<?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-5868784307041269672</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:58:20.379-08:00</updated><category term='Personal'/><category term='Texas'/><category term='Auburn'/><category term='Home school'/><category term='Military'/><category term='Pregnancy'/><category term='Momager'/><category term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Gungle</title><subtitle type='html'>The chronicled blog of a navy wife, stay at home momager who homeschools.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>59</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-20691191678989946</id><published>2009-02-15T21:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T21:51:53.523-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>One for the baby book</title><content type='html'>So my 7 year old wrote a Valentine card to her unborn baby sister and this is what it said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Babie,&lt;br /&gt;I hope that your cute if your not O well I still love you&lt;br /&gt;Your bigiest sister&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-20691191678989946?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/20691191678989946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=20691191678989946' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/20691191678989946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/20691191678989946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2009/02/one-for-baby-book.html' title='One for the baby book'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7673550485355098965</id><published>2009-02-11T20:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T20:37:30.123-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Technology's curse</title><content type='html'>So I shared the following story with my sister in law by text message and I didn’t realize how disturbing it truly was until I saw it there in black and white.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I taped the Grammy Awards for my girls because they wanted to “see the Jonas Brothers in high definition.”  That’s what the 7 year old said.  So no problem I thought because that is exactly why God invented the DVR, right?  Well as a tired, pregnant mom I have taught the girls how to use the DVR so that if they get up at zero dark thirty they can watch their precious shows.  (I also don’t let them watch TV in the evening so they have to record all their favorite shows.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So back to the Grammy’s.  They knew I had recorded the show and before I was up they decided to find their precious Jonas Brothers.  However, there was a lot of singing on the way and they fast forwarded through most of it….  As I was making breakfast it became real evident what they didn’t fast forward through as they started to sing, “I kissed a girl and I liked it.”  I tried really hard to hide my shock and horror but my mouth was on the floor.  If the song had been on the radio, no big deal.  However, this was a live performance and so they saw that the singer was Katy Perry, a girl.  I had to spend the entire morning explain why it isn’t ok for them to sing the song and just laugh since they thought it was funny that a girl was singing that song---silly, just silly we concluded.  Of course I know this is stored in their memory banks along with other off limits things they have seen and heard and it will be used against me at the most inopportune moment!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7673550485355098965?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7673550485355098965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7673550485355098965' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7673550485355098965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7673550485355098965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2009/02/technologys-curse.html' title='Technology&apos;s curse'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-5501866133856882739</id><published>2009-02-03T20:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T20:46:31.560-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>In a Nutshell</title><content type='html'>So the last few weeks are a blur.  There were numerous trips to L.A., fighting of a mysterious illness for the last week, and comments from strangers and friends referring to how my stomach has "popped out." Amazingly with all that is going on I have found the strength to pull myself out of bed and to keep going!  I have mad survival skills!  Anyway,the true goal in mind is that three months from now I will be able to breathe out of my nostrils again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today as we travel through a drive-through the precocious 6 year old in the backseat states:  Hope you don't max out your card!&lt;br /&gt;Oh dear, well Miss Smarty Pants if you must know it was my ATM card and I know that those details are beneath you.  However I'm sure your comment was humorous to the guy who was handing back my card and receipt.  A little free entertainment for all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't stop there.  Tonight as my sick 7 year old is laying in my bed, I was flipping channels to find something appropriate but as I flip she exclaims:  That lady is dancing with a pole.  Why?  She looks silly.&lt;br /&gt;Granted I was flipping as fast as I could and that this person was completely dressed but I'm sure this will come up again in casual conversation with her friends.  Once again I will be handed the mother of the year award.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I guess tomorrow I will again have to find the strength to pull myself out of bed and do it all again.  Why?  Because I will survive!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-5501866133856882739?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/5501866133856882739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=5501866133856882739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/5501866133856882739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/5501866133856882739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2009/02/in-nutshell.html' title='In a Nutshell'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8511560954683838478</id><published>2009-01-19T19:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T19:57:15.164-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>My poor neglected blog</title><content type='html'>I have effectively neglected all my cyberspace duties lately.  I get posts from friends on Facebook asking where I am and emails from friends that I forget to respond to.    I’m going to blame it on the pregnancy.  Yes I am tired but that would not be the reason.  I have been overwhelming myself with the plethora of baby gadgets and gear.  Apparently baby products have come a long way since I was in the market eight years ago.   I have been online doing research, reading reviews and now my eyes are about to fall out of my head.  Sure it is fascinating and you have to wonder what in the world a $900 stroller can do.  However, I never found any evidence that it actually sprouted wings and flew so nothing was resolved.  Instead I am now more confused than when I began. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officially I am throwing in the towel and joining back with my blog and peeps on Facebook.    There is no sense in wasting anymore brain cells!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8511560954683838478?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8511560954683838478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8511560954683838478' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8511560954683838478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8511560954683838478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-poor-neglected-blog.html' title='My poor neglected blog'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-2864075967046880329</id><published>2009-01-09T21:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T21:22:47.768-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Home school'/><title type='text'>The Birds and the Bees</title><content type='html'>It seems that my 7 year old almost got schooled today on the facts of life.  I unwittingly observed the whole thing.  There were these two 4th graders from the neighborhood school talking about some huge thing that had happened.  One had played a prank on a third neighborhood girl and wrote a nasty note.  The note said how this third girl was in bed with so and so boy and had sex.  I’m not a hundred percent sure but I don’t think such things were on my mind when I was 9!  My daughter wasn’t included in this conversation at first because she wasn’t old enough to hear it.  Well duh.  I’m not sure I am old enough to hear this conversation.  So anyway when they decided to divulge some information to my daughter there was a teenage “supervisor” and when she realized that Ashlyn thought sex meant sexy she immediately halted the conversation.  I didn’t know what was being said but I saw all the little pow wows happening and the exclusivity.  I knew there was drama but had no idea the extent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; However, now I am left with the aftermath of trying to explain.  Thankfully she doesn’t want to know about a lot of it.  She doesn’t feel ready and so I take my cues from her.  Who says homeschoolers don’t get socialization?  This example shows they get plenty and  drives home how I want all the children's “education” to come from me, not from the older/experienced kids.  Yikes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-2864075967046880329?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/2864075967046880329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=2864075967046880329' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2864075967046880329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2864075967046880329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2009/01/birds-and-bees.html' title='The Birds and the Bees'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7317759399091315493</id><published>2009-01-05T21:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T21:44:10.090-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>The Tooth Fairy is broke!</title><content type='html'>So on my blogging vacation my two girls lost a combined 3 teeth!  Not sure why they must do things in pairs.   For goodness sakes they aren’t even twins but since having both, everything must be done in simultaneously.  At least now it is teeth and not poop.  But this causes me to ponder what it will be down the line when they are teenagers or even grown.  What will happen so that one doesn’t upend the other?  Puberty in tandem?  Marriage within hours?  Pregnancy timed with synchronous cycles?  Hmmmph.   I am now petitioning for this to stop at teeth for heaven’s sake!  I don’t mind tiptoeing around in the middle of the night replacing gross teeth with cash.  However, please I don’t think I have a strong enough heart for this craziness to continue!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7317759399091315493?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7317759399091315493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7317759399091315493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7317759399091315493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7317759399091315493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2009/01/tooth-fairy-is-broke.html' title='The Tooth Fairy is broke!'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8783399114212807690</id><published>2008-12-18T21:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T21:10:52.354-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Toothless Thursday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SUsssS0FuNI/AAAAAAAAAE4/NHFb19xojjM/s1600-h/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SUsssS0FuNI/AAAAAAAAAE4/NHFb19xojjM/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281364127498221778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want them to stop growing already!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8783399114212807690?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8783399114212807690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8783399114212807690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8783399114212807690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8783399114212807690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/12/toothless-thursday.html' title='Toothless Thursday'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SUsssS0FuNI/AAAAAAAAAE4/NHFb19xojjM/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3805418681028425569</id><published>2008-12-15T16:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T16:29:46.394-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Heat, rain and fever</title><content type='html'>So finally on December 15th I had to turn on the heat.  It was only for a minute to take the edge off but I’m counting it as our official start of winter.  The rain is also a sign of winter.   It’s nice to sit here and not have to be out in it because as my children say, “People in California don’t know how to drive in the rain.”  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I have officially lost the mother of the year award.  I noticed yesterday how my little AM2 was coughing and hoarse but didn’t give it much thought.  She didn’t eat a lot either but I figured it was all the junk she had a birthday party that maybe her calorie intake was sufficient.  Then last night I heard her fussing on and off in her sleep.  This morning she had a glassy look to her eyes but she was behaving normally, minus the cough of course.  However, as I was helping her get dressed I asked her if she wanted me to take her temperature.  Holy cow the stinking thing was 101.  Oops.  So yeah I took her more seriously and drugged her with ibuprofen.   Now all is well.  Let’s just hope she is the only one who holds on to this bug.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3805418681028425569?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3805418681028425569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3805418681028425569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3805418681028425569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3805418681028425569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/12/heat-rain-and-fever.html' title='Heat, rain and fever'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7901643043037835209</id><published>2008-12-08T09:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:27:59.099-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So This Is Christmas...</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Saturday was the day I had promised the girls we would get our tree.  Little did I know how warm it would be.  So I thought we'd wait until night because then it should be cooler and feel more Christmasie.  That theory had more holes than an OJ Simpson defense strategy.   And there we were in our shorts and flip flops picking out our Christmas tree.  Maybe someday we'll live in Maine and I'll be all, &amp;quot;kids remember that Christmas we picked out our tree and it was 70 degrees?&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;We went smaller this year since my pregnant self and two munchkins had to drag it into the house.  I was thankful my life wasn't a reality show because trying to get the darn thing to stand up was beyond comical.  After wrestling with the tree and the stand for an eternity I decided to take a break.  I needed to think through this engineering issue and it seems in this case no help would be beter than the help I was currently receiving.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Anyway it only took a day to get it to stand on its own and then decorate it.  My recently turned six year old informed there was no way she was helping with the lights, &amp;quot;I'm an ornament girl only.&amp;quot;  &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Sunday seemed to mock us.  We woke up to a decidedly cooler and overcast day.  As a matter of fact the little squirt thought it was cold enough to snow.   Hmmmm..I don't think so.  It was 65 degrees.  We'll have to wait for that Christmas in Maine.  &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7901643043037835209?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7901643043037835209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7901643043037835209' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7901643043037835209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7901643043037835209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/12/so-this-is-christmas.html' title='So This Is Christmas...'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-638803372175571268</id><published>2008-12-04T11:25:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T11:25:48.837-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You know it's time for maternity pants when....