<?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-3909840126181901436</id><updated>2012-02-17T15:31:42.175+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Nancy's ramblings</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-5600302030607401170</id><published>2012-02-17T14:54:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-17T15:31:42.191+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Childlike repentance</title><content type='html'>"Then he said, “I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven." - Matthew 18:3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today my older daughter stunned me by throwing her pyjamas into the toilet. No, the toilet was not flushed and No, there wasn't any poo at the time. I dispensed discipline and correction and upon her remorse, repentance and tears, I offered forgiveness verbally. She asked if I was still her friend and I replied in the affirmative. Happy with my verbal commitment, she moved on. I did not. I was still upset about what she did and the fact that I was now required to wash those pyjamas. However,when I found that I couldn't justify punishing her further by silence because I continued to ponder on her actions, I had to shake the thoughts and move on. &lt;br /&gt;Flip the coin the other way. We sin, we are remorseful and repent of our sins. Once we confess them, God forgives. All the time, God moves on. Many times, we don't. We refuse to forgive ourselves and hang on to self condemnation - "How could I have failed God in this way?" Similar questions ravage our thoughts for days on end and we find it difficult to accept God's forgiveness like children and move on. Why is this?&lt;br /&gt;The way I see it, Pride is the cause. Somehow we don't want to have a reason to ask for forgiveness. Perfection is what we have been commanded by God, however, when we want to be perfect for the purposes of boasting in our inability to sin rather than in his grace, we sin because we desire to boast of our achievements rather than to please God. Refusal to accept the forgiveness God offers implies that Christ's sacrifice is not enough to forgive whatever sin we have committed and that somehow God lies when He says it's enough. Pride.&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand, does humility and acceptance of Christ's sacrifice give us a license to continue to sin? As Paul says in Romans 6, a resounding "NO". However, if we do fall short of God's grace, He expects us to repent as sincerely as children, accept His forgiveness with the faith of a child and move on with the joy of a child - confident and comforted in His love and forgiveness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-5600302030607401170?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5600302030607401170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2012/02/childlike-repentance.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5600302030607401170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5600302030607401170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2012/02/childlike-repentance.html' title='Childlike repentance'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-961555756884925419</id><published>2012-02-07T09:22:00.010+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-16T17:59:40.182+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Diaries of a lifetime</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m3EV7m5CLgU/Tzy01TXt_HI/AAAAAAAAAIU/kEVki3FtuwI/s1600/DSC07189.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m3EV7m5CLgU/Tzy01TXt_HI/AAAAAAAAAIU/kEVki3FtuwI/s400/DSC07189.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709637255424769138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20 January 1981&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What an amazing day this is! I have just had my first child. A daughter. My own life-size doll to cherish and love; to dress up and sing silly songs with; to feed and bathe; to rock to sleep; and to turn her into a mini-me.I shall call her Nancy. &lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Mother of Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15 February 1990&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What a fantastic day this is! I just got my first diary and I intend to write in it every day of my life. I have a penpal and she lives in India. It is amazing to have my own very friend on another side of the world. &lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18 March 1992&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What a terrible day I had today! I fought with my best friend aka Okpokoro mbe. I am not sure if we will remain friends. &lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27 April 1994&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What an annoying day! My friends Kana and Chukwuemeka drew a terrible caricature of me and said and I quote "it's good to have a passport". I reported them to Oxy and he had them punished. However, he mentioned that the "passport" looked a lot like me. I couldn't believe it. The big ogo and protruding bottom lips? What a joke.&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15 May 1997&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What a close shave I had today. My mom found a love letter in my bag but I negotiated with her and she decided not to show my Dad. That would have been the end of life as I know it. Phew.&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22 June 1999&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What an amazing year this is going to be! I am a freshman at Uni and I live at the hostel. Imagine all the grown up things I can do...lectures, boys, parties, oh this is cool man. &lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 July 2000&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;Today I fell in love with the guy of my dreams. He is tall, funny, caring, well built and his eyes...they can woo even the most ferocious of females. &lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16 August 2002&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What a boring day! It's fair to say that my near future will be full of boring weeks upon boring weeks and I hope I don't die of boredom. I have moved back home from Uni and all my friends are not in town. How can a girl survive like this? I can't wait to graduate and own my life.I hate staying at home, there's just so much work to to do and nothing fun happening.&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 September 2004&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait for today to end. I am far away from civilization in a hot and arid location doing my youth service. I am broke, electricity has just failed, it is burning hot, there is zero wind, a million flies are flying about, my phone has been stolen and I miss my fiance. When will this end? There is no end in sight, just endless months of living in this windless furnace. I can't wait to be done with this service and move back home. Oh, home, the comfort of an air conditioner and meals cooked at the right time. These thoughts are not helping me right now.&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9 October 2006&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;My dreams have come true today. I just married my best friend of 6 years and the future is bright. Words cannot express how happy I am today. *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17 November 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry it's been a while, but I have been going through a difficult pregnancy. But today, I am glad to inform you that I have just had my first child. A daughter. My own life-size doll to cherish and love; to dress up and sing silly songs with; to feed and bathe; to rock to sleep; and to turn her into a mini-me.I shall call her Zabby.&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Nancy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30 December 2011&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;What a happy sad day I had today. We went to visit my best friend but my Mom wouldn't let me sleep over. I was not happy when we came home but I am happy now because Dora the Explorer is on TV. I love watching Dora.&lt;br /&gt;-Entry by Zabby&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get the idea don't you? We all have a past and it is full of memories. Some happy. Some sad. The surprising thing is that when you rewind your thoughts and feelings to when you created some of the memories that pull at your heartstrings today, you were actually not having a good time then. I miss my high school years. I miss the lack of responsibility I had when I was young without a care in the world. I miss those days during my youth service when I was cash broke but rich in the experience of a new location and culture. &lt;br /&gt;Today the sky was blue and there were pretty fluffy clouds floating about up there. The sun was out and the wind was playing with the trees. I enjoyed a play date with a friend and I enjoyed watching "singing in the rain" over and over again with my girls. &lt;br /&gt;I'm getting it now, aren't I? I am trying to enjoy "today" so that when I look back on "yesterday" I will be satisfied in knowing that I didn't let it sneak past me. And if a certain "today" falls into the "bad day" category? I pray that I would be able to pick out something to enjoy and be thankful for - even if it's just for gift of being able to 'see' the clouds and 'feel' the wind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-961555756884925419?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/961555756884925419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2012/02/diaries-of-lifetime.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/961555756884925419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/961555756884925419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2012/02/diaries-of-lifetime.html' title='Diaries of a lifetime'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m3EV7m5CLgU/Tzy01TXt_HI/AAAAAAAAAIU/kEVki3FtuwI/s72-c/DSC07189.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-8667494990271622752</id><published>2011-11-26T22:55:00.006+10:00</published><updated>2011-11-27T00:48:43.601+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Muchas Gracias</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-YwHj6W2GM/TtD4HYi9qBI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Slf4Gz1PDNY/s1600/thank%2Byou.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-YwHj6W2GM/TtD4HYi9qBI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Slf4Gz1PDNY/s320/thank%2Byou.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679311935846066194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned 30 this week and the message from my husband in my birthday card read, "Don't worry about turning 30...you'll get used to it...of course you'll be 40 by then!". &lt;br /&gt;The "&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;OMG I'm 30&lt;/span&gt;" feeling did not set in on my birthday because I had been awake from 11pm the previous night trying to finish the Graduate Project for my Master's degree and I was almost brain dead by the time he came home from work and submitted his birthday greetings. However, after I had finalized my project and had some shuteye, it started sinking in. I did think "*gasp* OMG I'm 30", but the feeling wasn't a bad one at all. I spent the rest of the week reflecting on the past decade.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;A lot has happened in the last 10 years of my life: Uni, youth service, road accident, marriage, miscarriage, pregnancies, two children, uni again...etc. And to crown it all the beginning of the next decade coincided with the finalization of my second degree. The experience of being a working mom and studying has been quite intense. Most of my weekends were spent with heavy assignments 'burdens' on my puny shoulders and I always had the intention to "finish this assignment this weekend", which I never fulfilled until 3 days to the due date. There were nights of crying over my computer at 3am because I had only managed to complete 300 words towards a 5000 word essay; days that I came out from the 5th or 6th lecture of a course in a cold sweat thinking "OMG I have got NO IDEA what this lecturer is talking about, OMG OMG OMG"; days when I was having morning sickness and would be doing assignments and taking breaks to throw up;days that I would come home and announce to my husband that I was thinking of dropping the course before the census date because I didn't think I could handle it with everything else that was going on...&lt;br /&gt;All this has now passed and there is the odd feeling that I might wake up and it will just be a good dream...but having slept and woken up a couple of times now, I am ecstatic that it is still real. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would not have been able to get past the last 10 years if it were not for the people in my life. I am quite open and talkative so everyone in my world did go for the ride with me even if they didn't want to. As a result, I believe I owe everyone a thank you note so here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;*Dear Husband, &lt;br /&gt;Thank you for being my biggest fan. Thanks for carrying more than your fair share of the responsibilities at home because I was pregnant, or sick or finishing an assignment or just lazy. Thanks for not letting me quit the 1 million times I wanted to give up and take the easier option. Thanks for praying for me. Thanks for not helping me do my essays when I begged you to ( I will be returning that favor). Thanks for loving me through this last decade and for promising to stay by me for the next 7 or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Dear Princess 1, &lt;br /&gt;Thanks for watching hours and hours of TV because I was too caught up in an assignment to play games with you. Thanks for letting Daddy put you to sleep when I couldn't because I was sick or busy. Thanks for the random "I love you mummy" that encouraged me when I was down. Thanks for the part you unknowingly play in helping me put things in perspective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Dear Princess 2,&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for letting me let you cry for a bit while I typed away on the computer. Thanks for smiling at me when I finally did get to you. Thanks for being easy and undemanding. Don't change now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Dear family, &lt;br /&gt;Thanks for praying for me, calling me, listening to me and being there for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Dear friends, &lt;br /&gt;Thanks for letting me wear you down time and time again with the issues in my pregnancies, my fears, my worries, my yays, etc. Thanks for letting me cry over the phone and praying with me. Thanks for encouraging me to have faith and not give in to my over active imagination. Thanks for making that stew or that soup when I had a baby, or when I was hospitalized. Thanks for standing by me when I needed support and for all your prayers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Dear God,&lt;br /&gt;I owe my biggest thanks to you. You have always come through for me when I have cried out to you. You have helped me and supported me like you said you would. I promised that I would tell everyone of your goodness to me and I am doing that now. Through the desperate moments and the happy ones you have remained beside me and planted a support network around me.