.  She did get used to being babied big time, and getting an unlimited amount of &lt;i&gt;Boo&lt;/i&gt;.  Back at work today, and man am I full of milk and sore.  Just like the early days.  I hope she's not too sad being back at school and not being glued to mommy as she's been for the past 5 days.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94946958?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94946958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94946958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#94946958' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94884251</id><published>2003-05-25T21:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-25T21:53:53.990-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Isa has roseola.  My poor pink baby. =(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94884251?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94884251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94884251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#94884251' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94811456</id><published>2003-05-23T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-23T19:16:17.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In the past 3 days, I worked 3 hours.  Isa's been running a fever for most of those 3 days (except for Thursday morning when she fooled us all by acting her normal cute self in the morning, but then succumbing to yuckiness causing the school's director to call me at work pronto!).  So, she's been running a fever of an average of 101.  Tylenol.  wait.  Motrin.  wait.  rinse. repeat.  I saw a tooth poking through on top and I think it's got a couple of friends.  So, I'm here, mopping up the &lt;i&gt;mocos&lt;/i&gt; and nursing like crazy.  My milk production is on the rise, and I see lots of leaky spots in my near future, since as soon as she's better, she'll resume her normal nursing schedule. Poor baby.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94811456?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94811456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94811456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_18_archive.html#94811456' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94604078</id><published>2003-05-19T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-19T16:20:29.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Isa and I went in the swimming pool for the first time yesterday.  I made sure to take a few pictures.  It was so great.  She was a bit frightened at first and wouldn't let me go.  After a while she wanted her big sister(LG) to hold her.  But after a while, LG wanted to swim freely.  Together, we coaxed Isa into her little baby boat, and she had a fabulous time being pushed around the pool.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94604078?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94604078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94604078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_18_archive.html#94604078' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94462819</id><published>2003-05-16T11:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-16T11:25:48.370-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://fridayfive.org", target="blank"&gt;Friday Five&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;1. What drinking water do you prefer -- tap, bottle, purifier, etc.?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never tap!  Filtered from the new fridge at home, or bottle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;2. What are your favorite flavor of chips?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mexican Tortilla Chips (dipped in homemade guacamole!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;3. Of all the things you can cook, what dish do you like the most?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too hard to pick just one.  Albondiga soup.  Chilaquiles (tortilla strips with scrambled egg and salsa).  Guacamole.  Lasagna.  I could go on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;4. How do you have your eggs?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scambled.  I prefer with cheddar cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;5. Who was the last person who cooked you a meal? How did it turn out?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Specifically for me?  This morning my hubby made me a PB &amp; J sandwich.  Does that count?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Hee.  It's my first Friday Five!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94462819?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94462819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94462819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_11_archive.html#94462819' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94337892</id><published>2003-05-14T10:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-14T10:14:52.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Will Isa ever stop crying when I drop her off in the morning?  They say it will get better, but she still cries for me.  Then (reportedly), she's happy and playful all day, napping and eating as she should, but as soon as she sees me when I pick her up she starts to cry again.  As if she transports herself back to the moment that I left her there.  I almost wanted to leave her home with daddy today, but she clearly would not have allowed me to leave without her.  Tremendous mommy guilt at work here. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94337892?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94337892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94337892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_11_archive.html#94337892' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94213293</id><published>2003-05-12T10:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-12T10:18:23.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>We had a mommy-baby intensive weekend.  And Isa is having a hard time adjusting today.  She clung to me for dear life when I took her to day care.  I feel terrible.  I nursed her for a little bit and then let the teacher take her as Isa was holding my sweater with a death grip.  Poor baby.  I waited outside the door until she seemed to calm down.  I hope it gets better.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94213293?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94213293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94213293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_11_archive.html#94213293' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-94003327</id><published>2003-05-08T11:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-08T11:06:23.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It's my birthday and I can't even have celebratory relations with my husband tonight due to the tidal wave going on in my uterus.  waaah!  On the other hand, I got birthday donuts and flowers at work.  My hubby is coming to take me to lunch in an hour.  And dinner tonight.  And work lunch tomorrow.  And then there's the upcoming visit to the Happy Place!  yay!  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-94003327?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94003327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/94003327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_04_archive.html#94003327' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-93939213</id><published>2003-05-07T10:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-07T10:47:28.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When I went to pick up Isa on Monday, she was so excited to tell us everything she was practically exploding!  I had picked up LG on the way, so she was doubly excited to see her big sister.  "Me!" "Mommy" "Baby" all clapping and excited.  Yesterday, I walked in and called her name and she started clapping and pointed to me telling her teacher "Mommy! Mommy!"  But this morning when I dropped her off, she looked at me with sad little eyes and really started to cry.  