</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/STguvf1aWkI/AAAAAAAAAEw/6D6EU-tZYfg/s1600-h/IMAGE_117-748839.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/STguvf1aWkI/AAAAAAAAAEw/6D6EU-tZYfg/s320/IMAGE_117-748839.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276018356998789698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;&lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-638803372175571268?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/638803372175571268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=638803372175571268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/638803372175571268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/638803372175571268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/12/you-know-its-time-for-maternity-pants.html' title='You know it&apos;s time for maternity pants when....'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/STguvf1aWkI/AAAAAAAAAEw/6D6EU-tZYfg/s72-c/IMAGE_117-748839.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-5968638952767405</id><published>2008-11-26T22:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T22:09:04.784-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Completing the Checklist</title><content type='html'>I am not sure what gave me the idea to take my girls to get their immunizations updated the day before Thanksgiving but it is done and I blame it on placenta brain.  I miss the old days where they had no idea what was going to happen and then they would cry for a few minutes.  Then we would get home and they would take the best naps.  Now they are too smart and they are upset before anyone even steps into the room.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to explain why they needed these shots but it was like I was the teacher on Charlie Brown—wah, wah, wah, wah.   Even as I was putting them to bed they felt the need to complain to me and ask the question why?  Why did I single them out for this torture?  I did have a lot of sympathy for my soon to be six year old who had to get four shots!  She also had a slight fever even after being well medicated.  The good news—they are done until adolescents.  However, next time I think I would rather bathe cats!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bad news—baby comes in the spring.  I get to start the process all over again!  Lucky me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-5968638952767405?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/5968638952767405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=5968638952767405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/5968638952767405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/5968638952767405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/completing-checklist.html' title='Completing the Checklist'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-4834330717600505919</id><published>2008-11-24T21:10:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T21:14:33.133-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Just when I thought I might have to kill them</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SSuJJEiXFDI/AAAAAAAAAEo/hGNWp_0AgIE/s1600-h/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SSuJJEiXFDI/AAAAAAAAAEo/hGNWp_0AgIE/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272458577696986162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find them in my bed all jammied up and having a moment.  The two of them were not fighting for what seems to be the first time in an eternity.  Here they were, little sister was reading while big sister was helping with the hard words.  It was precious and helps me go to bed thinking…sure I have to do it all again tomorrow but darn it—it is sooooooooo  worth it!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-4834330717600505919?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/4834330717600505919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=4834330717600505919' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4834330717600505919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4834330717600505919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/just-when-i-thought-i-might-have-to.html' title='Just when I thought I might have to kill them'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SSuJJEiXFDI/AAAAAAAAAEo/hGNWp_0AgIE/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3907106835401257473</id><published>2008-11-20T20:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T20:16:14.599-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pregnancy'/><title type='text'>Preggo  after 35</title><content type='html'>My blog has been suffering from my lack of energy due to me being preggers.  However, now I am coming to the end of the first trimester and I am starting to come out of the fog.  Not sure if it the fatigue was related to the pregnancy or the lack of caffeine.  I sure have missed my coffee and what I wouldn’t do for a Starbucks run.  Oh well, it’s for a good cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was actually my second OB appointment and I had decided to take the girls.  I had left them with a friend the first appointment because I didn’t feel like explaining a pelvic exam.  Good move.  However, I forgot that I have a retroverted uterus and therefore I always warrant a pelvic ultrasound until I am 16 weeks  since they never find my babies’ heartbeats with a Doppler.   So yep, there I am with my girls and immediately I see the bazillion questions that are going to follow over the next several days. (They had already been snickering at all the posters on the walls.)  So anyway, it was homeschooling at its best.  Me, undressed from the waist down and then the Midwife pulls out the stirrups.  You should have seen my girls’ eyes!!!  The soon to be six year old kept asking,  “Mommy is this torture?”  What can I say?  I fake my best nothing wrong here and just point to the monitor with the bouncing fetus.  As I get ready to get dressed #1 asks, “Mommy can I put my feet in those thingies?”  Um no.  This has now become my worse nightmare.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Further proof of this is what happened yesterday.  I was sampling my 7 year old’s milkshake and she was mortified.  She  stares at me with disgust and says, “Great!  Now I’m going to be pregnant!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of explaining……&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3907106835401257473?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3907106835401257473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3907106835401257473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3907106835401257473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3907106835401257473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/preggo-after-35.html' title='Preggo  after 35'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8363966872441251407</id><published>2008-11-17T20:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T20:08:47.318-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Priority girls</title><content type='html'>So on Saturday night I was multitasking as usual.  While watching college football I decided to update my bank accounts on my computer software.   Well I guess in effort to make sure that I’m not playing some fun game or trying to read top secret email, AM1 peers over my shoulder and asks what I was doing.  I reply that I was entering all the purchases we have made to see how much money we have in our bank account.  She states how terribly boring that sounds and that when she grows up she will &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;NEVER&lt;/span&gt; do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward five minutes.  She pulls out a sheet of paper and wants me to tell her all the positions that football players play.  I thought it would deter her when I told her there were twenty-two but no.  Somehow that is not more boring than balancing a checking account.  Go figure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8363966872441251407?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8363966872441251407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8363966872441251407' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8363966872441251407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8363966872441251407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/priority-girls.html' title='Priority girls'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-4600858372099959163</id><published>2008-11-12T22:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T22:21:01.047-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Religious training…not so much</title><content type='html'>So there was a conversation around the table this afternoon about Adam and Eve.   We got into what they did wrong and AM2 chimes in “they ate the Fruits of the Spirit.”   Ummmmm.  I explain how that is half right but it was actually the forbidden fruit.  But that was a nice segway and so I go there,  “Do you know what the Fruits of the Spirits are?” (This is a trick question b/c her preschool had talked about it and so I know it was buried there somewhere)  Her face becomes elated and she screams, “Oh yes…grapes.”  Not exactly.  But then she trumps me.  She pulls out the scrapbook her teacher made at preschool last year and flips through.  Then she finds this sheet of paper that she had stamped all types of fruit onto, apparently when they were talking about the Fruits of Spirit.  Dang it if there weren't grapes on that art project!  Where do I go from here?  Score:  5 year old--1; mom---0&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-4600858372099959163?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/4600858372099959163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=4600858372099959163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4600858372099959163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4600858372099959163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/religious-trainingnot-so-much.html' title='Religious training…not so much'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7033142437155456624</id><published>2008-11-09T20:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T20:03:45.963-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Lunch and a movie</title><content type='html'>Today seemed like the perfect opportunity to snag a flick since it was cool, windy and rainy.  Apparently I wasn’t the only one that thought that.  I guess us Southern California parents panic when we can’t ship the kids outside and look for some sort of rescue.   Of course my true motive was that the thought of another day with all the neighborhood children in my house could possibly kill me—needed a plan of not being home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I broke down.  The girls have been asking to see High School Musical 3 and so today was the day.  I found it strange that when the movie premiered the girls weren’t interested in being the first to see it.  All summer as the stupid thing was being promoted I had visions of us standing in line with a million squealing high school girls.  But thank goodness my girls showed patience!    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While talking about visions, I had also pictured my girls dancing around the theater singing at the top of their lungs.  However, this was not the case.  They were completely awestruck and glued to their seats.  (Of course there was occasional singing but it was very subdued.)  I have to admit that I was very impressed with the show.  Maybe it was the fact that my expectations were so low but I was completely amazed at the production numbers and I forgot this is Disney people.  They do everything BIG.  Right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7033142437155456624?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7033142437155456624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7033142437155456624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7033142437155456624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7033142437155456624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/lunch-and-movie.html' title='Lunch and a movie'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-1370451040527089557</id><published>2008-11-05T20:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T20:47:10.759-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Momager'/><title type='text'>Why I need a chauffeur</title><content type='html'>It has been a long while since I have had such a crazy day as a momager.  It started when we left our house by 7am to head to an audition for a commercial.  When we get to the casting metropolis someone had the audacity to put on the very first studio room just inside the door these words….MILEY CYRUS.   It was some type of casting having to do with her but that isn’t the point.  The point is my children lost all focus and getting them to cooperate with anything coming out of my mouth was nearly impossible.  Anyway, we somehow survived and made it out of the audition. (minus one peak around for the mega star)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once outside, the little one is so excited and uncontrollable she decides to start kicking at the kudzu lining the sidewalk.   She is running and kicking.  She stops and kicks furiously.  Then takes off running and then tries to kick again but instead lands face down in the kudzu.  I laugh so hard that I almost snort.  The guy that passes us on the sidewalk is laughing really hard too.  As background info, my daughter does not like to be laughed at.   She becomes greatly offended so I’m thinking that she is going to get up in a rage and start chasing me until she can pound her fists into my delicate flesh.  However she gets up laughing herself and states casually, “I meant to do that.”  Finally maybe she is learning the art of laughing at yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was not the end of our day.  We drove home or to Costco and then home for lunch.  I furiously run around packing homeschool work and then pile us back in the car.  We have a photo shoot to go to.  In an act of mercy, the shoot was only ten miles from my house!   This was perhaps the most enjoyable shoot either of my kiddos has ever had.  Why?  Well first there was fake snow and then there were the free clothes.  More specifically the boots were a big hit.  The little one got two pairs and she wore a pair on her feet and a pair on her hands all the way home.  The big one who didn’t even work somehow scammed some free boots for herself.  (She talked the bigger girl model out of one her free pairs.  Not sure how she did it.)  So right now as the little angels are sleeping in their beds the boots are lying right beside the bed but within arm’s reach.  At least I talked them out of sleeping with them on.  Score one for mom!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-1370451040527089557?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/1370451040527089557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=1370451040527089557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1370451040527089557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1370451040527089557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/11/why-i-need-chauffeur.html' title='Why I need a chauffeur'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7583402110519462305</id><published>2008-10-30T23:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T23:08:42.055-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Old Tricks</title><content type='html'>There are only conversations that can happen when a dad is around.  Since my husband rolled into town Friday night things have definitely changed.   As we are driving as a family he jokingly asked the girls if they would like to “pull his finger.”  The girls don’t know this one and so the five year old says, “only if it clicks.”  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I can’t let them go through life with such naivety so I said that if an old man wants them to pull his finger they should refuse because it will make him toot.  The five year old was fascinated, like it was a cool mechanism how when you are an old man somehow your finger is wired to your backside.   I quickly explained the true  “mechanism”.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So guess what the popular pastime is around the house.  Yep, it is good to have a dad around.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7583402110519462305?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7583402110519462305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7583402110519462305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7583402110519462305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7583402110519462305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/old-tricks.html' title='Old Tricks'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-1818815426842755438</id><published>2008-10-23T20:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T20:24:58.