&lt;/blockquote&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look forward to the next stage in life. I am excited that I can now be a mom without having to worry about assignments. I am excited that I can now read my stash of magazines, watch endless cartoon and comedy channels, update my blog, play with my phone apps,  and trawl through fashion websites without feeling guilty. I have scrapbooks to make, art &amp; craft ideas to try out on my children, home and gardening ideas to try out, markets to visit, it goes on and on...I think my husband ought to be worried that I now have all this time on my hands. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what I will achieve in the next 10 years, but looking back, I appreciate that sometimes we have to experience some level of discomfort in order to achieve some goals. I do feel privileged that I have this support around me, cheering me on to do more. I hope that I am also part of a support network to all my friends and family and do cheer them on to achieve more in their lives as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my birthday, I realized that the best presents I received were life, faith, family and friends...and it didn't matter if I had money in the bank or not because these gifts cannot be purchased.&lt;br /&gt;Muchas Gracias&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-8667494990271622752?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8667494990271622752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/11/thank-you-note.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8667494990271622752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8667494990271622752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/11/thank-you-note.html' title='Muchas Gracias'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-YwHj6W2GM/TtD4HYi9qBI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Slf4Gz1PDNY/s72-c/thank%2Byou.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-5592497507715330093</id><published>2011-07-05T13:14:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2011-07-05T13:41:18.228+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Where the heck is my neck</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kc6SCSVqTKc/ThKGYj-AM4I/AAAAAAAAAF8/s6Ljg7ax_AU/s1600/neck-long.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kc6SCSVqTKc/ThKGYj-AM4I/AAAAAAAAAF8/s6Ljg7ax_AU/s400/neck-long.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625706641069454210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25 Journal Avenue,&lt;br /&gt;Brisbane &lt;br /&gt;Qld 4000,&lt;br /&gt;Australia.&lt;br /&gt;5th July 2011.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Manager,&lt;br /&gt;Missing People &amp; Items Unit&lt;br /&gt;Secret Location&lt;br /&gt;USA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                      &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;RE THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MY NECK&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Manager,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Twas a sunny morn just like this when I awoke to find something amiss. Alas my neck had found me heavier and disappeared for a while. It was in vain that I searched for it because it had decided not to be found. What with the disappearing Chilean ash, my poor neck could have strayed as far as Neverland. &lt;br /&gt;Of it's certain return I have no doubt, although my timing might miss the mark. Pray, if you find it would you pass on a message? Well, how would you know when you see it? Here's how you can tell. 'Tis brown, slim and slender and features oft in magazines.&lt;br /&gt;Would you tell it not to tarry on this journey away from me? For soon I'll be delivered of my young, and need it's services again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your faithfully,&lt;br /&gt;Nancy&lt;br /&gt;Former and prospective neck owner&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-5592497507715330093?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5592497507715330093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/07/where-heck-is-my-neck.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5592497507715330093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5592497507715330093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/07/where-heck-is-my-neck.html' title='Where the heck is my neck'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kc6SCSVqTKc/ThKGYj-AM4I/AAAAAAAAAF8/s6Ljg7ax_AU/s72-c/neck-long.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-3801154936253876675</id><published>2011-03-22T12:47:00.009+10:00</published><updated>2011-03-22T21:01:17.324+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Decision-making patterns in public toilets</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1DoKwqrVnA/TYh-RL67dwI/AAAAAAAAAFw/_Pr36TMZjsM/s1600/female%2Bchoosing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1DoKwqrVnA/TYh-RL67dwI/AAAAAAAAAFw/_Pr36TMZjsM/s400/female%2Bchoosing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586854171475932930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WARNING: The word 'toilet' appears in this article approximately 500 times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, I have caught myself pondering about how people go about decision-making in public toilets. Blame it on my formal background in Economics or just on my general weirdness, but I do catch myself on this train of thought...frequently. Consequently, I have developed a basic theory of what influences people's decisions about which toilets to use or to avoid, and I think this might help you understand your own choices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have observed that toilets send different messages depending on whether they are open or closed.&lt;br /&gt;An open toilet says to a potential user, "What you see is what you get. Take it or leave it".&lt;br /&gt;A closed toilet says, "I make no promises.You never know what is up for offer, so try and see".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine that the closest public toilet only had two cubicles. Now, if both toilets were open one will most likely inspect both and choose the cleaner. When one toilet is open and the other closed, choice depends on whether the person is risk averse or risk prone. If you are not prone to taking risks, you will choose the open one if it is reasonably clean. A small scale choice problem emerges if you don't like what the open one offers. In this case, 'the grass is greener on the other side' manner of thinking is most likely to prevail and one would choose the closed toilet instead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest problem emerges when both toilets are closed. In such situations your sight is not of any help, so other senses (especially the sense of smell) are employed to enable you make the best decision. In the event that all your senses fail to enlighten you on the true conditions of both cubicles, you suddenly find yourself in a situation where you have to make a blind decision. This could go either way and the experience ends up being one of pleasant surprise and relief OR one of agony and endurance. Unfortunately, neither experience prepares one for making the best of future decisions in the toilet arena. It is always a stab in the dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time you find yourself in a public toilet, take a moment to evaluate your decision making processes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DISCLAIMER: These theories are based solely on observations in female toilets, so take appropriate caution when applying them to the male toilet scenario.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-3801154936253876675?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3801154936253876675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/decision-making-patterns-in-public.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/3801154936253876675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/3801154936253876675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/decision-making-patterns-in-public.html' title='Decision-making patterns in public toilets'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1DoKwqrVnA/TYh-RL67dwI/AAAAAAAAAFw/_Pr36TMZjsM/s72-c/female%2Bchoosing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-6008061253202294503</id><published>2011-02-05T00:44:00.012+10:00</published><updated>2011-02-05T01:38:42.263+10:00</updated><title type='text'>The stinky thief that came to Brisbane</title><content type='html'>This year started like many others - amid amazing fireworks, high hopes and happy new year wishes. One thing set it apart from other new years though - it was a rainy and overcast one. We handled the rain well. Some of us traveled to other states where there was a lot of sunshine to spare, some traveled overseas to frolic in the snow and others stayed behind to employ their umbrellas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before we could breathe in and out five hundred times, the Christmas/new year holiday was well and truly over and it was time to head back to work. This was when we realized that something was just a little bit 'off' about the weather. The rain hadn't taken a breather. The Christmas tunes on the airwaves gave way to more serious news about flooding in the Northern part of Queensland. We watched the news, we felt bad, sent up some silent prayers for those affected, donated our money, went to bed, woke up, and went to work. Life continued as normal.&lt;br /&gt;No one had any idea that the watery thief was making its determined way to us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were still recovering from the after effects of the Christmas and new year food and trying to remember our work passwords and job descriptions when Toowoomba was hit. It was a 100% natural disaster, much like the ones we have always seen in the TV happening in Asia, South America, the US, etc, only it was just 2 hours away from us. Flash floods from nowhere swept through tranquil Toowoomba in the middle of the day and took cars, houses, animals and people. We couldn't believe it. We were still reeling from the shock of what we were seeing when the forecast that the waters were coming to Brisbane was delivered. &lt;br /&gt;Brisbane went into overdrive. Reactions were varied, no one was sure if they were safe or not. From what we saw in Toowoomba and the Lockyer Valley, it looked like Brisbane could be submerged with its residents clinging to their roofs for dear life. Some of us had no idea how to even get up on our roofs. Everyone was glued to the news. The waters kept drawing close, the rain kept falling and most people were asked to leave work and go home to do what they had to do to stay alive. That was when it dawned on some of us that we were actually in danger. Brisbane was going to get flooded. It might be as bad as 1974. Many of us weren't even born in 1974! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost everyone headed to the shops to stock up on 'stuff'. Some of us had no idea what to buy in such an emergency, so we bought perishable stuff like roast chicken. Now we know what to buy - batteries, torches, candles, gas, AM battery operated radios, long life milk, canned food, bread, bottled water and car phone chargers. &lt;br /&gt;Our pantries were stocked, so all we could do was wait. wait and wait for the flood. After waiting and watching the news, we started sandbagging our houses, moving stuff to higher grounds and then waiting some more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we saw it. The flood had arrived. It was brown, smelly and thick with mud and stuff. We observed it for a while. It wasn't the crazy, deadly flash flood we saw in Toowoomba and the Lockyer Valley. This one was seeping slowly and steadily into town. It was rising quickly too. Our backyard became a river and we decided to remove ourselves and go to a safer neighborhood. The river was meant to peak around 4am and some were determine to hold a vigil and see what the flood gets up to. Others were not as determined and succumbed to sleep after midnight. Morning came and we could feel the tension and anxiety in the air. What happened overnight?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well what happened was that some houses had been totaled and were submerged under this smelly thick brown water. Others were only partially submerged but totally damaged as well. Most of us had some share in the visitation of the flood but a few suburbs in Brisbane escaped unscathed. It was like they were in another country.&lt;br /&gt;In about two days or so, the flood decided to exit. But it left some of its belongings. The thief had come to steal, kill and destroy. It stole homes that people had spent their lives building, it stole business built on years of sweat and hard work, it destroyed cars and belongings and killed some people. Queensland was wounded and her sister states rallied around her. Yes, our beautiful things had gone and we were left with the mud and devastation, but we were strong and the One in us would not be overcome by what was happening around us. Brisbane rose up and began to clean up. Strangers became like relatives, crying together, cleaning up together, bringing food, laughter and hope to dark, sad hearts. We would not be beaten down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The floods have become a defining moment for a lot of Queenslanders. There are the 'before the flood' family members and 'after the flood' survivors. For some, life will never be the same again because they have lost family members or all their possessions. Yes, there is still a long way to go in the recovery process, but we are determined to get there and our latter days will be better and stronger than our former days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to all those who came out to crush the defeat that the flood had intended under their feet, help clean up Queensland and help her get back up on her feet. Your labour of love will never be forgotten! &lt;br /&gt;AUSSIE! AUSSIE!! AUSSIE!!! OI! OI!! OI!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-6008061253202294503?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6008061253202294503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/stinky-thief-that-came-to-brisbane.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/6008061253202294503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/6008061253202294503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/stinky-thief-that-came-to-brisbane.html' title='The stinky thief that came to Brisbane'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-5563918384797901925</id><published>2010-03-31T17:33:00.008+10:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T20:07:46.669+10:00</updated><title type='text'>An averagely good day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S7Me5zaNGqI/AAAAAAAAAFE/8uo0Ul-8vi0/s1600/smiling+sun.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 199px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S7Me5zaNGqI/AAAAAAAAAFE/8uo0Ul-8vi0/s200/smiling+sun.