As I closed the door I could hear her crying as her teacher tried to calm her down getting her pacifier.  I wanted to go back and get her, but I was late to work already.  I called when I got to the office and the director said that she stopped crying right after I left.  Apparently the rule is if they cry more than 15 minutes, they call the parents.  That seems like a long time to me.  I'm sure she's fine, though.  She seems to really like it there.  Since she started school she's been extra verbal, excitedly saying "happy, happy."  I hope she is Happy-happy right now.  sigh. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-93939213?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/93939213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/93939213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_04_archive.html#93939213' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-93816993</id><published>2003-05-05T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-05-05T12:27:28.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Isa started "school" today.  I'm a nervous wreck.  Thankfully, only a couple more hours until I pick her up.  I called the school to check on her, and the director told me she is doing just fine and doesn't seem to be upset in the least.  I, on the other hand, am a big ol' ball of anxiety!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-93816993?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/93816993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/93816993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_05_04_archive.html#93816993' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-92014099</id><published>2003-04-04T16:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-04-04T16:41:20.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I really want to spend some time working on the design of this blog this weekend. I don't use it as often as I intended because the design is not connected to me yet.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've tried to write a journal entry all week, but am having difficulties.  I keep starting but not getting anywhere.  The war is really affecting the internal me, that I draw from to write entries.  And nothing I have started to write is coming out the way I want.  Yuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just really want some "me" time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-92014099?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/92014099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/92014099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_03_30_archive.html#92014099' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-91379001</id><published>2003-03-25T16:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-25T16:44:29.966-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My friend Juliet just called me to let me at work to let me know that she just left my house (she and her mom have a home decorating business and are helping us get a good quote for our curtains).  While she was there, she was sitting on my couch and Isa toddled up to her and kissed her foot.  My silly little girl. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-91379001?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/91379001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/91379001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_03_23_archive.html#91379001' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-90736587</id><published>2003-03-14T15:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-14T15:39:50.640-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>All moved in to the new house.  Journal entries to come.  Took 3 days off of work and trying to play catch up with work and home.  Boxes and bags everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isa's having a hard time adjusting.  She was extra fussy the first few days and seemed to want to go home.   She kept grabbing our keys and heading toward the door.  On Monday she was putting stuff in her diaper bag as if she was getting ready to go.  So cute, but yet so sad for my baby girl.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-90736587?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/90736587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/90736587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90736587' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-90077107</id><published>2003-03-03T15:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-03T15:42:55.950-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The yo-yo of our finances... Os just called and told me not to dispair!  The loan may go through after all!  Crossing my fingers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-90077107?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/90077107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/90077107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90077107' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-90076052</id><published>2003-03-03T15:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-03-03T15:20:51.843-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Os just called my cell.  To report to me that we are thoroughly and royally completely FUCKED.  The loan for the buyers of our house that's supposed to close within days fell through.  Which means we have to pay 2 mortgages this month plus return the $5000 deposit that we just received from escrow last week because it was contingent on their loan. We have no solid backup offers in.  We can be solvent for one more month.  If we can't get another buyer for our house that can close by the end of the month...  well, I don't know.  We can't even rent the new house out because the kitchen is demolished awaiting the cabinets and appliances that we were about to install following the closing of the sale of the old house.  And we started to move our stuff.  So the old house doesn't have all the homey decorations and furniture to make it look nice so that it will sell for the price we wanted.  All I can do is pray. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-90076052?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/90076052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/90076052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90076052' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-89923791</id><published>2003-02-28T14:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-28T14:03:07.483-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Isa's 1 year check up was yesterday.  23 lbs and 31 inches tall.  My big girl.  Usually the nurse would ask me to undress her down to her diaper.  But yesterday, she added, "and here's a gown for her."  The cutest little patient gown with puppies on it.  I wish I had the camera on me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor baby had 5 shots! 2 in each leg and one in the arm.  She cried so hard.  I immediately nursed her for comfort and was glad for that.  By dinner time she had well recovered, and she seems to be all better today.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-89923791?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89923791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89923791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_23_archive.html#89923791' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-89854447</id><published>2003-02-27T11:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-27T11:36:14.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The terrorist alert is being lowered from orange to yellow.  Still, my fears remain heightened.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;new journal entries at &lt;a href="http://thefirstgirl.tripod.com"&gt;thefirstgirl.tripod.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-89854447?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89854447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89854447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_23_archive.html#89854447' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-89160624</id><published>2003-02-15T15:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-15T15:02:55.