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to Work</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SQE__rqh33I/AAAAAAAAAEg/UbSqh3gjlw4/s1600-h/015.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SQE__rqh33I/AAAAAAAAAEg/UbSqh3gjlw4/s320/015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260556203030863730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SQE-29eS2fI/AAAAAAAAAEI/RWC_lGA-K4E/s1600-h/014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SQE-29eS2fI/AAAAAAAAAEI/RWC_lGA-K4E/s320/014.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260554953680935410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my little AM 2 had the first audition of us being back into town.  We were in the car by 9 am and off to Los Angeles.   It has been five months since we’ve made the trek and there were a couple of things that I had forgotten.  Those would be things such as… there is always traffic.  It doesn’t matter that it is 10:30 am because you and a million of your closest friends are apparently all go to the same place.  I also forgot how nerve racking it is driving through Hollywood with the fear of accidentally hitting a car that is worth more than your entire home.  I also forgot how parking is a nightmare.  Anywhere, anytime because this nightmare is not prejudiced.  Lastly,  I forgot how much I love L.A.---no I idea why but I do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to the audition.  It was in a home/studio in the Hollywood hills area.  After fearing for our life on the drive to the top of some crazy hill, I had to help my children climb these horrific stairs up to this home.  To boot, some of the stairs were loose and wobbly.  I only wish someone were filming us hugging the rail up and down the flight.  I’m sure from the street we looked like crazies but hey we made it out alive.  The view was incredible but seriously haven’t these people heard of mud slides?  That is literally too much living on the edge for me!  I included pictures in case you don’t believe me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-1818815426842755438?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/1818815426842755438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=1818815426842755438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1818815426842755438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1818815426842755438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/back-to-work.html' title='Back to Work'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SQE__rqh33I/AAAAAAAAAEg/UbSqh3gjlw4/s72-c/015.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8466464331351809880</id><published>2008-10-16T20:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T20:51:59.660-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>The Debate</title><content type='html'>So I had the TV on last night for the debates.  We weren’t sitting in front of it but going about our evening business while it served as background.  The girls were a lot more interested in it than I thought they would be and here is their assessments:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 5 y.o.:  He said Beverly Hills.(when Obama mentioned the words “presented a bill”)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 7 y.o.:  Why do you have to vote?  Why don’t they just give whoever wants to be President a quiz and whoever does the best or finishes first wins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Because this is the United States of America and we have the right to choose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 7 y.o.:  But my way is easier and faster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband called today and asked if I watched the debate.  I explained that sort of but that our 7 y.o. was really into it.  She got on the phone and told him this:  The guy with the white hair kept making funny faces at the other guy.  I think the name of the guy with white hair is George Lopez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By gosh isn’t it crazy that you must be to be 18 years old to vote.  I think children would add a whole new dimension to the political process…it might actually be fun too.  Imagine if the candidates had to appeal to kids---it would be fun to see John McCain in a Chuck E Cheese, am I right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8466464331351809880?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8466464331351809880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8466464331351809880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8466464331351809880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8466464331351809880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/debate.html' title='The Debate'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3018938470319337853</id><published>2008-10-13T21:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T21:03:36.638-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Theory</title><content type='html'>Someday I would one day like to meet the genius who thought up the idea that children should be taught so that their self esteem grows.  Not sure if you are catching the sarcasm in my tone but believe me it is there.  I understand that there are children in the world who don’t know they are loved or cared about and Mr. Rogers was definitely there for them and had them in thought.   Why the attack?  Because more often than not this is the typical conversation at my house:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  You are so lucky.  I hate you.(talking to my 5 yr old.  Joking of course and yep my five year old understands sarcasm.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  (laughing)  You do not.  You love me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  I do love you.  I love you to pieces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  I know.  EVERYONE loves me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  I love being me.  Everyone wants to be me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So do I seriously need to buy into this ego/superego or whatever it is?  I think there is enough Humanism/Me”ism” in the world without making another beautiful “witch” that treats all us ordinary people like less thans!  Just my theory.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3018938470319337853?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3018938470319337853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3018938470319337853' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3018938470319337853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3018938470319337853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/theory.html' title='Theory'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-760854651940811031</id><published>2008-10-09T21:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T22:01:20.327-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dinner conversation</title><content type='html'>Oldest daughter:  Mommy, which Jonas brother is the cutest to you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  I don’t really have a favorite. (I’m thinking how I could have given birth to these guys so that is totally ewwww.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oldest daughter:  I know, I know but if you had to pick one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Ummm.  I guess the middle one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oldest daughter:  (snickering) You’ll have to talk to AM2(youngest daughter) about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Youngest daughter:  (bites into cookie) He’s mine Mommy.  Back off&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-760854651940811031?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/760854651940811031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=760854651940811031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/760854651940811031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/760854651940811031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/dinner-conversation.html' title='Dinner conversation'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-1094304844205707583</id><published>2008-10-08T21:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T21:24:52.053-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Just a Theory</title><content type='html'>So my five year old is in the tub last night and I notice this rash on her belly.  I start the inquisition of where, when, and how it got there.  She pleads that she has no idea but needs something to make it better.  Then she states, “I need Pro Active.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to clarify, I don’t own this stuff nor does she know anyone else who does.  This is where my theory comes to mind.  As a child I always thought that when I wasn’t around or was sleeping that maybe, just maybe my toys came to life. (this was wayyyyy before Toy Story)  They would move around and talk about me, etc.   I’m sure I am not alone in this fantasy world.  Well now that I’m an adult I have moved passed that.  However, when I had children another theory emerged.  This theory involved my babies sitting up in their cribs and talking.  They would talk about how terrible their parents were and how they were going to torture us for the next sixty years.  It seems that I may have proof now because apparently I have a five year old who wakes up in the middle night to catch the latest infomercial.  I KNEW IT!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-1094304844205707583?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/1094304844205707583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=1094304844205707583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1094304844205707583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1094304844205707583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/just-theory.html' title='Just a Theory'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8187883854685068804</id><published>2008-10-07T21:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T21:26:31.485-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Home school'/><title type='text'>A  Day at the Museum</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SOw2CwxNIeI/AAAAAAAAADg/c2wbj7TDNxU/s1600-h/006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SOw2CwxNIeI/AAAAAAAAADg/c2wbj7TDNxU/s320/006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254634286313447906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Tuesdays in San Diego.  Why?  Because on a rotational basis the museums are free to residents.  It has been a very long time since I’ve taken the girls.  When they were little we used to go all the time—my successful attempts at wearing them out so they would sleep.  However, due to school schedules and being out of town during summers it has been ages since we’ve been.   This was a consideration when I wanted to homeschool.  I felt like school was kind of getting in the way how my children learn best---the hands on method.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it was a great time and I forgot how beautiful Balboa Park is.  I love it there and it reminds me of why I love living where I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8187883854685068804?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8187883854685068804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8187883854685068804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8187883854685068804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8187883854685068804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/day-at-museum.html' title='A  Day at the Museum'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SOw2CwxNIeI/AAAAAAAAADg/c2wbj7TDNxU/s72-c/006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-968197277094250287</id><published>2008-10-02T21:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T21:32:34.452-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Back to normal???!!!</title><content type='html'>So I returned to my beloved home on Monday, hurray hurray.  My girls are no longer under foot.  We all have our own personal space but it isn’t all bliss my friends.  &lt;br /&gt;A.  Had to leave my husband in Texas.&lt;br /&gt;B. Had no TV channels.&lt;br /&gt;C. Had no internet access.&lt;br /&gt;D. Have no A/C and for some reason it is 3000 degrees here in Southern California&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not sure if you can spot the similarities… but dang it …that sounds a lot like camping!  I don’t “do” camping and so this has been very interesting.  The good news is that no one has died…i haven’t even had the urge to strangle my kids.  This is a large step or maybe we are just still in a honeymoon period.   Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.&lt;br /&gt;Finally over the last three days, all the problems except for the first one have been alleviated—so now we are back at status quo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-968197277094250287?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/968197277094250287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=968197277094250287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/968197277094250287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/968197277094250287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/10/back-to-normal.html' title='Back to normal???!!!'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8803117896362508387</id><published>2008-09-26T14:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T14:43:11.945-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Military'/><title type='text'>On Being a Grown Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SN1XKG6MmDI/AAAAAAAAADY/IeeBBYlnJQg/s1600-h/012+-+Copy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SN1XKG6MmDI/AAAAAAAAADY/IeeBBYlnJQg/s320/012+-+Copy.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250448571748882482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it seems the Department of Defense has deemed that my husband is worthy of a lot more responsibility.  So today they gave him the keys to a ship in which he will be the commanding officer.  Am I proud?  Absolutely 100 percent but there is a part of me is like, say what?  I have known my husband since we were 13/14 years old and that was over twenty years ago.  At some point I think I fell asleep and then woke up and it was 2008.  Seriously when did this happen?  OMG...I have two kids too!  In my mind it is still 1986 and Pretty In Pink isn't just a retro movie!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'm just freaking because my new title is now COW. (stands for Commanding Officer's Wife)  Seriously, I would like to meet the individual responsible for that and slap him around for a while.  I know the military likes to abbreviate things but this takes it to a whole new level.  It isn't an official title thank heavens but I know exists and those involved...I'm watching you.  If you must use an abbreviation may I suggest...SHOW.(Super Hot Officer's Wife)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8803117896362508387?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8803117896362508387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8803117896362508387' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8803117896362508387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8803117896362508387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/on-being-grown-up.html' title='On Being a Grown Up'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SN1XKG6MmDI/AAAAAAAAADY/IeeBBYlnJQg/s72-c/012+-+Copy.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3627066505289572607</id><published>2008-09-25T15:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T18:40:06.664-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Texas'/><title type='text'>Back in South Texas</title><content type='html'>Some things never change.  It is still hotter than heck here.  I still have to drive a million miles to find something I need.  So maybe I should stop there because if you have nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything.  THREE MORE DAYS UNTIL WE GO HOME TO CALIFORNIA!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3627066505289572607?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3627066505289572607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3627066505289572607' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3627066505289572607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3627066505289572607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/back-in-south-texas.html' title='Back in South Texas'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-265736528349210591</id><published>2008-09-23T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T14:45:37.386-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Why my children want to live in the country.