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454737552077298338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My alarm slept in and I woke up late. Like a giant Kangaroo, I leapt from the bed straight into the shower.&lt;br /&gt;Dressing upping, 'breakfasting', daycare bag-packing and good morning cuddling for baby were crammed into 12 minutes. 2 extra minutes, nay 3, were employed for hello-ing and goodbye-ing the hubby, kissing baby and sprinting across the road to the bus stop.&lt;br /&gt;I made the bus - ticket in hand, hair brushed, face devoid of makeup and ears devoid of earphones. Makeup was applied on the bus (as usual) and a decision was made to defer earphones until lunch time.&lt;br /&gt;The day was looking good already. No one was sharing the bus seat with me; the sky was blue with blobs of white clouds; the sun was not too far away and the streets had been kissed by a drizzle of rain; the wind was playing with the leaves and the bus was making strides in good time. The wind reached out for me when I got down at the bus stop, the trees swayed in greeting and the sun was smiling as I walked to my office. Yes, there was no doubt that this was a good day. &lt;br /&gt;The day was going to be spent playing, nay, working on budgets and answering a lot of questions. &lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, budgets and emails were part of this good day, morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea followed each other almost too closely. A sudden sniffle became a good excuse to avoid the gym and head home for a comforting cup of hot chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;Cuddles from baby; hugs from hubby; a 30 minute dose of the Flinstones show; 1 episode of the In the night garden kid's program and a hot dinner were only 2 bus rides away and a welcome way to conclude such a day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-5563918384797901925?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5563918384797901925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2010/03/averagely-good-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5563918384797901925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5563918384797901925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2010/03/averagely-good-day.html' title='An averagely good day'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S7Me5zaNGqI/AAAAAAAAAFE/8uo0Ul-8vi0/s72-c/smiling+sun.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-63018655691467944</id><published>2010-02-06T23:17:00.004+10:00</published><updated>2010-02-07T00:30:22.022+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Help! There's a monster in my kitchen!</title><content type='html'>I woke up the other morning and was greeted by a monster that was happily sitting on the kitchen sink. Here's what he looked like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S21uZ7ObJ0I/AAAAAAAAAEk/CqKpHHUmsWw/s1600-h/dirty-dishes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 293px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S21uZ7ObJ0I/AAAAAAAAAEk/CqKpHHUmsWw/s400/dirty-dishes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435121716980033346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost ran out of my house screaming and pulling my hair, but being the mature woman that I am, I calmed myself down, went and had breakfast, watched some Seinfeld, had a bit of a read from one of my many half-read books before venturing back to the kitchen area. Believe it or not, the 'head in the sand' technique worked and I realized that I had exaggerated the monster's size because this time he looked more like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S21v_0v919I/AAAAAAAAAEs/XUtWTq0Bdgw/s1600-h/service2-dirtydishes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S21v_0v919I/AAAAAAAAAEs/XUtWTq0Bdgw/s400/service2-dirtydishes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435123467588327378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh and he was very well behaved because he didn't mind being stuffed away in the dishwasher. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had been on holidays from doing dishes for the past 10 months because my mother-in-law was visiting us and she helped out with the dishes (and many more things). It was such a relief coming home from work without worrying about who was going to do the dishes or if there would be enough dishes to justify using the dishwasher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trying to remember how life was before I ever had to do dishes is much like trying to remember a past life on another planet. I recall that I was about 9 or 10years old when my mom excitedly informed me that I was going to take on some responsibility in the family. Boy, was I impressed with myself. I felt like I had landed a new job. Previously, I was always too young to be in the kitchen and much disliked being shooed away from that area. Now I was responsible for doing the dishes after lunch. What an important task that was. Needless to say, the novelty of my new assignment wore off after a few weeks and I began to learn that most times, responsibility couldn't be shaken off your shoulders just because you no longer found it enjoyable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we all know, the older we get, the more we have to take on, so very soon, I happily relinquished the lunch dishes to my younger brother and took on the heavier burden of the breakfast and dinner dishes. How heavy this was! I quickly discovered that dinner was usually the most elaborate meal of the day because there were always millions and millions of plates, pots, pans, spoons, and other strange utensils lying around and waiting to be washed. In our days, using the dishwasher was out of the question because it spoiled the children. So it was usually with a solemn and despondent disposition that I ventured into the kitchen every evening after dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life got better when I became much older because I now graduated into making either lunch or dinner so my younger siblings now took over the dishwashing role. How sweet! I didn't think twice about using two extra spoons even if it was unnecessary just to pay them back for the years they sat and watched Sesame Street while I was slaving away in the kitchen! Yeehah! &lt;br /&gt;When I left for Uni, I said goodbye to doing dishes for the rest of my life. Afterall, I was going to get married after Uni, buy a dishwasher and never do a single dish till I was 99 years old. Alas, I was wrong. The first few places we rented after we got married did not have dishwashers and we weren't about to buy one in a rented apartment. Many arguments centered around whose turn it was to do the dishes and why the person who made dinner had to use many unnecessary utensils! Life with a dishwasher would be paradise in my home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We moved out of our apartment into a house and yes there was a dishwasher but it came with the added responsibility of paying for water! Isn't life funny? So, now I've finally got a dishwasher, but I also have to wait till I've got a full load of dishes before I can use it else I will be wasting water! If I waited till I had a full load of dishes, there would be nothing to use and my kitchen will stink. Far out! Do you know how hard it is to be doing dishes when the dishwasher is sitting around being idle and staring at you from under the sink? The English language will not adequately describe the feeling so your imagination will suffice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life goes on. I have my dream but I can't live it to the full. I wonder if my husband realizes that the days he gets over 10 "i love you"s from me are those days that he does the dishes. On the other days, I patiently wait for my 15 month old daughter to become older so she can take on some more responsibility in our family. Till then, it's hands to the dishwashing liquid for me. C'est la vie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-63018655691467944?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/63018655691467944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/help-theres-monster-in-my-kitchen.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/63018655691467944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/63018655691467944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/help-theres-monster-in-my-kitchen.html' title='Help! There&apos;s a monster in my kitchen!'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/S21uZ7ObJ0I/AAAAAAAAAEk/CqKpHHUmsWw/s72-c/dirty-dishes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-8708986154919591555</id><published>2009-10-22T13:05:00.022+10:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T20:58:56.612+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello, Morning!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/St_RX5koGOI/AAAAAAAAAD0/y7_HG2i2H1g/s1600-h/Greet_the_Morning_by_phatpuppy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 348px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/St_RX5koGOI/AAAAAAAAAD0/y7_HG2i2H1g/s400/Greet_the_Morning_by_phatpuppy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395261087134783714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(Greet The Morning by phatpuppy)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep, I'm definitely a morning person.The morning is my favorite time of the day. On sunny mornings, the sky is so blue; the little puffy clouds look so soft and fluffy up there; the leaves reflect the sun and the flowers in their vibrant colours make me want to twirl around in a colourful girly dress with arms wide open and chirp like a bird. Since I'm mostly on the bus heading to work at this time of day, I don't do this, so i resort to taking  a deep lungfull of the lovely morning air and giving a big smile to everyone (except late bus drivers. Refer to an earlier post to get my view on late bus drivers). Yeah! its a beautifuuuuuuuuul day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dDCLKzNI/AAAAAAAAAD8/e0PpVJ4rBVg/s1600-h/overcast+morn+best.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dDCLKzNI/AAAAAAAAAD8/e0PpVJ4rBVg/s400/overcast+morn+best.htm" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399073834991799506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(Don`t you ever get grey overcast days? by Johh Frisch)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also love overcast mornings when it looks like it's going to storm. I imagine the sun trying so hard to peek through the big dark clouds (like Izabelle trying hard to see the TV when I've deliberately blocked her view). I can almost hear the clouds going, "geez sun, what is it with you? you've been at our backs all morning" and the sun going, "if only you'd just let me peek through, just a tiny little bit so I can see what's happening down there, I'd quit bothering you so much". I like to think that when the clouds give in is when you see rays of sunlight peeping through the cracks in the clouds on an overcast morn. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dSqulNzI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ypbeiBv83AM/s1600-h/rainy+day+perfect.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dSqulNzI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ypbeiBv83AM/s400/rainy+day+perfect.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399074103575787314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(rainy day by whatafriarlife.blogspot.com)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oooh, I love rainy mornings too. I try to take my extra large umbrella so i can enjoy the rain, otherwise, the worry of getting drenched will spoil the day for me.&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever listened to Enya's song "it's in the rain"? Brilliant for such days.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I love the rain because it makes me feel like curling up on the sofa with a cuppa and a good cartoon or Dr Seuss movie (oh delight!). Although, I usually can't indulge on workdays, the feeling usually suffices and I hope for rain on the weekend. (sorry shopping addicts)&lt;br /&gt;Oh, there are lots more I love about the mornings...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dciHVvzI/AAAAAAAAAEM/IZtlrhDGL-Q/s1600-h/a+new+leaf+(denbompa).htm"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dciHVvzI/AAAAAAAAAEM/IZtlrhDGL-Q/s400/a+new+leaf+(denbompa).htm" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399074273062403890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(A new leaf by Catalog of Visual Interestingness)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The morning is a new leaf with new opportunities...its just as exciting as when you're in the middle of your favorite novel and turning a new leaf to the next page is even more appealing than a cone of ice cream (the middle is usually fantastic because you've past the beginning where there wasn't much action and you're not at the end where it's all about to end...you're just at the perfect bit!). We all apply the "new leaf" concept to serious things in life like our careers, relationships, etc, but stop for a minute and think about all the frivolous but nonetheless important things that we can apply this concept to: every morning presents a new opportunity to explore new make-up...after all, its not the usual custom to change your eyeshadow from green to black around 11.00am in your office bathroom, is it? No! You've gotta wait for the next morning, right? Also, when you've just purchased new items for your wardrobe, you've got a couple of exciting mornings ahead to mix and match outfits because you can't wear it all at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah yeah, i know the last couple of lines sound shallow but come on, most of us girls (and dare I mention guys?) consider such things, so I just had to put it out there.&lt;br /&gt;When I've got something so incredibly exciting planned that has had me counting the number of sleeps till the day, imagine the tingle of excitement and anticipation that peaks on the night before the morning of the D Day? OHHH, its enough to light all the light bulbs in the world for 61 seconds. I find that I can hardly sleep through the night and in the event that I wake up to go to the bathroom, it's almost 100% likely that I won't be able to go back to sleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dtu82zdI/AAAAAAAAAEU/dd7FklNsVCs/s1600-h/excitement.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 395px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1dtu82zdI/AAAAAAAAAEU/dd7FklNsVCs/s400/excitement.htm" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399074568565870034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(Excitement by nataliedee.com)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my gosh, I can remember the morning of our wedding...oh, how insanely thrilling...I couldn't believe that the day I would wed my beau and live happily ever after had finally arrived...oh the dreams...oh the possibilities...oh my, oh me, oh my! (bunnytown, 2009). It wasn't quite the same though on the morning I had Izabelle. Perhaps this was because I was in ACTIVE Labour? hmmm....Maybe hubby was incredulously excited for me, seeing as I was certainly too 'busy' to be actively excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mornings in a new country are usually a-m-a-z-i-n-g. I normally can't wait to get out and experience the life there. Do they hang out at cafes in the morning? Are the streets full of crowds of workers finding their way to work? How early do the markets open? What is the main occupation? Will there be more people going to an office job or heading to the mines or farm? Whatever the case, mornings will always feel different in different countries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1d22OvmPI/AAAAAAAAAEc/64W-BLb1DW8/s1600-h/saturday+morning.