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ok... since nobody has seen this, and I'm so lame and screwed up the link on my journal... welcome to &lt;i&gt;on the side&lt;/i&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;I'm such a dork.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-89160624?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89160624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89160624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#89160624' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-89061736</id><published>2003-02-13T16:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-13T16:33:26.450-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My blog needs some design help.  BAD.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-89061736?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89061736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89061736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#89061736' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-89061630</id><published>2003-02-13T16:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-13T16:30:36.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I think I've created a little monster...  Isa long ago got used to sleeping beside me.  But lately as she has had trouble sleeping because of teething, I've been laying her on my chest.  Now, unless she's totally knocked out asleep, she wants to lie on my chest.  Isa... mommy needs to sleep too, honey.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have I done?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-89061630?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89061630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/89061630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#89061630' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-88982998</id><published>2003-02-12T09:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-12T09:55:57.770-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I hate the rain...  I've been feeling like crap the last few days, but thanks to homemade chicken soup (which I had to make myself!), I feel much better.  That is, I'd feel much better if it wasn't freakin' raining!  I hate the rain...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to write a journal entry.  But I've got too much work to do.  And because of the dang rain, I got to work an hour late.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the rain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-88982998?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/88982998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/88982998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#88982998' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-88660452</id><published>2003-02-06T10:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-06T10:47:33.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Since Isa's become more and more mobile, we are finding ourselves having to tell her "No" more and more often.  As in "No, don't stick your hand in the VCR" or "No, don't eat the carpet."  As a result, Isa's latest thing is to shake her little finger at us saying "no, no, no, no."  It's the cutest.  Sometimes she'll make a move to grab something she's not supposed to, and then she'll stop and tell herself "no, no no."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to make sure she's also getting some Yes activities too.  Last night, she happily played with some Topperware (the fake stuff) while I cooked dinner.  It's tough trying to be creative giving her things she CAN do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-88660452?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/88660452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/88660452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_02_archive.html#88660452' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-88489785</id><published>2003-02-03T12:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-02-03T12:44:36.550-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>While the space shuttle loss is sad, and the loss to the families of its passengers is tragic...  I can't help but feel removed from it.  Space travel has never mattered to me much.  But I do feel terrible about the children that lost their mommy or daddy.  That breaks my heart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What makes my heart ache even more, is that my cousin lost her 2nd baby on Saturday.  Last year, she lost a little girl in her 5th month of pregnancy that never had the chance to develop.  The DNA showed extra chromosomes throughout the entire chain.  I don't know the details of this miscarriage, other than it was a boy.  They were so hopeful this time, getting all the ultrasounds and extra monitoring through this pregnancy.  I have no idea what to say to her.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-88489785?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/88489785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/88489785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_02_02_archive.html#88489785' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-87973778</id><published>2003-01-24T12:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-01-24T12:34:30.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Wednesday, Isa turned 11 months old.  And to celebrate, she started pulling herself up to a standing position.  Watch out, mommy &amp; daddy!  Isa's getting ready to walk!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-87973778?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/87973778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/87973778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_01_19_archive.html#87973778' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-87854194</id><published>2003-01-22T11:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2003-01-22T11:11:19.580-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was so excited to watch the new American Idol last night.  But I didn't even get to finish seeing it.  After the first hour, I had to stop because I was trying to put Isa to sleep and those horrid voices kept causing her to stop nursing and glare at the TV.  She would look at me as if to say, "mommy, what's wrong with that lady's voice?"  So, I taped it.  And we watched Smallville instead.  Isa fell asleep within the first 10 minutes.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-87854194?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/87854194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/87854194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2003_01_19_archive.html#87854194' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-86558614</id><published>2002-12-26T12:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-12-26T12:03:50.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I picked a new template but it's not working.  hmmm. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-86558614?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/86558614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/86558614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2002_12_22_archive.html#86558614' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4051669.post-86558401</id><published>2002-12-26T11:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-12-26T11:57:38.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I thought it would be nice to have a place for those non-entry type of thoughts I want to preserve.  And starting off the new year with a blog seems like a great idea.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4051669-86558401?l=thefirstgirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/86558401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4051669/posts/default/86558401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thefirstgirl.blogspot.com/2002_12_22_archive.html#86558401' title=''/><author><name>Lex</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14193391309829724476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