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNlgVXWa_HI/AAAAAAAAADQ/BstUJfD0T-c/s1600-h/019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNlgVXWa_HI/AAAAAAAAADQ/BstUJfD0T-c/s320/019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249332760838601842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNlfUiR4l3I/AAAAAAAAADI/XqQZD9xNng8/s1600-h/016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNlfUiR4l3I/AAAAAAAAADI/XqQZD9xNng8/s320/016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249331647080863602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides the fact that they want a puppy too.  Great grandpa gave them a ride through the yard in Alabama.  Boy they are really going to have to adjust to city life in a week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-265736528349210591?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/265736528349210591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=265736528349210591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/265736528349210591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/265736528349210591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-my-children-want-to-live-in-country.html' title='Why my children want to live in the country.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNlgVXWa_HI/AAAAAAAAADQ/BstUJfD0T-c/s72-c/019.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-6764392489675058920</id><published>2008-09-18T14:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T14:42:45.933-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Mommydar (A.K.A. Mommy Radar)</title><content type='html'>The other night I could hear the kitchen cabinets opening and closing and I looked around.  Both girls were missing.  So I listened some more…complete silence minus the rustling of paper. I knew they were stuffing their faces full of something they shouldn’t but being the tricky mom I am, I wanted to test the response they would give.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME:  Girls what are you doing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GIRLS:  NOOOOOTHINGGGG. (Which sounded like it was coming from a chipmunk)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME:  Hmmm. Sounds like something to me.  Are you lying?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GIRLS:  YEEESSSSS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to take credit for this as if I had instilled values into my girls that they prefer not lying.  However, I know that the truth is that they were just scared I was going to get up and verify what was happening. A little fear goes a long way I guess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-6764392489675058920?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/6764392489675058920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=6764392489675058920' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6764392489675058920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6764392489675058920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/mommydar-aka-mommy-radar.html' title='Mommydar (A.K.A. Mommy Radar)'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-4086521582272753435</id><published>2008-09-16T17:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T17:39:46.563-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Auburn'/><title type='text'>Brings a tear to my eye.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNBRLHNObeI/AAAAAAAAADA/9Jwo6yh7IiQ/s1600-h/001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNBRLHNObeI/AAAAAAAAADA/9Jwo6yh7IiQ/s320/001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246782817241558498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNBQ_rCZ42I/AAAAAAAAAC4/th3tXT-3tWY/s1600-h/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNBQ_rCZ42I/AAAAAAAAAC4/th3tXT-3tWY/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246782620701418338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls and I are currently on a road trip with my mom.  Where are we?  In no other place than Auburn, Alabama.  Home to my Alma Mater and the best darn school evah... Auburn University!  I literally drug my girls around everywhere today.  AM2 had never been here and AM1 was only 3 the last time she was here.  I warned them beforehand since I knew you can't drive on campus during school hours that they were going to have to wear their tennis shoes and it was going to be hard. (It took me 30 minutes for me to get them out of the shower--the heavenly glassed in, rain shower is a huge hit)  They did get a little tired but we had a blast.  Well maybe just I had a blast but still there was tons for them to see/do/shop for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing has not changed, the friendliness will never die here.  As we were returning our luggage cart to the lobby last night, everyone stopped and talked to the girls.  AM1 says, "I like this hotel.  Everyone here is so nice."  I bent down to her level and continued the brainwashing, "That is because you are in Auburn.  It is the best place in the world."  She scoffed and was probably suppressing the urge to roll her eyes and says, "Not better than heaven though."  I scoff and reply, "You have no proof of that." War Eagle&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-4086521582272753435?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/4086521582272753435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=4086521582272753435' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4086521582272753435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4086521582272753435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/brings-tear-to-my-eye.html' title='Brings a tear to my eye.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SNBRLHNObeI/AAAAAAAAADA/9Jwo6yh7IiQ/s72-c/001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-625025583057842967</id><published>2008-09-14T17:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T17:45:29.650-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dinner Conversation</title><content type='html'>AM2:  I have special &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;powers&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME:  Oh.  What kind of powers do you have?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  If I squint my eyes like this(squints real hard), it makes the light shine like a diamond.  You try it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME: (Squinting) Oh I see four streams of light coming off the light bulb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  See...I told you I had powers.  You have powers too because I touched you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ME:  Hmmmm.  I always wanted Super Powers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-625025583057842967?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/625025583057842967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=625025583057842967' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/625025583057842967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/625025583057842967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/dinner-conversation.html' title='Dinner Conversation'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7635714186850117844</id><published>2008-09-11T16:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T19:02:57.168-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Texas pays me back for bad mouthing.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMnM17Nr6uI/AAAAAAAAACw/kO-55s0B1GI/s1600-h/022.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMnM17Nr6uI/AAAAAAAAACw/kO-55s0B1GI/s320/022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244948467849882338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Tuesday my husband took my car in for an oil change and then filled it up with gas.  We then packed the car until midnight.  Wednesday my husband kissed me and the girls goodbye before heading off to work.  Where are we going?  We are running from Ike!  We voluntarily evacuated the coast of Texas.  Fourteen hours later, we arrived at my parents' house in Alabama.  (wasn't ready to go home to California)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt like a weenie.  I was busy running and on the other side of the road I saw the CNN news truck and hundreds of power/electric trucks heading toward the storm area.  Maybe I'm not a weenie.  Maybe they are crazy or just reluctantly doing their job.(like my husband who has to stay on a ship during the storm)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls traveled like champs.  We didn't make it in until 2am and they had been asleep for 5 hours!  They are really pros I tell you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I somehow have to focus them on schooling and who wants to study at grandma's house?  Especially when she lives where they can run freely without having to watch for cars!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what have the girls done since their arrival?  Well they have birthed a puppy and placed it next to the mama to suckle.  (see picture)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7635714186850117844?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7635714186850117844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7635714186850117844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7635714186850117844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7635714186850117844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/texas-pays-me-back-for-bad-mouthing.html' title='Texas pays me back for bad mouthing.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMnM17Nr6uI/AAAAAAAAACw/kO-55s0B1GI/s72-c/022.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-681679106144675152</id><published>2008-09-08T19:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T19:08:50.420-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>The tooth caper.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMXZbMKICII/AAAAAAAAACo/4pbMTNEOfPo/s1600-h/IMAGE_100.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMXZbMKICII/AAAAAAAAACo/4pbMTNEOfPo/s320/IMAGE_100.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243836402286200962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So we spent a few days in San Antonio.  We hit Sea World and the Alamo which exhausted all of us.&lt;br /&gt; On the way home we stopped and got something to eat—at a Texas establishment where you throw peanuts on the floor.  We ordered the girls’ meals first because they were cranky and tiresome.  After they finished eating, our food arrived and of course the girls were wanting to be held or cuddled. (Reason number one why we normally don’t order their food before ours.)  Just as I bit into my ribs and were waiting for it to hit my stomach AM1 exclaims, “My tooth!  Where did it go?”  She frantically looks around and there is a big gap with blood oozing out.  There goes my appetite.  Now I am a nurse by profession however I was quite bothered by where this missing tooth could be, was it in my beans, ribs or fries?  I mean the child was sitting directly across from me!  &lt;br /&gt; Well AM2 starts panicking too.  She wants her big sister to get the payment she deserves from the tooth fairy.  AM2 is my mud loving child.  She slings it, she squishes and yes occasionally she eats it.  Before I could even get any words out of my mouth, she is on the floor searching for the missing tooth.  We are now developing an audience because let’s face it folks, there isn’t much in the way of entertainment in these parts.  After a couple of minutes under a dark table AM2 shouts , “I found it.  I found the tooth.” She comes up waving the thing and gives it to her sister.&lt;br /&gt; Then AM1 ran to the bathroom to clean out her mouth.  Then two seconds later AM2 followed after stating that she was an expert.  They emerge.  I pull out the camera phone and snap the picture.  Then AM2 marvels that her tooth feels a lot like a peanut.  Upon further examination, yup it was a peanut.  I took her crowning glory picture with a peanut.&lt;br /&gt; So then the search starts again for the tooth b/c AM1 needs to get paid!  AM2 scoured the floor and found the tooth and yells loudly so everyone can hear, “ I know this one is the right one.  It has blood coming out of it.”  The love of a sister I guess.&lt;br /&gt;In case you are curious, the picture is of AM1's peanut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-681679106144675152?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/681679106144675152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=681679106144675152' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/681679106144675152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/681679106144675152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/tooth-caper.html' title='The tooth caper.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMXZbMKICII/AAAAAAAAACo/4pbMTNEOfPo/s72-c/IMAGE_100.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-4011180975822290918</id><published>2008-09-06T13:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T13:33:29.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Radio Flyer needs to be towed</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMLpGl4U3VI/AAAAAAAAACg/5uErvyM7f18/s1600-h/IMAGE_065-709621.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMLpGl4U3VI/AAAAAAAAACg/5uErvyM7f18/s320/IMAGE_065-709621.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243009215669525842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;&lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-4011180975822290918?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/4011180975822290918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=4011180975822290918' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4011180975822290918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4011180975822290918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-radio-flyer-needs-to-be-towed.html' title='My Radio Flyer needs to be towed'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SMLpGl4U3VI/AAAAAAAAACg/5uErvyM7f18/s72-c/IMAGE_065-709621.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-5113480034794489004</id><published>2008-09-06T11:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T11:14:39.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Treking barefoot through the snow.</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Me:  Good morning.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;My first born: Mommy you look sick.  Your face is all red, you don't look so good!  But you can still go to Sea World, right?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Me:  I'm a mom, what do you think?&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;My first born:  Good.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-5113480034794489004?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/5113480034794489004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=5113480034794489004' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/5113480034794489004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/5113480034794489004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/treking-barefoot-through-snow.html' title='Treking barefoot through the snow.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-2742750858001404482</id><published>2008-09-04T23:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T23:35:43.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ocho Cinco, I must go there.</title><content type='html'>I have to go there.  I have to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems that there is a young NFL star that has legally changed his name from Chad Johnson to &lt;a href="http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=3569580"&gt;Chad Ocho Cinco&lt;/a&gt;.  He plays for the Cincinnati Bengals and wears you guessed it…number 85! Originally he had placed the name on his jersey 2 years ago in honor of National Hispanic Month and was slapped with a 5k fine. I’m pretty sure he isn’t Hispanic. (I’m just saying.)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Now I have two perspectives on this.  First as a mother I think how terrible.  His mom spent some time planning and thinking—not necessarily about his last name but still you want it all to sound good when it rolls off the tongue.  It was easy and safe, not all NFL stars are so lucky.   Oh the horror of what my two girls would pick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, I look at this as a person who has always had last names that people could not pronounce.  Growing up people always messed it up and it really wasn’t all that difficult.  Then I got married.  To a Thai man.  Apparently he experienced the same problem.  My sister in law and husband would pretend to be the Smiths, Jones, and yes by gosh the Johnsons  when going out to eat because it was much easier than getting the hostess to even attempt their last name. (A Thai name and people in Alabama with thick southern accents do not mix!)  So dude Chad had it easy, smooth sailing at the Cracker Barrel.   