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Su1d22OvmPI/AAAAAAAAAEc/64W-BLb1DW8/s400/saturday+morning.htm" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399074725138766066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(Saturday Morning by Monica S Carnesi)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 'bestest' mornings are Saturday and Holiday mornings. I wake up in a gooey happy mood with a song in my head (but then I always wake up with a song in my head and on workdays, i play the song on my ipod on my way to work)...ok, so on weekends and holidays i wake up with a song in my head and then lie awake trying to remember why I'm happy...hmmm.........nope, I'm not getting married today, I'm already married....hmmm....nope, we are not buying a new house........hmmm....is something interesting going to happen at work today? WORK! That's it! It's the "no-work day today". Woooooooooooooooooo&lt;br /&gt;This is the point where I jump out of bed --&gt; GooooOOOD MornnnNNING, Morning!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-8708986154919591555?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8708986154919591555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/10/hello-morning.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8708986154919591555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8708986154919591555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/10/hello-morning.html' title='Hello, Morning!'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/St_RX5koGOI/AAAAAAAAAD0/y7_HG2i2H1g/s72-c/Greet_the_Morning_by_phatpuppy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-5470529489786430508</id><published>2009-07-29T12:53:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T01:14:59.174+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Living with the Intruder</title><content type='html'>If you're like me then this has happened to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You were looking at a baby (yours or someone else's) and the memories of when You were a baby came rushing back. Suddenly you could remember the first day your parents brought you home from hospital and how you looked the entire house over and wondered if this was the house you'd have to live in for the next 15 years! Then you remembered how livid you were when your mom tried to introduce formula...what was wrong with breastmilk...you didn't remember complaining about it. And it felt just like yesterday that your mom snatched the weekend newspaper from you...why did she do that? Afterall, you were only trying to be like Dad, who was reading it a few moments ago and she didn't snatch it from him. &lt;br /&gt;The most persistent memory though was the fact that everyone seemed to want to stop you......when you tried to come up close to the TV just so you could touch Pooh bear - NO! COME AWAY FROM THERE....when you decided to keep crawling even though you were at the edge of the bed - NO! STOP BABY!.... when you saw some exciting insect specimen on the carpet and decided to orally explore it - PUT IT DOWN, NOW! One too many STOPS! naturally began to make you a little bit apprehensive...you couldn't wait to grow up and stop being a baby that got carried around all the time to places you didn't really want to go...like the doctor's clinic for those immunisation shots. You were pretty sure that when you grew up you would be free to do whatever you wanted to do. You could get as close to the tv as you wanted, and you could read the weekend newspaper (or shred it if you so wished). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I did grow up, albeit in stages. Different stages of growth came with varying amounts of freedom as well as restrictions. The great thing about being 3 years old is that you no longer need to sleep in the cot so you don't have to keep trying to climb over the bars. The not so great thing about being 3 years old is that you most likely have been introduced to the Intruder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Intruder: someone who is present where he/she is not welcome'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was a baby, I was innocent (some of you might find this fact hard to believe, but its true) and I was full of trust. I trusted my parents and I trusted the world. This was why I would let anyone carry me; I would eat anything from anyone; I would smile at anybody; I believed everyone liked me (I was a baby, I was cute, I was cuddly. who wouldn't like me?); I used to try and hold big dogs by their ears; I wasn't afraid of anything. By the time I was 3, I had learned not to talk to strangers; not to eat anything from just anybody; to tell Mum if someone touched me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable; that some people didn't like me for some reason; that I couldn't cross the road without an Adult because I could get killed...I had been introduced to the Intruder - Fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age 5 -  I was in Kindergarten and I hated the ordeal of having my Mom or anyone else comb my hair. When I combined this attitude with managing to get lice, it was the last straw for my Mom, so she cut my hair. Monday morning I was driven to school and it was the worst day ever. Some bullies in my class gathered around me and sang horrid songs and I began to fear school. School meant bullies. They were monsters that came to school everyday and made life miserable for you. I considered ending my education at that point but my parents had other ideas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age 15 caught up with me in high school. Most girls were trying to be noticed by the boys. If you didn't dress a certain way, you were destined not to have a boyfriend and this meant you were uncool. Needless to say, my Mom made sure that my skirt was always way below the knees, so I didn't have a short enough skirt to be cool...and I didn't have a boyfriend in highschool. I got introduced to the fear of what my peers thought. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age 19 saw me at Uni. I had reached a point in life where I was not living at home and I was quite shocked to suddenly discover that I now had to make choices. Bad choices could even lead to the end of my life (or at least life as i knew it back then). I always heard of people who had made a bad choice and gone off with a guy they didn't really know and were never seen again...or people who got infected with HIV...or people who got kicked out of Uni...or people who got into gangs and got shot. It was all overwhelming...there was just a lot to fear and there were no parents to protect me. I felt like my life was now up to me and I had no one to blame if I took the wrong turn. Good friends and a doting boyfriend helped. Oh, and my parents had friends who seemed to be at every nook and cranny of the Uni and who I could count on to tell them if I had been seen doing what I wasn't supposed to be doing. They made me worry a lot actually. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age 23 turned up and I had finished Uni. Yay. At this point, even though I knew there were bad things happening all around the world, none had happened to me up till then and this was a good sign. There was nothing in the world to be afraid of....but then I went and had a car crash. I was traveling on a National assignment and the driver lost control of his vehicle. I was sitting in front and I can't remember much of the crash except that I lost a few teeth, had a deep cut on my knee, couldn't walk or talk for weeks, and sustained minor bruises to my spinal discs. Great! I was not transferred to a location that would not involve traveling so I had to deal with this new found fear of traveling (mostly for 6 or 7 hrs at a stretch) to this post for the period of 12 months that I was on duty. &lt;br /&gt;Till date, I can't really sleep when someone is driving me and I have not gotten my license yet. I have to fight the Intruder to be able to do these things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Age 24 came by, I had finished my 12 month posting and I had just come back from one last (safe) road trip. I did not need to do any more road travels. I only had to hop on a plane to Brisbane in about 2 weeks and there was nothing to fear. Air travel is one of the safest means of travel. Then the Belview airline crashed. OMG talk about bad timing. CNN decided to air a time-line of all the plane crashes that have ever happened in the world...and I became pretty worried about spending about 25 hours on a plane from Abuja to Brisbane. I can still feel the butterflies in my tummy. I stopped watching CNN and switched to Cartoon network. I hopped on the plane to Lagos enroute to Brisbane and when I got on my Emirates flight, I looked at the screen and noted that one of the Planes that left Abuja around the time I left had crashed at Port Harcourt. Great. In fact, some of the Kids I saw milling around the airport were gone. What perfect news to receive at the start of a 25 hour long flight. Needless to say, I made that trip with the Intruder close at hand. I fought hard and long during every turbulence and when we spent hours over the Atlantic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age 25 was pleased with me because I decided to marry that doting boyfriend of mine. About time. I traveled back to Nigeria for a small and quick wedding and spent roughly 2 weeks with my beau before coming back to Brisbane - ALONE. I was now married...and the Intruder whispered this to me...'the risk of being a widow is now real'. Scary. No,nothing can happen to my husband, we've only just got married. His parents are still married and alive and so are my parents. It runs in both our families. But the Intruder lingered. My husband called me almost everyday and when he went on travels (which he seemed to be doing all the time) he would tell me of ordeals he went through on some and how others were fine. My mind seemed to be able to filter out the good stories and retain the bad stories. So I worried. When I realized that worrying wouldn't do me any good, I switched to praying for him everyday when I woke up and before I went to bed. He joined me 5 months later. Phew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age 26 saw me get pregnant for our first child. Life was good. We got married. We live together. We were going to have a baby! There wasn't much to fear...till we lost the baby. Then miscarriages became a real and potent fear to us. I had to deal with this fear for 6 months until I felt bold enough to try again. I'm happy I tried because I now have Izabelle. However, the 9 months were spent fighting the Intruder on various issues that worry pregnant women - Oh God, I pray that my child will be healthy; I pray that I won't loose this one; I'm trying to eat well so that all will be well with my baby; I pray that my baby will not have down syndrome or any other syndrome....Believe me when I tell you that 9 months is a long long time when you're pregnant. Time only seems to go in the 5th gear after you've had the baby. which is probably because the babies can't wait to grow up. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You probably get my gist by now. Life is full of things to fear. The Intruder lurks around every corner and you don't even have to turn on the TV to see it because it's on the radio. Bomb blasts, air crashes, car crashes, kidnappings, fires, serial killers, natural disasters, cancers, health issues, arrrrrrrrrrgh!!! MAKE IT STOP!&lt;br /&gt;We have all met the Intruder and we have learned to either live with it or deal with it. We can't achieve our highest potential if we are held back by fear. We have to take risks. &lt;br /&gt;The highest feeling of fear for most people is the fear of death. For some other people, the fear of being rejected and worthless surpasses the fear of death, hence the push to commit suicide in some cases. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My encounters with the Intruder is not a sad ending story though. I have discovered that the opposite of fear is trust. If I trust you, I won't fear you. If I trust a driver, I won't fear when I board his car or bus...and so on. I have chosen to trust that even though I live in a world were I am exposed to a lot of dangers, I will be safe. So for me, it boils down to doing what I can do, and leaving the rest to God. &lt;br /&gt;This is the reason that I have stopped being scared if a visibly Muslim man or woman enters the bus and sits beside me. I have stopped worrying if they're going to blow up the bus. I didn't stop because I trust Brisbane's security, I stopped because at that point, there is nothing else I can do except deciding not to go to work (which is not an option). The only thing I can do is trust God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently I asked my colleague if she was ever scared of flying and she said that it didn't bother her. When I asked her why, she replied that since one would still die someday, what does it matter which way someone dies, death is death. She wouldn't let the fear that she might crash keep her from travelling on holidays or for work. After all, the odds are in her favour that she is more likely to land safely...moreover, if one decided to keep away from things that had the potential to kill like cars, planes, etc, then life wouldn't make sense. I like that attitude and I am trying to wear it.  You've probably noted that I'm particularly nervous about flying, but I will fly. I will need to. I can't say that the butterflies would be gone the whole trip, but you know what? If the Intruder won't go away, I'll do life AFRAID. If you've noticed, when you do life, the Intruder slips away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Conclusion? Lets do life...don't let the Intruder intrude. Just do it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-5470529489786430508?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5470529489786430508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/07/living-with-intruder.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5470529489786430508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5470529489786430508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/07/living-with-intruder.html' title='Living with the Intruder'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-3641530906868847133</id><published>2009-06-22T08:27:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T08:36:34.369+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Girlie Wisdom</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sj61fzztsoI/AAAAAAAAADM/wKTTephiqcQ/s1600-h/girlie+jump.