He is apparently making way too much money and having way too much free time on his hands to dream up something this crazy.  I’m sure the publicity doesn’t hurt either. (sigh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ocho Cinco, party of four your table is now available.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-2742750858001404482?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/2742750858001404482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=2742750858001404482' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2742750858001404482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2742750858001404482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/ocho-cinco-i-must-go-there.html' title='Ocho Cinco, I must go there.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-9132575888611636223</id><published>2008-09-03T17:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T17:34:25.742-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>I lost my filter.</title><content type='html'>It seems that my beloved youngest daughter is missing something.  Yep, she is missing that filter that keeps us from saying exactly what is on our minds.  Any thought and any where comes streaming out of her mouth.  This isn’t unusual since I think most parents experience at least one child in their family who causes the hairs on their neck to stand up when the take them into the public eye.  I’m sure this filter will develop in the next year or two and then life will become boring and hum drum with everyone of us being politically correct and all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband finds this odd and peculiar since our very mature seven year old developed her filter at a very young age.  So the other night he asks her if she thinks about things before saying them or just says them.  AM2 didn’t really understand the question but she held out her hands and shrugged.  It was if she was saying, “What is there to think about?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some examples of her current ramblings, one of which occurred in a public place and she felt no need to whisper—in fact she doesn’t know how to whisper:&lt;br /&gt;Why did that man come in the restaurant without shoes on?&lt;br /&gt;Good point&lt;br /&gt;Why are those crazy people riding in the back of that truck?&lt;br /&gt;Another good point&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A fun pastime of mine is to imagine what it would sound like if I was missing my filter in the same situation she was placed. Here it goes:&lt;br /&gt;Scenario 1: Hey genius, did you lose the only pair of shoes you own?  You know it really is unhealthy to walk around without shoes all the time, especially in public places.  Just ask the children in Africa.  I could perhaps overlook this if we were in an eating establishment on the beach but we aren’t.  Also, I find it offensive to look at your gnarly toes while I’m trying to eat.&lt;br /&gt;Scenario 2:  Hey rednecks could you please stop riding in the back of trucks?  I hate having to re-explain to my children how unsafe it is and how I like their heads exactly where they are…on top of their bodies.  I mean thirty years ago this was ok but now with all the research that seat belts do work maybe you should give one a try!  (All this being screamed out of my car window of course—that’s not redneck, right?)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-9132575888611636223?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/9132575888611636223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=9132575888611636223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/9132575888611636223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/9132575888611636223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-lost-my-filter.html' title='I lost my filter.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8499385329380586981</id><published>2008-09-02T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T10:59:40.247-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>It’s time to build a tower.</title><content type='html'>So the events of this fabulous Labor Day weekend have led me to the conclusion that the whole Rapunzel thing isn’t such a bad idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 7 year old daughter has developed a crush.  She has had a few before and they usually pass without much worry.  I don’t feed into them and cause a frenzy because hey she is only 7.  But this one was disturbing on two levels.  First, it was the University of Alabama’s quarterback.  It was after the game when the token girl sideline reporter tracked this young fellow down for an interview.  My oldest stopped in her tracks and looked longingly at the TV screen asking, “Who’s that mommy?”  My stomach churned and I tried to be ignorant of her obvious feelings by saying, “Why honey? He’s from the Univ of Alabama so we don’t really care who he is.”  This didn’t deter her at the moment and so I commented that she thought he was cute, she blushed and nodded.  If I call her out sometimes that ends her pursuit…what could be worse than your mom knowing your secret, right?  She soon realized her error as I finished preparing her for bed.  She pined as if she was in a Shakespeare novel, “Why do I always fall for the ones who are famous and I’ll never meet?  Or the ones that are part of the enemy?”  Oh you poor dear destined for ill fated love.  Whatever, kid you are only 7!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second disturbance was when the news of VP hopeful Sara Palin’s daughter hit the news wire. I was already in the state of you are way too young for---fill in the blank.   Now I have to wrap my mind around the fact that eventually I will be a mom to two teenage girls with all the drama and mayhem that accompanies it.  (I used to be a teenage girl myself) My husband says he plans to stay deployed until they are in college and so I may have to endure those years alone.   That leaves me to start making my plan and since I often prefer avoidance rather than confrontation, I am going visit Home Depot or Lowe’s and start stocking up on large cinder blocks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8499385329380586981?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8499385329380586981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8499385329380586981' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8499385329380586981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8499385329380586981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/09/its-time-to-build-tower.html' title='It’s time to build a tower.'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-6589889322278707620</id><published>2008-08-31T18:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T18:57:41.369-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend shopping spree...Happy Labor Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLtMFdyCO_I/AAAAAAAAACY/ailDmLCcG40/s1600-h/IMAGE_060-761372.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLtMFdyCO_I/AAAAAAAAACY/ailDmLCcG40/s320/IMAGE_060-761372.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240866248153250802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="font-family:times new roman, new york, times, serif;font-size:12pt"&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: times new roman,new york,times,serif; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: times new roman,new york,times,serif; font-size: 12pt;"&gt;&lt;br&gt; &lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;        &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-6589889322278707620?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/6589889322278707620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=6589889322278707620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6589889322278707620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6589889322278707620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/weekend-shopping-spreehappy-labor-day.html' title='Weekend shopping spree...Happy Labor Day'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLtMFdyCO_I/AAAAAAAAACY/ailDmLCcG40/s72-c/IMAGE_060-761372.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-9204394421792430137</id><published>2008-08-28T21:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:47:11.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Did anyone call for an exterminator?</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; 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  &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 6"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"&gt;   &lt;w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:"Cambria Math"; 	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; 	mso-font-charset:1; 	mso-generic-font-family:roman; 	mso-font-format:other; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face 	{font-family:Calibri; 	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; 	mso-font-charset:0; 	mso-generic-font-family:swiss; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-unhide:no; 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	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-priority:99; 	mso-style-qformat:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin-top:0in; 	mso-para-margin-right:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; 	mso-para-margin-left:0in; 	line-height:115%; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:11.0pt; 	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; 	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; 	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; 	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; 	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Tonight was an eating out night.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The husband was home in time for dinner…the first week night in a month and by sheer coincidence there wasn’t a thing I could feed him!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Being in Texas we often opt for BBQ since I crave it while in Cali and there isn’t any place we have found yet that can match southern or TX BBQ.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(I am from Alabama…Dreamland, Jim N Nicks or Costas anyone???)&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In the car we pile and off to the local BBQ dive that has all the animal heads on the wall! Yum yum.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;About half way through dinner I swear I feel something furry graze the back of my heel.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My initial thought was…boy they have some large rats in this joint!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But then I rationalized and thought…hmmm the husband wants to play footsy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The dead carcasses on the wall must be putting him in the mood.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I make a nonchalant half glance under the table to see where everyone’s legs are.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Nothing doing because everyone’s legs were where they were supposed to be and there was nothing noticeable in my scope.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The furriness was gone so I figure that it must have been a cool breeze maybe created by the emergency exit beside me. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;No sooner had this thought crossed my mind that I felt it again and now it was going from my heel to around the top part of my foot.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I quickly glance under the table…I’m going to catch it this time!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Holy crap!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was no furry rat or gentle breeze.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Oh no it was muuuuch better, it was a palmetto bug (American cockroach)!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I start shaking my foot and eewwwing and I’m sure it looked like I was having some sort of episodic fit.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My husband’s face turns all crooked as if he was saying come on woman you ordered the iced tea not a Long Island Ice Tea.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was doing my best not to scream and explain in a calm voice what I was doing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This of course meant that the children, I mean squealy grossed out girls heard what I was saying.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Curiosity got the best of them and they had to peak under the table to see what I had shook off.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They caught a glimpse of this thing and then proceeded to run around the table yelling, “Bug, bug, BIIIGGG Bug!”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Now my reaction then was to shush them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I didn’t want to make a scene and cause problems for this place of business.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So I got them quiet and they hunkered down in a corner, far away from the critter.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I placed my feet very ladylike in their empty chairs and finished my meal.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No reason to worry folks unnecessarily.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Not until I got home did I start thinking that it probably didn’t matter if we had pointed out the obvious roach issue.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I mean for goodness sakes, we were eating under an outstretched cow skin!&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Texans are used to big bugs and big everything for that matter. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;We wouldn’t have hurt business in the least.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Instead, we would have become the talk of the town…honey remember when those “faureigners” who were at the Pit and had a conniption fit over that itty bitty roach?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Whatever Texas, you can keep your bugs and mosquitoes for that matter! I can’t wait to head for the Hills!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-9204394421792430137?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/9204394421792430137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=9204394421792430137' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/9204394421792430137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/9204394421792430137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/did-anyone-call-for-exterminator.html' title='Did anyone call for an exterminator?'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-751311181732638447</id><published>2008-08-27T08:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T08:35:35.938-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLV0JXdsiYI/AAAAAAAAACQ/eNizEVZFfr4/s1600-h/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLV0JXdsiYI/AAAAAAAAACQ/eNizEVZFfr4/s320/003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239221445781653890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLVz2uZjoxI/AAAAAAAAACI/Rq-HMXKODXg/s1600-h/001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLVz2uZjoxI/AAAAAAAAACI/Rq-HMXKODXg/s320/001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239221125520794386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-751311181732638447?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/751311181732638447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=751311181732638447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/751311181732638447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/751311181732638447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/wordless-wednesday.html' title='Wordless Wednesday'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLV0JXdsiYI/AAAAAAAAACQ/eNizEVZFfr4/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3866255698572865527</id><published>2008-08-26T13:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T13:03:22.649-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Thank you notes need a little procrastination</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Not sure if I should tell my seven year old the art of writing thank you notes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You see, she was on the phone with her BFF in California (we’re still visiting TX) and her friend wrote a song.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;She sung it for AM2 and then said she was going to put it on a CD and mail it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;AM2 thought it was a beautiful song and she checks the mail everyday for the CD.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Shortly after she had hung up she began tearing through the apartment looking for her special notebook and pencil.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then she furiously wrote, wrote and wrote.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Next she asked me for an envelope.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My curiosity got the best of me and I asked, “What and to whom are you writing?”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She then explained that she had written a thank you note for her friend and it is ready to go when she receives the CD.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Hmmmm.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Wish I had that foresight.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Instead, I take at least 6-8 months after I receive a gift to write my thank you.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then it gets stuffed in a drawer in which 1-2 years later I find the thank you note…usually unaddressed since the reason I stuck it in the drawer was because I couldn’t find the person’s address.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then of course there is the elusive stamp issue… Hence a lot of times that thank you note becomes an “it’s the thought that counts” casualty.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;;"&gt;I need to inform her that she can drop her seven year old Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and relax a little.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;No need to hurry because she has at least two years before her Thank You Statute of Limitations expires!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(The OCD is from her father’s side of course.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3866255698572865527?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3866255698572865527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3866255698572865527' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3866255698572865527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3866255698572865527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/thank-you-notes-need-little.html' title='Thank you notes need a little procrastination'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-334399485170751444</id><published>2008-08-24T20:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T20:39:11.222-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Military'/><title type='text'>Quality time, Daddy style</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLInrMgZ74I/AAAAAAAAAB4/uFxEZVyDoSA/s1600-h/001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLInrMgZ74I/AAAAAAAAAB4/uFxEZVyDoSA/s320/001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238292939630309250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Back at the end of AM2’s school year at her precious little &lt;a href="http://www.christianunified.com/"&gt;Christian Elementary School&lt;/a&gt; she had to make a book for her dad in anticipation of Father’s Day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;On the page where it said, “my dad likes…,.” She wrote “to sleep.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Unfortunately that is what she sees from her little seven year old eyes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, what she doesn’t see is the 12-24 hours  a day that he works in his service for his country.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He doesn’t complain about it, which is strange since he complains about almost everything else.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So that brings us to this past weekend.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He had worked around the astounding number of 80 hrs this week which means, you guess it he was tired.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Couple that with children who weren’t feeling 100% normal and that left me somewhere between being a referee and a paramedic.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;In the picture she laid beside him, pulled up her shirt a little and closed her eyes.  She then said, "Mommy take a picture."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-334399485170751444?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/334399485170751444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=334399485170751444' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/334399485170751444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/334399485170751444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/quality-time-daddy-style.html' title='Quality time, Daddy style'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLInrMgZ74I/AAAAAAAAAB4/uFxEZVyDoSA/s72-c/001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-6098445871322193601</id><published>2008-08-24T12:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T12:42:26.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Post from my At&amp;t Tilt</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Test blog from my phone.  This will be cool if it works.&lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-6098445871322193601?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/6098445871322193601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=6098445871322193601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6098445871322193601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6098445871322193601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/post-from-my-at-tilt.html' title='Post from my At&amp;t Tilt'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7274289018280558191</id><published>2008-08-22T18:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T18:29:32.144-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you live in cramped quarters when….</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;;"&gt;As we took a walk through the neighborhood in the rain, we walked by a house that was for sale.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;On the sign was an annoying extra sign saying 4 BEDROOMS.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My seven year old stops splashing in the puddle beside the sign and turns to look at me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She says, “Look.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;THIS HOUSE HAS FOUR BEDROOMS!”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She pauses with wonderment in her eyes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Since I don’t say anything she says, “We would all have our own room.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And if you and Daddy still wanted to share… we could have a PLAYROOM!”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Still hare, still share, of course you silly girl. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I haven’t hit menopause yet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The walk in the rain was a  lot of fun.  I no longer enjoy trampling through puddles but watching my girl brought back a lot of memories of when I did. :))))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7274289018280558191?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7274289018280558191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7274289018280558191' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7274289018280558191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7274289018280558191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/you-know-you-live-in-cramped-quarters.html' title='You know you live in cramped quarters when….'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-4459035755057301680</id><published>2008-08-21T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T22:02:22.588-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Personal'/><title type='text'>It was so close to perfect</title><content type='html'>Last week the most awesome thing happened to me.  I was checking out from the grocery store with a bottle of wine and I got carded!  Now this hasn't happened in years.  The grocery store back home in CA never cards me...I guess they see my school aged children and assume that I am of age.  Here in Texas, it ain't really a "sure thing."  Anyway, the cashier was all, "Can I see some ID."  And I was all, "YOU SURE CAN."  So I pull that sucker out like it was a winning lottery ticket.  Then things kind of take a bizarre turn.  She's all, "Ma'am that's an out of state license I'm going to have to get a manager." Wuh huh? This completely deflated the scenario I had pictured in my mind.  She was supposed to be all, "My bad ma'am I see you are 35 but you certainly don't look it."  Meanwhile the reality was that I was stuck in the "Express" lane while Bob the 22 year old manager took down my name, DOB, and I think preference of salad dressing.  Come on Bob...help a SAHM live the dream just once!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-4459035755057301680?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/4459035755057301680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=4459035755057301680' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4459035755057301680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4459035755057301680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/it-was-so-close-to-perfect.html' title='It was so close to perfect'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-4360200436248496569</id><published>2008-08-19T21:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T21:30:25.418-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Perfect parents avert your eyes</title><content type='html'>It has come to my attention that our greatest source of entertainment is our children.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sure we can find humor and joy in other things like TV, movies, or tormenting customer service reps but nothing is the same as having two naïve children to come up with the craziest stuff.  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Case in point.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The hardest laugh I had all summer was a ranting or meltdown courtesy of our oldest daughter.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was bedtime and she wanted to take a tenth trip to the bathroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I told her no and continued with the nightly routine.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She then missed her turn in the nightly prayer which turned her ranting into an ear piercing screaming session.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, I was going to stick to my guns and not give in.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So I turned out the lights and headed to bed myself to join my husband.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is the conversation we could hear from our bed:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM1:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Please, please let me go to the bathroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I really need to go.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You are not being fair.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why? Why?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why won’t you let me go? &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Etc etc etc&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM2: (In her best supportive role) I don’t know why they won’t let you go.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are so unfair.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM1: (still in hysterics) Why won’t they answer me?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;All I have to do is go to the bathroom.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This continues for twenty minutes…hysterics and then the calming voice of a 5 year old.  My husband and I were enjoying this way too much.  We got to hear what was going on in their minds as they try to figure out what we as parents could possibly be doing since we weren't catering to their demands.  I've always wanted to be a fly on the wall in this situation and it was awesome.  Of course we were asking ourselves if we should be intervening but the resounding answer was noway!  We wanted to see how it turned out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Then:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM1: I think I hear them laughing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t understand.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;All I needed to do was go to the bathroom.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM2: I know honey.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are just mean.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Just mean!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This continues for another 10 minutes.&lt;span style=""&gt;   Poor little &lt;/span&gt;AM2 was totally out of comforting words.  You could tell she was being worn down.  Mean while we were still sticking to our guns. So:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM1:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;MOOOOMMMMMYYYY, CAN I PLEASE GO TO THE BATHROOM?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;AM 2: (tries to throw her voice while lowering it to mimic mine) Sure honey, this is mommy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You can go to the bathroom.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;What was she thinking? &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Now that is entertainment!&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-4360200436248496569?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/4360200436248496569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=4360200436248496569' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4360200436248496569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/4360200436248496569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/perfect-parents-avert-your-eyes.html' title='Perfect parents avert your eyes'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7434338568916218807</id><published>2008-08-18T20:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T20:48:48.146-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Home school'/><title type='text'>Back to the grind</title><content type='html'>So it has been week since we have done any of the homeschool stuff.  Since we spent most of the last week out of town, I didn't want to schlep everything with us and I knew it would be pointless since the girls would have too many distractions to concentrate.&lt;br /&gt;    Getting back in the swing of things was harder than I thought it would be.  Luckily the girls didn't forget everything they were taught but they just had to be corralled into doing everything, it was like pulling teeth!  Now I'm thinking that tutoring thing that the celebrities do isn't so bad.  I mean you get the benefit of homeschooling without the headache, right? Hmmmmmm&lt;br /&gt;    AM 2 has taken to the idea of stalking US gymnasts.  Each girl has adopted a US female gymnast as "her girl."  Well AM2 has taken a liking to Nastia Liukin and found out she lives in Texas.  She asked, "she lives in TX, so I can go visit her right?"  Um yeah, if you want her to call the police honey.  Ahhh, if only life were that simple.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7434338568916218807?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7434338568916218807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7434338568916218807' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7434338568916218807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7434338568916218807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/back-to-grind.html' title='Back to the grind'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3223874826800712538</id><published>2008-08-16T20:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T21:35:18.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Food snobs</title><content type='html'>It has come to my attention that my husband and I are raising two food snobs.(the apple doesn't fall far from the tree)  When we yell to the back seat, "girls what would you like to eat?"  It isn't usually a fast food joint.  The two will never be called a "cheap date."  Instead we get, "the lobster place or Dim Sum."  However, for the last two weeks it has been that they have wanted the, "Japanese place that cooks in front of you."  So since is the first day my husband has had off in two weeks we head to one of the two Hibachi grills in Corpus Christi. &lt;br /&gt;    Upon arrival we are asked for our reservation.  Reservation????  Oh heavens, the crazy Californians drove for forty minutes to a restaurant that needed a reservation!  In SoCal as a party of four we have never had to make a reservation.  You just show up.  So in my feeble mindedness, I'm thinking this is the middle of nowhere.  The weekend before school starts.  Tax free weekend in Texas.  Everyone should be at the mall.  Apparently I was mistaken.  Now I had to explain to a 5 and 7 year old that we can't eat here.  They were not happy but we promised to try the only other place in town.