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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	mso-style-qformat:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; 	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;} .MsoChpDefault 	{mso-style-type:export-only; 	mso-default-props:yes; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt; 	mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;} @page Section1 	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt; 	margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; 	mso-header-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; 	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:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	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; 	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:18;"  &gt;1.  A friend of mine confused her Valium with her  birth control pills... she has 14 kids but  doesn't really care. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:13;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:18;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  One of life's mysteries is how a 2-pound box of  chocolates can make a woman gain 5  lbs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. My mind not only wanders, it  sometimes leaves completely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The best  way to forget your troubles is to wear tight  shoe&lt;span style="color:navy;"&gt;s.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  The nice part about living in a small town is  that when you don't know what you are doing,  someone else does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. The older you get,  the tougher it is to lose weight because by  then, your body and your fat are really good  friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Just when I was getting used  to yesterday, along came today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  Sometimes I think I understand everything, and  then I regain consciousness.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:13;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:18;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  I gave up jogging for my health when my thighs  kept rubbing together and setting fire to my  knickers'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Amazing!  You hang  something in your closet for a while and it  shrinks 2 sizes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Skinny people  irritate me!  Especially when they say  things like...'You know sometimes I forget to  eat!' .....Now I've forgotten my address, my  mother's maiden name and my keys, but I have  never forgotten to eat.  You have to be a  special kind of stupid to forget to eat!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. The trouble with some women is that  they get all excited about nothing and then they  marry him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. I read this article that  said the typical symptoms of stress are eating  too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast.  Are they kidding?  That's my idea of a  perfect day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SEND THIS TO 5  BRIGHT WOMEN YOU KNOW AND MAKE THEIR  DAY!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:24;"  &gt;                             &lt;br /&gt;LIVE SIMPLY.....LAUGH  OFTEN....LOVE  DEEPLY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;** I didn't come up with this so I hereby acknowledge whoever did. She did a good job**&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:13;"  &gt; &lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;  &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-3641530906868847133?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3641530906868847133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/girlie-wisdom.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/3641530906868847133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/3641530906868847133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/girlie-wisdom.html' title='Girlie Wisdom'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sj61fzztsoI/AAAAAAAAADM/wKTTephiqcQ/s72-c/girlie+jump.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-8793747592151924642</id><published>2009-06-10T21:54:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T22:02:22.113+10:00</updated><title type='text'>On a business note...</title><content type='html'>Hey guys, our business is having an end of financial year sale so everything has 20% slashed off its original price. But that's certainly not all, we have a SPECIAL offer going on for a limited time and for any purchases of $100 and above, you receive a coupon giving you 50% off any other item of choice. Let your friends and family know so no one misses out on this bargain!&lt;br /&gt;Website: &lt;a href="http://www.chennacollections.com.au" target="_blank"&gt;www.chennacollections.com.au&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Direct store link: &lt;a href="http://neluigwe.photobiz.com/cart/index.cfm?start=products" target="_blank"&gt;Store&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, don't get sidetracked, blogging activities continue below. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-8793747592151924642?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8793747592151924642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-business-note.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8793747592151924642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8793747592151924642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-business-note.html' title='On a business note...'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-6783262347151968639</id><published>2009-06-10T12:45:00.012+10:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T12:16:40.570+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Reflections of an irate bus passenger</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;The Setup&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its only 12.00am and I feel like I've just been woken up for the 500th time in 1 hour...what was that noise? *sigh* its my alarm clock. Why is it waking me up at midnight? Who's been tampering with my phone? I have a look at the phone. Far out! Its 5.00am! Seriously, I'm only sure because I just checked my phone. Gosh, I feel like I've only just gone to sleep. *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;I don't feel well at this time in the morning, I wonder if I can call in sick? No I won't do that, but i'll feel better after I rest some more. 5.26am!!! Gosh!! I better get up, I can't afford to miss my 6.44am bus!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;6.40am and onwards&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its freezing cold but I didn't really mind because my bus should be here in the next 4 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;6.45am...Awww Nancy, he's just a minute late! My bus was late yesterday, he arrived at 6.50am so when we got to Indooroopilly station, I had missed my connecting bus. I arrived work at 7:45am. I prefer arriving around 7.30am but 15 minutes later doesn't bite.&lt;br /&gt;OK, when the bus hadn't arrived by 6.50, I was sure of two things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;It was definitely the same driver who was late yesterday; and&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I was going to frown at him when I hopped on the bus (like he cared or would even notice!)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;I kept on feeling cold and kept on checking my watch in between feeling cold. It was soon 7.00am and I was certain that our driver had decided not to show up. I sent hubby a text saying that my bus was late, then I sent him another one correcting myself and informing him that the driver did not even bother to show up. His reply? "OK. At least you found one. Have a good day." My mental response? "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (that was me screaming in my head)&lt;br /&gt;Some minutes past 7.00am and a bus driver arrives so we all hop in. He said good morning but I did not respond. I hoped he realised I was livid because I had woken up early for nothing! I might as well have slept in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Si-OlwuaXJI/AAAAAAAAADE/3LIPV6WiZT4/s1600-h/bus.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Si-OlwuaXJI/AAAAAAAAADE/3LIPV6WiZT4/s400/bus.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345648062097939602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, so a bus has FINALLY arrived, I've hopped on, I'm sitting down and I'M FUMING!&lt;br /&gt;Below is a snapshot of what was going on in my hot little head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;The reflections&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gosh, I'm so upset....&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why are you upset?&lt;/span&gt; Well, for starters, I'm supposed to be at work by 7.30am. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You are not SUPPOSED to be at work by 7.30am and you know that. &lt;/span&gt;Well I like being at work that early because it gives me 30 minutes to 1 hour of working alone without being interrupted.&lt;br /&gt;*fume* I feel like giving the driver a piece of my mind. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And what would that be?&lt;/span&gt; Hmmmmm...just watch and see. (I begin to imagine a confrontation in my mind) --&gt; {I walk up to the driver and......&lt;br /&gt;Nancy: Oh hi Driver, did you know that this bus was meant to arrive AT 6.44am?&lt;br /&gt;Driver: What? Speak up, I can't hear you love.&lt;br /&gt;Nancy: I asked if you realised that this bus was meant to arrive at this bus stop AT 6.44am?&lt;br /&gt;Driver: No mate, that was meant to be the driver before me. What's your problem?&lt;br /&gt;Nancy: Well, its just that unlike some other people, some of us NEED to be at work on time and we've been standing at the bus stop under freezing conditions for the past 30 minutes. *pause for a response but get none so I push on* Would you know why the other driver didn't show up?&lt;br /&gt;The driver starts getting impatient because he's driving and I'm not supposed to be talking to him when he's driving, however, I'm too angry to care...until I notice that every other person on the bus is looking at me and listening to the conversation. The school children are snickering and whispering among themselves...One student speaks up, "Go back to your country if you don't like it here" and I snap back, "Well this IS my Country because I was born here just like you were. Moreover, even if I wasn't born here I shouldn't be listening to you because millions of Australians live overseas as well!"...At this point, I can't help but compare the bus system here to the one in some Nigerian cities - 3 come to mind: Nsukka (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I begin to remember those yellow buses with yelling harmattan riddled conductors hanging from the bus from Barracks to Ogige Market) &lt;/span&gt;Not a good comparison so I make a mental shift to Lagos (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lots and lots of buses with conductors yelling unintelligible destinations, I also begin to see the 'one chance' buses in my mind, and then I remember standing at a bus stop without knowing when and if a bus will come...then I almost re-feel the frustration I felt when a bus arrived but the driver decided he now wanted to go to another destination because there were more passengers going there!!!!&lt;/span&gt;) No this is worse than Nsukka and I almost have to shake off the bad feeling I'm getting...is there no city with a good public transport system in Nigeria? Aha Abuja (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I remember that it wasn't too bad hopping on a bus from Wuse II to Kubwa, there always seemed to be a bus unless I got to the bus stop at a certain time in the evening&lt;/span&gt;) Oh well....by this time the school children are bold enough to giggle and giggle, other older passengers are staring at this crazy crazy lady, so I decide to go back to my seat. At least this driver now knows my thoughts about 'NO - SHOW' drivers and will perhaps have a word with the other absentee. } yeah right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok so the above scenario didn't actually happen, it only happened in my mind so i'm trying to let off some steam and the reflections continue...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why don't you listen to some soothing music on your ipod? It always makes you feel better. Aha, why didn't you mention it before! hmm what shall it be *i'm flicking through my playlists as its too much work to try and figure out what genre I want to be listening to* Ahhh, Enya and Yanni. Sweet. So I start listening to Yanni's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;End of August&lt;/span&gt; and my bus has just gone round the Sinnamon Park roundabout and is trying to merge with the Highway. What!!!Traffic congestion and we can hardly get on! Everyone is creeping, I mean EVERYONE. Oh, did I mention that I have known this all along which was why I decided to start taking the 6.44 bus just to miss the traffic? *exasperation* I wish I could stamp my feet. I can't so I just have to be satisfied with an eye roll. I'm fuming again! Our bus finally gets on the highway and we start creeping successfully. We cross the bridge and when I see the river the good part of my mind reminds me:&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Be thankful for what you've got"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;and what would that be?"&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Life. Its better to be on a late bus that on a crashing airplane"&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;Well, yeah&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;That seems to mellow me down a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enya's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;May it be &lt;/span&gt;begins to play just as we're driving past the Forest-like vegetation. I allow my mind to wander and the song makes me feel like I'm on vacation at a Rainforest location.  I check my time and its 7.25! Gosh, I was supposed to be at Uni now. Enya is still playing and I am at cross roads in my mind. Should I wander away to my Rainforest vacation or should I keep fuming in my mind? I feel like a holiday, so i'll go for one in my mind, at least I don't have to worry about getting on the plane yet. Cool.&lt;br /&gt;So I'm back at this Rainforest resort and its a lovely day. We are in a cabin and I'm about to make breakfast on this lovely lovely morning....Yanni's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Santorini &lt;/span&gt;starts playing and I'm still looking out of the window in the kitchen of this cabin in this Rainforest getaway. The sunlight is dancing with the leaves in the wind. It's quixotic. The song gains momentum and I begin to feel like Greece. Greece. Ok, so I decide that we've made plans to travel from this resort to Greece and explore the historical sites. Did I mention that I know that Yanni is Greek? Oh yes, Greece will be lots of fun!...In reality I'm still on this late bus to work and my bus has just stopped to pick some passengers at a bus stop...all is well, I feel quite happy from my mind trip to the tranquil rainforest resort, then I just catch a glimse of my connecting bus zooming past us...COME ON DRIVER, MOVE IT! Catch that bus. No, the traffic isn't letting up. Wait, he's gotten back to the road and we're on the trail of my connecting bus. Woooooooooo...ouch, that was short lived because we're stopped by the unrelenting authority of the RED LIGHT and I watch my connecting bus get farther and farther away into the distance.