&lt;br /&gt;    Upon arrival at restaurant #2 there was no reservation needed(it soon becomes apparent why) and we were seated immediately(never a good sign).  The very white, non-Asian looking waitress takes our order.  No problem, I think to myself since about 50% of the time they aren't Asian.  However, we knew we were in trouble when our "chef" came out and said, "how ya'll this evening."  I quickly look at my children and their eyes said it all.  I imagine the dialog in their heads had them rationalizing that this was just the guy who turns on the grill.  No such luck. After a few minutes, the oldest couldn't help herself.  She leaned over and said, "he's not even Japanese!" &lt;br /&gt;    It was by far not our best meal but we managed to choke it down.  My husband complains quietly in my ear the entire time and the girls enjoyed the "shows" at the other tables since ours was very lackadaisical.  (The 7 yo states that  the other chefs are more Japanese-- as if it comes in varying degrees and ours just didn't possess &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;any&lt;/span&gt; of the characteristics that makes a person Japanese)  The complaining  by my husband continues in my ear all the way out the door.  Then outside the door it becomes audible to everyone.  To this my seven year old retorts: "I've had better but what do you expect.  He's not even Asian."&lt;br /&gt;    And so they are introduced into how hard it is to be a food snob.  Good food is not easily found and when you are new to a town, you must weed all the bad ones out.  However, when you find that gem in the rough it is a sweet treasure you hold onto tightly.  My husband and I have always enjoyed excellent food and so it is with  great pride that I get to welcome the girls to our Food World!  The good, the bad and sometimes delectable.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3223874826800712538?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3223874826800712538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3223874826800712538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3223874826800712538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3223874826800712538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/food-snobs.html' title='Food snobs'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3992450814168232024</id><published>2008-08-12T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T20:06:39.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you are married to an Asian man when....</title><content type='html'>You open up your laptop and find two grains of rice!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3992450814168232024?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3992450814168232024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3992450814168232024' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3992450814168232024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3992450814168232024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/you-know-you-are-married-to-asian-man.html' title='You know you are married to an Asian man when....'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-559694137826252118</id><published>2008-08-11T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T20:37:49.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I'll never work for Bill Gates</title><content type='html'>Now I consider myself to possess some technical savvy and know how.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There isn’t a computer anywhere that I have a problem literally pulling the plug on if it starts misbehaving. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;That is the cure for anything in my book.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Computer not responding…unplug it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Starts making weird noises unplug it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;None of the disk readers work, turn off and unplug.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;That seems to cure a lot of what ails these electronics.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, today I was truly stumped.  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;Recently I have changed cell phones.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My husband is lending me his for the next year since he got one from work and no longer needs a personal one for now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So, this is a phone I have by default.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It isn’t one that I eyed and pined for (unlike my husband did for this beloved phone), so there is no personal bond.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(I loved my old phone but that’s another story)&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This phone has a split, split, split personality.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You can work it by tapping on the screen with your finger.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If that doesn’t interest you, you can use this fancy stylus thingy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Finally, if you prefer not to peck, you can slide it open and type on the handy dandy keyboard.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Good grief the thing drives me insane.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have a hard enough time picking out my clothes for the day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now every day I also must decide in which mode I prefer to use my phone!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;So back to today.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;While I was in another room I hear it ring and then buzz to let me know there were 15 emails that needed to be checked.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Only one problem arises, IT NEVER STOPS BUZZING.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I come running into the room where it is because maybe someone is simultaneously trying to call while it was giving me an alert.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Nope, it was just buzzing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pushed the silence button, buzzzz. I pushed the one on the screen, buzzzzz.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pushed the one on the side, buzzzzz.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pushed every button there was, buzzzz.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pull out the stylus thingy because just maybe my fingers weren’t what it was looking for and start poking everything with the stylus, buzzzz.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I hold down the red button to try and turn it off, buzzzzz.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ok, now I have completely lost all patience.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I close my eyes and I imagine this thing hitting the wall with the same velocity as Brittany Spears on the way to a midnight shopping spree. When I open my eyes the stupid thing is laughing at me, no I mean buzzing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t throw it because &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;then I would have to somehow explain to my husband why his beloved phone put a hole in the wall.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;In my panicked state here is what I decided to do.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I sent a desperate email to my husband explaining my dire situation and does he have any suggestions. (I can’t call him; there is no land line in our Texas apartment) I lay the phone down and pray that the stupid thing runs out of power and dies.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I go about my daily business.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Later, much later my husband finally responds to my email and says, “I guess I need to show you how to take the battery out.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A big fat duuuuhhhh, the battery never &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;even entered my mind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So moral of the story:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Computers you unplug and cell phones you “debattery.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-559694137826252118?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/559694137826252118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=559694137826252118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/559694137826252118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/559694137826252118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/why-ill-never-work-for-bill-gates.html' title='Why I&apos;ll never work for Bill Gates'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-6876897564548891815</id><published>2008-08-10T20:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T20:27:54.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I have learned about coastal South Texas........</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;1.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;People here apparently don’t have a sense of humor—I made a sarcastic&lt;br /&gt;remark to the checkout guy in the Walmart here and he was very impressed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He shouts in all caps...FINALLY SOMEONE WITH A SENSE OF HUMOR.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Well that really explains a lot.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;2.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Mosquitoes come in hoards of a thousand.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;3.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Fishing is all the entertainment one needs??????&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Me, well I find the idea crazy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You wait what could be all day for a fish to fling itself on a hook.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And then you have to take it home and clean it’s guts and peel the skin off.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Where does the fun part come in?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;4.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Recycling/being green is just a phase.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There is no need to embrace it here.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It will go away eventually.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;5.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Tattoos are a prerequisite to relocate to this area.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No matter your age, gender or education level you must possess a tattoo in an area where others can see.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I won’t be relocating anytime soon.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;6.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Water is all the tourists need.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There is no need for a fancy beach.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;People will visit if the beach is made out of rocks and there is seaweed so thick that you fear you may lose one of your children.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;7.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Hot?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It isn’t hot here. Windy?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s not windy here.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;8.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;One doesn’t necessarily need all his or her teeth to be on a local commercial.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;9.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;H.E.B. is not pronounced Heeeb.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 1.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;10.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Tony Romo is no joke.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He is not just a mediocre football player, dating a celebrity.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In this state he is Zeus!!!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-6876897564548891815?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/6876897564548891815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=6876897564548891815' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6876897564548891815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6876897564548891815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-i-have-learned-about-coastal-south.html' title='What I have learned about coastal South Texas........'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-7193940599089515339</id><published>2008-08-09T19:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T19:59:14.065-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Momager'/><title type='text'>Momager</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;After admiring my youngest one’s newest 'work"&lt;a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://shop.hm.com/se/?action=viewcampaign665kidsjackets&amp;amp;section=G"&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts"&gt;http://shop.hm.com/se/?action=viewcampaign665kidsjackets&amp;amp;section=G&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, I decided to do some research on child modeling.  I ran across a thesis a man wrote concerning the use of child models for advertising.  It was disturbing in that he highlights how high end designers are guilty of "adultification" of child models for advertising purposes. You know, we make children appear to be adults and thus losing their innocence. Somewhere in this thesis he throws in a reference of Jon Benet and that's where he lost me.&lt;br /&gt;  I knew there were those who are opposed to the idea of subjecting children to the Hollywood scene and all its debauchery.  However, this has not been our experience.  Instead, my children have been forced to play dress up.....how sickening!  They have people who cater to every beck and call while never leaving my ever watching eye...the gall!  Then the girls laugh all the way to the bank...heaven help us!&lt;br /&gt;  I get what the author was trying to say about these advertisements but I think he was placing the blame in the wrong arena.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So who cares that Americans are stupid and want pretty people to sell them clothes.  Is that the fault of the advertisers, designers, or models?  No, it is our own selfish desires to be the most beautiful, popular or rich.  Therefore if I felt the need to justify my actions I would say "hey my girls are just capitalizing on America's selfishness."  Besides, I get some really cool pictures for my walls!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-7193940599089515339?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/7193940599089515339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=7193940599089515339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7193940599089515339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/7193940599089515339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/momager.html' title='Momager'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-6015347832920759180</id><published>2008-08-08T21:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T21:42:47.978-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family stuff'/><title type='text'>Piles</title><content type='html'>In our random summer boredness I have taught the girls to play solitaire.  So this evening AM2 was going to play a game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  Mommy, shuffle these cards for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Well ok but could you at least get them all facing the same direction for me.&lt;br /&gt;(some were face up and others not)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2: Oh sure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She worked hard and got them all facing the same direction.  However, it was a disheveled mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Could you make it into a nice pile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AM2:  Sorry, I don't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do nice &lt;/span&gt;piles.  I do ugly ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm.  Ok it is soooo not worth the fight!  I shuffled and that was that.  Where have the days gone when I didn't have to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; nice piles?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-6015347832920759180?