&lt;br /&gt;*sigh* Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;......&lt;br /&gt;Green light, our bus is moving again, Enya's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Memory of Trees &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;begins to &lt;/span&gt;play and I'm actually feeling happy now. Life is great. I'm sitting on this bus, the sunlight is in eyes, God's love is in my heart and I feel alive. I've got a wonderful family to go home to at the end of the day and I'm going to have a PERFECT  day after all!&lt;br /&gt;.........&lt;br /&gt;We're at the connecting bus stop now and 3 connecting buses have just left without me because I'm still trying to get off Bus #1. I touch off my Go card on the machine then I smile at the driver and say, "Thanks Driver" before getting off to face this Perfect day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.05am, I get to the office, mutter something about absentee bus drivers to Lizanne and hop on my computer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Late bus? At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-6783262347151968639?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6783262347151968639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/reflections-of-irate-bus-passenger.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/6783262347151968639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/6783262347151968639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/reflections-of-irate-bus-passenger.html' title='Reflections of an irate bus passenger'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Si-OlwuaXJI/AAAAAAAAADE/3LIPV6WiZT4/s72-c/bus.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-3698853229814637687</id><published>2009-05-12T13:31:00.012+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T16:07:15.997+10:00</updated><title type='text'>What is harder than shopping for clothes?</title><content type='html'>I love shopping! I think that 99.9999999% of women LOVE shopping in varying degrees. Some are addicted to shopping, some are obsessed with shopping, some others have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dysfunctional&lt;/span&gt; relationship with shopping and need psychiatric care or rehab. I like to think that my love for shopping is in the healthy range. Of course, this may be partly due to the fact that my husband and I have a transparent relationship so he gets to find out about 'most' of my purchases!&lt;br /&gt;Another factor that greatly limits my shopping is a two pronged situation (a) driving licence-less-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ness&lt;/span&gt; (b) i have been babied.&lt;br /&gt;If i had a car, I could take off and 'visit my friends' via the shopping mall and of course being babied only means that I have to take the baby along. Now, since I'm not yet driving on my own, the logistics of taking &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Izabelle&lt;/span&gt; on the bus is too much because it is always uncertain if one will end up getting the 'stroller-friendly' bus or the 'extremely stroller-unfriendly' bus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Kachi&lt;/span&gt; has ended up driving me to and tagging along for most of my visits to the shopping mall! He doesn't mind grocery shopping that much because his mind has been programmed to accept that this happens a couple of times every week! The ones he dreads are my personal shopping trips where I have to choose and decide between billions of clothes, undies, shoes, makeup, and hundreds of other things that I desire but can't afford on my (or our) budget.&lt;br /&gt;One familiar complaint is that I take to long to decide on what I want. My patient answer to this question is always the same: if I am buying a shoe with my hard earned cash, I must be ABSOLUTELY sure that it is the best one (for my price range) in the mall that day, and then it has to be the best option among the shoes that JUMPED OUT AT ME from the shelves.&lt;br /&gt;needless to say, these requirements usually narrow the chosen ones down and sometimes it means that I have to go home without the item after all said and done (because it is better to keep searching for the right one with your money in your pocket, than to buy a second best option only to see the first love on a shelf the next day you walk in the shop). If you could return the second best option, then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;alls&lt;/span&gt; well that ends well, but if you got it at a sale price, then the rest they say is history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While choosing items for my wardrobe can be very tasking, it is by no means the most tasking of shopping expeditions. Oh no. From past and present experiences I have decided that the most challenging item to shop for is BREAKFAST CEREAL. Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever been to the Cereal aisle in supermarkets? Where as other products have to compete for spaces and sections on the shelves, the entire left shelves of most breakfast product aisles are exclusively reserved to hundreds of different types of breakfast cereal!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgzqw6QWNoI/AAAAAAAAACE/VFmTWMF1-6E/s1600-h/cereal_aisle-2.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgzqw6QWNoI/AAAAAAAAACE/VFmTWMF1-6E/s400/cereal_aisle-2.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335897784519636610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgzq5c5gf1I/AAAAAAAAACM/V8rOA6eg3E0/s1600-h/cereal_aisle-1.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgzq5c5gf1I/AAAAAAAAACM/V8rOA6eg3E0/s400/cereal_aisle-1.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335897931258036050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have too much problem choosing cereal for my daughter because budgets disappear when you buy stuff for your child. Most baby cereals look like they do pretty good things to baby bodies and they occupy just a section of one small shelf, so its not a big deal to buy all of them. Now with adult breakfast cereals, things are different because buying all of them in one go is stupid since they are too many and will break the bank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is my idea that the first meal of the day is a very important start to the day...in fact, I'm almost superstitious about it because I feel that if I have a bad or unhealthy start, that pretty much sets the tone for the whole day. If this is actually true or not is another story though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prompted by my problem solving husband, I have pondered on my 'cereal-shopping problem' in a bid to identify the issues involved and solve them if possible. The reasons that come to mind are few but serious.&lt;br /&gt;PROBLEM 1)&lt;br /&gt;How do you choose one good thing above another good thing when you have never tried both of them? Now remembering how long and high the cereal aisle is should help you appreciate the magnitude of this problem. On my monthly pilgrimage down the lengthy and uncertain aisle of the cereals, the journey is fraught with extreme  turmoil of the mind because of the decisions I have to make in such a short period of time (remember that hubby is tagging behind with the shopping trolley! Oh the pressure, the pressure on my poor nerves). To bring this problem closer to home, let me show you a couple of cereals that I meet on this pilgrimage-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz69rkfz0I/AAAAAAAAACU/7yH2kUfA4GQ/s1600-h/all_bran.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz69rkfz0I/AAAAAAAAACU/7yH2kUfA4GQ/s400/all_bran.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335915596101963586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;all bran original is very high in dietary fibre and a good source of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;thiamine&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;riboflavin&lt;/span&gt; and niacin, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;folate&lt;/span&gt;, iron and magnesium. it is also low GI.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7A5CY-WI/AAAAAAAAACc/3kH9jvGPsM4/s1600-h/allbran_dual.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 190px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7A5CY-WI/AAAAAAAAACc/3kH9jvGPsM4/s400/allbran_dual.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335915651256613218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;All-bran dual helps your digestive system with 2 types of fibre, one of which cleanses your insides while the other nourishes the good bugs in your gut&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7EPHQNOI/AAAAAAAAACk/PVzbpqbr__g/s1600-h/crispix.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 190px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7EPHQNOI/AAAAAAAAACk/PVzbpqbr__g/s400/crispix.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335915708722197730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;crispix&lt;/span&gt; is low in fat, high in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;carbs&lt;/span&gt; and a good sources of 4 essential vitamins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7HuU7ixI/AAAAAAAAACs/sbdotUKdV5U/s1600-h/crunchy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7HuU7ixI/AAAAAAAAACs/sbdotUKdV5U/s400/crunchy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335915768640670482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;crunchy nuts is irresistibly tasty&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7KuxfL7I/AAAAAAAAAC0/VGhkvd6yOtE/s1600-h/nutrigrain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7KuxfL7I/AAAAAAAAAC0/VGhkvd6yOtE/s400/nutrigrain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335915820300054450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Nutrigrain&lt;/span&gt; makes you an iron man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7NPtxwvI/AAAAAAAAAC8/fYf5ktHZ-6I/s1600-h/special+K.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgz7NPtxwvI/AAAAAAAAAC8/fYf5ktHZ-6I/s400/special+K.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335915863502602994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;special K is a sensible 99%fat free cereal for women who want to manage their shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;High in fibre sounds good for a wonderful start to the day doesn't it, but does that beat the All-bran duo with 2 types of fibre? Oh, and don't forget crunchy nuts that is irresistibly tasty...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;hmmmm&lt;/span&gt;.... and how about being an iron woman with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;nutrigrain&lt;/span&gt;? oh, are none of these as sensible as the special K? Don't try to solve this problem by asking me to buy all of them and mix them in my bowl because these are only 6 out of a sea of cereal&lt;br /&gt;PROBLEM 2)&lt;br /&gt;What you see is NOT what you get!&lt;br /&gt;I have learnt this lesson the hard way because I have been moved to decide on a purchase by the picture on the cereal packet only to rush home and be unpleasantly surprised because the beautiful yummy mouth-watering cereal in a bowl of fruit I saw in the packet was NOT the same cereal that was in my own bowl. Massive difference. I would like to meet the photographers who take those pics.&lt;br /&gt;PROBLEM 3)&lt;br /&gt;Being adventurous and just going ahead and buying one I have never tried before (which are in their tens or hundreds) is a huge risk. What if I end up loathing it? I can't bin it because it is the WRONG thing to do.....you know that some people are starving and don't even have as much choice as I do....then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; accountable to someone else.....then....its a waste of money....then...oh, gosh, its just the wrong thing to do &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;The only thing is that if I buy one that I hate, I wont eat it that often so it will take so long to finish and so I can't even go ahead and buy another one!&lt;br /&gt;PROBLEM 4)&lt;br /&gt;Being unadventurous is even worse than the former problem because it makes that journey down the cereal aisle even harder for me to endure. As I'm walking straight to the one &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; used to buying, the other ones keep calling out to me: "try me, I'm high in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;folate&lt;/span&gt;"; "no, try me, I'm irresistibly tasty" (now &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; one that is hard to resist) "try me, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; ......." "try me, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt;....." ".........."!!!!!!!!!! Far out!!! I just can't live my whole life knowing that there may be a much better option to the cereal I'm always eating and its sitting there on that shelf as I walk past every time! It goes against all my life philosophies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obviously I'm left with a few solutions to my predicament.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOLUTION 1)- try them all out, then make a list of a few that I like. Its a risk, I know that, but consider the other option of being unadventurous! Wouldn't it be easier if the cereal companies made &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;sachet&lt;/span&gt; sizes of all their cereals? then it would be easier to even buy them in one or two shopping trips and that way, if you encounter one that you can't stomach, it won't be such a sin if you silently directed it to the bin. Oh, but I think the companies know what they are doing when they only have small &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;sachet&lt;/span&gt; sizes of the most popular choices. As for the other ones, we are left in the dark, with only a false picture and some scientific blurb to help us decide.&lt;br /&gt;SOLUTION 2)- I could stop eating cereal...I find it easier to choose bread and Milo.&lt;br /&gt;But my breakfast life will become very predictable and unbearably boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;br /&gt;Being the Nancy that I am, you know what the choice will be. Why can't life be easier? I remember the days that the options were limited - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;Akamu&lt;/span&gt; (pap as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Nigerians&lt;/span&gt; call it), custard, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;Nasco's&lt;/span&gt; Cornflakes. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; have this predicament then, partly because I was a child and had to go with whatever mom and dad decided on (:)) and also because that was most of the options that were available in the town we lived in then.&lt;br /&gt;I can't go back to those days, so suffice it to say that I will keep going on this risky and adventurous journey of buying previously unknown cereal with little certainty on their real personalities. Perhaps, one day I'll get close to the end of the tunnel, where I'll have a wonderful list of favourites (this wont be possible if the companies keep being innovative though), but that thought won't stop me!