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/6015347832920759180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=6015347832920759180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6015347832920759180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/6015347832920759180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/piles.html' title='Piles'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-2824808164822462867</id><published>2008-08-07T15:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T15:44:09.605-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SJt6q3mXdUI/AAAAAAAAAAo/WlCcbbnW7ro/s1600-h/021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SJt6q3mXdUI/AAAAAAAAAAo/WlCcbbnW7ro/s320/021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231910269018928450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-2824808164822462867?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/2824808164822462867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=2824808164822462867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2824808164822462867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2824808164822462867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SJt6q3mXdUI/AAAAAAAAAAo/WlCcbbnW7ro/s72-c/021.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-8395862392195953844</id><published>2008-08-05T22:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T22:22:30.731-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gator is gone</title><content type='html'>The background:  We are visiting South Texas for the summer.  My husband is stationed here but since it is a "temporary" thing we didn't move from our San Diego home.  No we packed the mini van and came to the fine coast here.  Aren't all beaches the same?  (ha, ha---the blood curdling scream of my seven year old has deafened me ..."No mommy, I mean a REAL BEACH.")   &lt;br /&gt;So anyway, at my husbands humble abode there is a pond/lake/mosquito breeding pool.  Call it what you may.  Well apparently everyone knows that there is an alligator who lives there.  However, being that I am used to only areas that are populated by humans and coyotes--I thought my daughter and I were sitting on the hill/bank watching a rather large fish flail itself around in this said pool.  That is until I saw two large eyes approaching.  Then a snout appeared. Holy cow..."honey is that an alligator?"   She replied, "cool let's go see."  No, no we instead ran for our lives!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well we were alarmed for no reason.  He just wanted food.  Huh?  Yes you heard me.  He just wanted food.  It seems everyone around here fed him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So let's get the facts straight:  Alligator in water.  People feed beast.  Beast becomes nuisance.  Fish and Wildlife must catch alligator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well it has been a few days since they took our gator away and it has broken the heart of a little five year old girl.  She thought that the alligator would be too smart for the trap that the fish and game guys set.  Everyday for the five days it was out there...she would peak out the door and say "I knew that alligator was too smart to fall for that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, the show is over. I guess we'll have to go back to seeing alligator only on the arms of those ladies at the mall &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;SoCal&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-8395862392195953844?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/8395862392195953844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=8395862392195953844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8395862392195953844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/8395862392195953844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/gator-is-gone.html' title='The Gator is gone'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-2759629145677262616</id><published>2008-08-04T18:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T18:50:05.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My personal list of things to avoid as a homeschool mom</title><content type='html'>1.  I will not stop showering and make my wardrobe consist of only bathrobes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       2.  I will not put my hair in a scrunchy and strap on a fanny pack before heading to the                     library.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        3.  I will not ban my children from watching TV...I need some moments to myself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        4.  I will not start making clothes for myself/children.  Not because it is uncool but the fact                 is that I lack the talent in doing so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        5.  I will never get used to making breakfast and supper at the same time.  (God bless the                     crockpot)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        6.  Finally, I will not substitute watching my beloved reality shows in order to catch a                         documentary on ANYTHING!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-2759629145677262616?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/2759629145677262616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=2759629145677262616' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2759629145677262616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/2759629145677262616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/my-personal-list-of-things-to-avoid-as.html' title='My personal list of things to avoid as a homeschool mom'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-3941601982117783254</id><published>2008-08-01T12:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T21:18:44.700-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Home school'/><title type='text'>The first day of home school</title><content type='html'>Whew....I survived. So this day if it did nothing else helped to pinpoint the challenges that lay ahead.  A.M.2 was motivated for all of 20 minutes.  I knew this was going to be an issue. As a matter of fact, it was a major consideration of the home school process.  A.M.2 is such a free spirit and all around California girl.  This has me question the mode of teaching, such as do I continue with the Classical format or switch her to more of an unschooling approach?  Will she get used to the structure and then crave the consistency that classical provides?  Aye yigh yigh, at least I don't have to worry about the highly structured classroom of traditional schools squelching her little free spirit.&lt;br /&gt;   What surprised me the most was how my A.M.1 embraced this whole thing!  I thought she would totally reject everything I was doing and tell me that I am not qualified to be teaching her great mind.  Why did I think this?  Well she has spent the last two years being taught by "highly qualified" teachers and so I considered that she wouldn't like this whole being home thing.  But perhaps she is saving that for another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here was how the day unfolded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:10am  Everyone up.  I immediately headed for the shower, while the girls got dressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:25am Start making breakfast for the girls.  AM1 had cereal and milk.  AM2 had a waffle.  I get my much needed coffee started....why is it taking so long to brew??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:45am  I clean up breakfast dishes.  AM1 wipes the table.  Who knows what AM2 is doing....no wait I remember she was brushing her toy horse's hair. AM1 then goes and puts her thermometer outside so we can read it later for math.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:00am We begin with Bible and prayer.  Then the girls color a Bible cartoon for a few minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:15am I gave AM1 her Spelling Workout book while AM2 and I started on Saxon math.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:30am AM2's first lesson was short.  So she is now handed spelling and Am2 starts on math.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:45am Am2 complained the whole time while doing spelling.  She wanted to play with the math blocks/shapes instead.  I think she only said this about a million times!!!  So finally I get the blocks down so that I can finish AM2's lesson in peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:55 I announce that it is time for our grammar lesson from &lt;a href="http://www.peacehillpress.com/index.asp?PageAction=VIEWCATS&amp;amp;Category=25"&gt;First Language Lessons.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is at this announcement that AM2 starts screaming/crying.  Are you kidding me?  So I grab the book and sit on the couch. This is what both girls will be doing this year since.  I just start reading and the screaming turns into silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:05  Very short first lesson of grammar so we are able to move on to phonics.  I am using Abeka for phonics since this is what AM1 has been doing for the past two years, so I didn't want to throw her into a whole new way of learning to read.  AM2 floored me here...I ordered the first grade edition although she is technically in kindergarten.  She didn't even blink on this.  I understand that it is easy in the beginning but this was a total snap.  Made me very glad I didn't order the K stuff!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:20 AM2 finishes first and begins her reading lesson.  AM1 continues her phonics or well coloring what it told her to color.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:30  AM1 finishes her phonics and I tell her to grab a book we got from the library to start reading independently until I could get to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:35  AM1 is unable to read independently....she wants to ask questions.  She is having trouble in the Archeology book she chose....why did she have to pick the most book difficult to read?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:50  AM2 finishes her reading lesson and is so happy to be done.  She puts herself in the office chair and spins herself around as fast as she can go. So AM 1 starts her reading lesson.  Archeology, seriously????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:55  So I had enough of the spinning and the frustrating reading......ENOUGH I say.  Who wants a snack??? They become very excited.  So vanilla wafers and milk are the snack of the day.  Then both say how they can't wait until their respective birthdays and then they can have cupcakes for snack.  Then I propose...since you are home schooled, you can take the day off.  AM1 becomes very excited...the best news she ever heard!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:00  They both ask for a rest from school.  Ok let's go for a walk.  We walk to get the mail and check out the surroundings.  On this walk I realize that today is the first.  I am supposed to pay bills on the first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:10 I sit at the computer and pay bills.  The girls play together.  It was some game where they were famous or teenagers...what they have been playing all summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:30  The girls want computer time since mommy did. I explain I wasn't playing on the computer but actually doing work.  This doesn't appease them.  So I cave since it is close to lunch time.  While they plan each on a separate laptop, I start laundry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:00 I decide to make lunch.  AM1 calls Nama.  AM2 got kicked off Webkinz and so I sit her down first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:05  AM2 is doing really well eating.  AM1 is not interested at all.  She sits anyway and picks at the apples, chips and sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:25  I clean up lunch and bag up the uneaten sandwich of AM1.  The girls play together a little more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:45  The girls vote to do science instead of History today.  I finished cleaning up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:00 We start studying our Biology lesson.  We are studying invertebrates.  AM1 had protested that she didn't want to learn about gross snails, squids, etc.  We start anyway.  Much to their surprise, the girls loved it.  We spent the next hour pouring over books about snails and squids.   There was a squid book written on a level that AM 1 could read so we were able to finish our reading lesson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:55 Narration of our science.  Both girls had to explain what they knew about our new friends.  AM2 dictated hers to me and AM1 wrote hers independently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:15 We are done.  AM1 asks what time it is.  I tell her and she does a little dance because it beat when she was done in first grade. People, it was a whole 15 minutes before she is used to getting out when she was at a traditional school. But I guess when you are seven it is an eternity!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-3941601982117783254?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/3941601982117783254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=3941601982117783254' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3941601982117783254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/3941601982117783254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/08/first-day-of-home-school.html' title='The first day of home school'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5868784307041269672.post-1926563636101248056</id><published>2008-07-31T11:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T11:45:13.732-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Military'/><title type='text'>My daddy is .....</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So the girls are just now getting to the age where they are asking questions about what their dad does for a living. Words like ship, daddy has to leave for a long time, and engine room have always been in their vocabulary.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now though they have meaningful questions to ask.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Just the other night A.M. 1 asked, “Daddy does the captain of your ship say ‘Aarrrrghh, me hardy?’”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Since neither K nor I could answer because we were holding back the laughter she just chimes in another question.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Because that is apparently you do when you are seven and no one answers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You just ask another poignant question like, “Daddy do you ever say ‘Land Ho?’”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Boy had we failed as parents.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I thought they understood what daddy does.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The girls seemed to be proud of their father and how he was a hero to some.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They love the extra attention others bestow when he is deployed and that entitles them to being “special.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I guess this somehow has clouded their judgment and inflated what life onboard ship must be really like and so in their little feeble minds they have conjured up that daddy is a pirate.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;That explains the late night trips to our bedroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They aren’t really having bad dreams and needing reassurance.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are searching for daddy’s wooden leg, parrot or eye patch.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;To add insult to injury, I know must school these young minds.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I thought I was dealing with geniuses and this home school thing was &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;going to be a snap.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now I realize the major undertaking that I have bestowed upon myself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;God give me strength!!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5868784307041269672-1926563636101248056?l=erin-gungle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/feeds/1926563636101248056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5868784307041269672&amp;postID=1926563636101248056' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1926563636101248056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5868784307041269672/posts/default/1926563636101248056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://erin-gungle.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-daddy-is.html' title='My daddy is .....'/><author><name>Erin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00512261710902182231</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6lktcd2RVo/SLHNf-Rm7rI/AAAAAAAAABY/hEg4O8uaIYQ/S220/IMGP2545.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