&lt;br /&gt;Till then, its back to the cereal aisle for me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-3698853229814637687?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3698853229814637687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/what-is-harder-than-shopping-for.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/3698853229814637687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/3698853229814637687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/what-is-harder-than-shopping-for.html' title='What is harder than shopping for clothes?'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Sgzqw6QWNoI/AAAAAAAAACE/VFmTWMF1-6E/s72-c/cereal_aisle-2.htm' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-5147816118531021666</id><published>2009-04-30T12:57:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T12:59:13.154+10:00</updated><title type='text'>My responses to a yummy mummy interview sent by a friend</title><content type='html'>1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED?&lt;br /&gt;My first pregnancy was lost. Izabelle is my second pregnancy and it was planned when it happened (if you know what I mean)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS?&lt;br /&gt;I was worried about loosing it and then when I was assured by God that all was well, I was amazed that a 'human being' was growing inside me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. HOW OLD WERE YOU?&lt;br /&gt;27&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT?&lt;br /&gt;I knew that there was a high possibility that I would be pregnant, and when the time came to confirm, I really was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST?&lt;br /&gt;My husband, then my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. DID YOU FIND OUT THE SEX?&lt;br /&gt;I tried to, but failed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. DUE DATE?&lt;br /&gt;4 dates between 7th Nov and 12th Nov, 2008.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS?&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah!!!!!!!! Funnily, I threw up after I ate my favorite oats cereal. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE?&lt;br /&gt;Native chicken pepper soup, boiled groundnut, nzu, ukwa, and then other times, it depended on the day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST?&lt;br /&gt;Hubby's perfume! I had to hide it after a while. Every other person's perfume, especially an IT guy in my office (phew) who used to be drenched with a horrible perfume. Smokers were high on my list and people who didnt give me their seat when the bus was full!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD'S SEX?&lt;br /&gt;Pink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING?&lt;br /&gt;No, but i thought I was having a boy because hubby thought it was a girl. I like to differ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN THROUGHOUT THE PREGNANCY?&lt;br /&gt;hehe. I dont do pounds, but in Kilos, i gained around 15kg&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER?&lt;br /&gt;yes, and i loved it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW?&lt;br /&gt;I knew&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY?&lt;br /&gt;I had gestational diabetes and had to check my blood sugar 4 times a day, and give myself shots of insulin 4 times a day. YUCK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH?&lt;br /&gt;Mater Mother's Hospital, Brisbane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOUR?&lt;br /&gt;over 26 hours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL?&lt;br /&gt;Husband&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. WHO WATCHED YOU GIVE BIRTH?&lt;br /&gt;Husband, midwives and one student.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION?&lt;br /&gt;natural&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN?&lt;br /&gt;Yes I did&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH?&lt;br /&gt;3.36kg&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN?&lt;br /&gt;8.22am on the 24th of October 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. WHAT DID YOU NAME HIM/HER?&lt;br /&gt;Izabelle Chikwere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. HOW DID YOU CHOOSE HIS/HER NAME? WHAT INSPIRED YOU?&lt;br /&gt;After I had miscarried the first pregnancy, I did not get pregnant for 6 months because i was scared. After hubby started persuading me, I turned to God and started questioning him on why it happened and how to assure me that it wont' happen again. at the time, i didnt even know i was pregnant again.&lt;br /&gt;one day while i was in this mood, a scripture floated into my heart and it said, "forget the things that happened in the past, and do not continue to consider them. Look I have started a new thing. do you not perceive it?". that was when I suspected that I was already pregnant without even knowing it.&lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, I was and since I felt God had said to forget the tragedies of the past and trust that He's in charge of the new thing that has started happening, I decided to call my baby&lt;br /&gt;Izabelle (God's promise) /Chikwere (God promised) if she was a girl or&lt;br /&gt;Jaydon/Chianugo (God has heard).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY?&lt;br /&gt;6 months +&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. HOW HAS YOUR LIFE CHANGED (WHAT HAVE YOU LEARNT SINCE THE ARRIVAL OF YOUR BABY?)&lt;br /&gt;I have learnt that Children ARE a blessing from God.&lt;br /&gt;My life has been enriched by Izabelle. Her smiles warm my heart and bring me soooooooo much indescribable joy. I loose sleep a lot now. I have to take her into consideration when thinking of going out to somewhere. sometimes, i cant go to places i used to because of the logistics of taking her.&lt;br /&gt;I have someone who came from My husband and lover, and myself and I feel priviledged to be the mother of the child of the man I love so much.&lt;br /&gt;i have learnt that dreams do come true and that God is always there for us every step of the way.&lt;br /&gt;I have learnt how to overcome fear and trust God (fear of labour was a big one)&lt;br /&gt;I have learnt to trust God. I have learnt to put my family first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. IN A SENTENCE, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MOTHERHOOD?&lt;br /&gt;Motherhood is a blessed priviledge from God to care for an amazing creation who is close to his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/SfkT7DQkw8I/AAAAAAAAAB8/CBNbhwKPOtw/s1600-h/zab1.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/SfkT7DQkw8I/AAAAAAAAAB8/CBNbhwKPOtw/s400/zab1.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330313539177726914" 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/3909840126181901436-5147816118531021666?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5147816118531021666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-responses-to-yummy-mummy-interview.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5147816118531021666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/5147816118531021666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-responses-to-yummy-mummy-interview.html' title='My responses to a yummy mummy interview sent by a friend'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/SfkT7DQkw8I/AAAAAAAAAB8/CBNbhwKPOtw/s72-c/zab1.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-8512947056757480852</id><published>2009-04-23T00:59:00.005+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T01:53:42.304+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Mama no dey always fine but her pikin still love am</title><content type='html'>For my non-Nigerian readers, the literal translation of the topic above is "Mummy doesn't always look beautiful but her child still loves her".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Nigerian "pidgin &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;English&lt;/span&gt;" adage that I coined this from should be familiar to many, "Monkey no fine but him Mama like am" which means that  though a monkey is not handsome its Mummy still loves him. It just means that Mothers love their children no matter how they look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't feel ugly, but I don't feel as beautiful as a magazine cover girl everyday! I guess the same goes for most people. I am one of those girls that love to dress up. I know I'm wonderfully and beautifully made but I feel ever more beautiful when I've spent some hours deciding on and choosing an outfit, then spent about 45 minutes more making up in front of a few different mirrors (the more the mirrors, the more visual perspectives of yourself), sprayed at least 2 different perfumes ( its always good to hear, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;...I love your perfume. It smells rare, what is it?") and spent a little bit more time turning this way and that in front of the mirror till I'm satisfied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I'm on leave and I don't go out that often, if there's somewhere to go and we 're rushing out, I still feel satisfied to spend the entire trip making up in the car! (there are also a couple of mirrors there), though sometimes I won't feel as 'beautiful' as I feel when I've spent about 3 hours at home doing the 'beauty' routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being at home for the most part of my 7-day week has meant that my 'beauty' routine has been relegated to the back bench until we're going somewhere. Well, when I first started staying at home, I was pumped about being a temporary housewife so I used to try to do myself up before &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Kachi&lt;/span&gt; got home from work...did u ever read those books about how to look great at home when your hubby gets home because he's been working with gorgeous ladies at work all day? I read them.&lt;br /&gt;I got compliments the first couple of days, but the frequency died down and after he probably got more interested in other things like Obama and the Credit Crunch than complimenting my make-up and pair of jeans, I became less pumped about dressing up everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is funny to me though is that some mornings I catch a reflection of myself in the mirror and I'm like, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Jeez&lt;/span&gt;, was that me?" but when I get to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Izabelle's&lt;/span&gt; room, I'm a bit taken aback at the enthusiasm with which she welcomes me!&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure why I started thinking, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;, she loves me even though I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; look like Jennifer &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Aniston&lt;/span&gt; right now". I'm not saying Jennifer is the most beautiful woman in the world, but when they do her photo shoots, she does look pretty good.  Anyway, so when I'm on that train of thought, I remember that there are a couple of other people that love me irrespective of how I look. - God, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Kachi&lt;/span&gt;, Mom&amp;amp;Dad and hopefully, my siblings. Oh and my TRUE friends. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That said, there are few times that my looks have attracted a laugh from my little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Izabelle&lt;/span&gt;. Would you believe that? I knew you would doubt me so I'll attach a picture below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Se82l1p7GfI/AAAAAAAAAB0/lCX7xLqu0vA/s1600-h/16012009%28005%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Se82l1p7GfI/AAAAAAAAAB0/lCX7xLqu0vA/s400/16012009%28005%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327536907888564722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Can you see the cheeky little girl laughing at my hair style? I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;couldn't&lt;/span&gt; believe it myself, so I called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Kachi&lt;/span&gt; and told him. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're wondering how I got that hideous hair style, here's what happened.&lt;br /&gt;I took out my twisted braids, which I had on for about 3 months. The only care I gave the braids was a spray of pink oil now and then and a couple of washes  I think (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; worry too much about that though). When the braids came out, my hair was in real dreadlocks. I was worried because I knew I had to comb the hair lock by lock!&lt;br /&gt;Well......my fast brain remembered a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Sunsilk&lt;/span&gt; advert, where a Jamaican boy who had dreadlocks came into a shop and bought a shampoo that was suggested by the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;shop girl&lt;/span&gt; only to come back the next day demanding for his money back because his hair was now straight and wavy (I am laughing at myself now). Anyway, I did believe that shampooing and conditioning the hair would untangle my dreadlocks just like the Jamaican boy's hair. Boy, was I WRONG! I should have known better, but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;I'd&lt;/span&gt; never tried this before, and then there was that advert, so...........u know the rest.&lt;br /&gt;My hair became a twisted mess of the ugliest dreadlocks you have ever seen and I toyed with the idea of cutting the whole thing off. It took me about 4 days of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;hard work&lt;/span&gt; to comb the hair out and because the combed part kept getting in the way of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;dread-locked&lt;/span&gt; part, I had to tie them up at the front as seen in the Pic. This cracked &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Izabelle&lt;/span&gt; up big time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I got my hair back to shape, I proceeded to get some fake dreadlocks which looked cool. Well, I've now taken them out and I was horribly shocked when I approached my mirror because some part of my hair has gone with the dread. I actually look like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; balding from my temple. I know it will grow back but i wonder if I'll get some more laughs from my little cheeky girl.&lt;br /&gt;No matter how bald I get ( and i pray I don't get balder than this), I know she still &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;lurvessssssssssss&lt;/span&gt; mummy. Maybe because I am positively correlated with food and sweet escape from dirty nappies, or because I sing the Susan Boyle style of classical music to her ( i wonder what our neighbors think), or maybe its just because I'm her mummy and she doesn't know if I look good or not just yet. I know that things may change when she's a teenager, she'll still love me alright but she might say the kinds of things I said to my mom...stuff like, " Mom, that dress makes you look short and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; not going out with you if you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; change it".&lt;br /&gt;Till then, I'm happy to soak up all this unconditional love from her and from everyone that gives it.&lt;br /&gt;woooooooooot wooooooooooot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-8512947056757480852?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8512947056757480852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/mama-no-dey-always-fine-but-her-pikin.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8512947056757480852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8512947056757480852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/mama-no-dey-always-fine-but-her-pikin.html' title='Mama no dey always fine but her pikin still love am'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JCDQK7TLt8k/Se82l1p7GfI/AAAAAAAAAB0/lCX7xLqu0vA/s72-c/16012009%28005%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-8034237087636934293</id><published>2009-04-09T00:51:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T01:27:27.516+10:00</updated><title type='text'>My Quest for the Silent Mode</title><content type='html'>Have you ever tried to be quiet? I mean really really quiet?&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I have been required to lead a really quiet life from a particular time of the day. There are so many reasons why someone might have to be quiet. Here are a few ranging from fairly common to quite dramatic:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your family members or housemates are asleep and you dont want to wake them;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are in the library;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your housemates are studying for a difficult exam;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are stealing without a weapon;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are trying to hide from a predator or an attacker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are having a late night chocolate fix that hubby doesn't approve of.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;etc&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt; My life is fairly simple at the moment so all the above reasons don't apply. The only reason I have to be quiet is that I'm usually awake till 2am and everyone else (or more precisely, the other two members of my nuclear family) are asleep.&lt;br /&gt;Being quiet is really of great importance because those of you who are mothers understand the weight of this sentence - You dont want to be waking your baby up after you've spent like 2 hours to get her to sleep in the first place....not at 2am! Another things is that since Im on maternity leave, I can afford to go to bed by 2am. However, Kachi will strangle me (well not really, but he won't be impressed with me) if I wake him up around this time because he wakes up at 5.30am to go to work...and he finds it difficult to go back to sleep after being disturbed.&lt;br /&gt;Dear friends, these are the conditions that hang over my poor little head when i'm frollicking on the internet or watching a movie till 2am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I have been trying my best to be as quiet as I possibly can, but I have not been successful. Let me walk (or tiptoe) you through the process-----&lt;br /&gt;I usually put Izabelle to sleep around 9pm but then she usually has a feed around 12pm. cool. The problem begins when I try to tiptoe out of her room (after the woooooooooo moment, remember?)...when I tiptoe, my toe knuckles make cracking noises(am I right to call them toe knuckles?). I have been thinking of a solution to this and asides from going for an ancient Chinese body detox and traditional medical treatment, the only other solution that I figured out was eating salmon. Yes, because I heard that Salmon had good oil in it and I assumed that it will lubricate my joints. (don't burst this bubble if you're a medical professional though because the lie that I dont know might continue to work for me).&lt;br /&gt;My noise problem continues because as I head back for my computer, I decide that its time for a night snack, since the last time I ate was around 8pm. At this time of night my fave snack is a cup of Milo. So I tiptoe noisily to the kitchen and open the fridge door. Oops, my fridge door makes a popping sound when I open it, however, its noisy sin pales in comparison to the next one that is about to be committed by the Microwave!&lt;br /&gt;I really wish I didn't' need Mrs Microwave's services at this time of night, but I love to warm up some milk and then stir in my Milo. That's the way I love it. So even though I cringe when the microwave door opens noisily, the major sin of the night happens when the microwave beeps. OMG, in the dead of the night, my microwave's beeps sound like SIRENS!!!&lt;br /&gt;I even try to reduce the duration by stopping the thing at 0.01 seconds but I still end up with 2 beeps - Stop and Clear.&lt;br /&gt;I recover from this pretty quickly though because I've still got the milo and that gives me enough reason to forgive the multitude of sins committed by my inanimate electronics. However, the night is still young and more noise is yet to be committed.&lt;br /&gt;One is by my computer when I switch it off, however the one that I dread the most (that is, second to the Microwave beeps) is the ceiling fan switch. I reckon it sounds like the cracks of a horse whip and there are usually T-W-O that need to be switched off. (please remind me why I bother to sleep late?)&lt;br /&gt;As you can see, my quest for the silent mode is well placed. The only reliable inanimate friend I've got in my house is my little nokia phone because its got the SILENT MODE!! This means that even though i'm lying right beside Kachi, I can text myself to sleep without waking him up. Just out of curiousity, have you tried to text in the dead of the night? Try it...you wont realise how loud your keypads are until you do.&lt;br /&gt;Having the silent mode option in my phone made me wonder,"why does my microwave not have a silent mode button?" I mean, its great that It likes me to know when my food is ready and all, but at 2am, I'm standing right  in front of it and really can't afford that luxury.&lt;br /&gt;Also, if my fans had a remote control, I could switch them off without having to wake everybody! Iwouldn't mind a fridge that I could open discreetly either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to believe that these techonological suggestions already exist (I have a standing fan that has a remote control), so I have made the decision to do some research into these solutions.&lt;br /&gt;I'm optimistic that I will find positive results, and I will make sure that I save these results and pictures of the electronics with such features in a folder in my computer because I've got a plan.&lt;br /&gt;My plan is that on the day that Kachi will tell me, "baby, I've been thinking 'long' and 'hard' on this and I think that it is time for us to buy or BUILD a house", I"ll respond with, " WOW, OMG, THAT IS SOOOO GREAT. Hang on, I've already compiled a list of NEW stuff that need to go in the NEW house!" and then I'll fish this list out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure how many years it'll take for the above scenario to play out so at the moment I'll just keep eating my salmon and dreaming about my brand new 'silent mode button' enhanced electronics!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-8034237087636934293?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8034237087636934293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-quest-for-silent-mode.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8034237087636934293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/8034237087636934293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-quest-for-silent-mode.html' title='My Quest for the Silent Mode'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-1361402986794356313</id><published>2009-04-02T22:37:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T23:26:04.238+10:00</updated><title type='text'>My silent, triumphant WOOOOOOOOOOOOOS</title><content type='html'>Being at home on maternity leave for 6 months has meant that I have developed some new habits. Recently I noticed one particular habit that I think is worthy of note because its ...a bit stupid.&lt;br /&gt;I call it 'My silent, triumphant woooooooos'. If you're wondering what a wooooooo is, its that shout of delight when something you like happens...like-" we're going to Hawaii next week, WOOOOOOOOOOOOO", or "we're getting married tomorrow, WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" (the length and frequency of the woooos also depends on how exciting the thing is, like going to Hawaii vs getting married tomorrow!)&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so 'My silent, triumphant woooooooooos' are the same wooooooooooos, only that I have to jump, wave my hands in the air, and shout my wooos quietly.....thats right, the person in the next room wouldn't even be able to hear me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have noticed a couple of things that culminate in these silent woooooooooos.&lt;br /&gt;The first one that comes to mind would be when I have gone through my obstacle course for the day. You see, when I wake up everyday, I have a list of things that I HAVE TO DO and things that I LOVE TO DO. Things that I HAVE TO DO are stuff like dishes, housecleaning, filling up water bottles for the fridge, going through the mummy-daughter ritual that gets Izabelle to sleep around 11.00 am (her morning bath, morning feed, some playtime, some time watching her favourite TV station which actually is my favourite TV station for her, some more feeding , then sleep), having my shower, making lunch/dinner or both, and making my bed.&lt;br /&gt;Things that I LOVE TO DO in no order of priority include watching cartoons with a glass of juice, facebooking, blogging, just hanging out on the internet doing nothing necessarily innovative, reading a nice book ( i haven't done that in a while though), or going back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally, I have to do the things that I HAVE TO DO before I get to do the things that I LOVE TO DO. This is where the obstacle course theory stems from. The obstacles to doing the things that I LOVE TO Do are  the things that I HAVE TO DO.&lt;br /&gt;I dont necessarily hate the things that I have to do, but because my brain has classified them as chores because they are things that I cannot decide not to do, I find myself preferring the things on the I love to do list. That said, I can predict that when stuff like facebooking find their way into my list of  things I HAVE TO DO... (i'm not sure how that can happen) it will become less preferred than things that remain on the other list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first woooooooooooooooo of the day comes when I have successfully put Izabelle to bed. WOOOOOOOOOOOO. that is usually a major feat because she is quite sociable and tries to stay awake for as long as possible. so after putting her down in her cot, I stand beside and watch her for about 20 seconds and if she's having a successful sleep, I ritualistically throw my hands in the air, and WHISPER  WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.&lt;br /&gt;i must say that the quietness of these triumphant shouts in no way dampen the victory I feel at those moments!&lt;br /&gt;My second woooooooooooo of the day comes when I've successfully finished the dishes and sterilising the bottles...WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...I have to be quiet though because we dont want to destroy the first woooooooo by waking baby! The burst of energy i get from this second wooooooooooooo is able to carry me through my morning shower and making the bed....and on to the final WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO....because now, and only now can I do the things I like to do without any chores hanging over my head.&lt;br /&gt;I usually dont mind if Izabelle wakes up now though, because she is rested and happy enough to be independent on her bouncer.&lt;br /&gt;As i will be starting work in about 3 weeks (where did the months go?!), I wonder if these wooooooooooooos will find their way into my office....I'll let you know if they do and what the reaction of anyone who caught me was.&lt;br /&gt;Till then, I am firmly committed to my daily silent, triumphant wooooooooooooos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-1361402986794356313?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1361402986794356313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-silent-triumphant-wooooooooooooos.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/1361402986794356313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/1361402986794356313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-silent-triumphant-wooooooooooooos.html' title='My silent, triumphant WOOOOOOOOOOOOOS'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-460262070400222656</id><published>2009-03-29T16:03:00.005+10:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T16:50:29.557+10:00</updated><title type='text'>My flings with Routine</title><content type='html'>Everyone has to have at least 1 thriving relationship with a routine in their lives. I was pondering on my routines and I discovered that I have different types of relationships with my routines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are the short flings with some routines, longer flings with some luckier ones, off-and-on flings with some others, continuing relationships with some and lasting relationships with others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have on-and-off short flings with my exercise routine. Oh, I would love for our relationship to go through the ranks and progress to a lasting one, you know like the kind of relationship I have with food, but somehow it doesn't just get there. I think that I need to go into more details so that I can be helped by a relationship therapist.&lt;br /&gt;You see, I notice the routine first, maybe on TV ( there is a Govt. funded advert on being active), or on the phone when my friends tell me about their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;boxersice&lt;/span&gt; class in Gym. This makes me start to think, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;, I think this routine ought to be in my lifestyle.&lt;br /&gt;Then this progresses to research. You know how you find out stuff about someone you think you might want to date? Well, that's what I do about this particular routine. I hop online and check about what kinds of exercises would help me get rid of my post-pregnancy tummy, or help me get back to size 10.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Oooh&lt;/span&gt;, I start getting excited about now and I tell my husband as he innocently passes by the study, "Baby, I've decided that I'm going to start exercising...again..." and he normally responds with, "Yes, you need to."&lt;br /&gt;By now, I'm all fired up and ready to ask my routine on our first date! I look around the house for weights, and if i &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; find any and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;dont&lt;/span&gt; want to ask hubby to buy some (he thinks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; impulsive), I fill up some water bottles and use them instead.&lt;br /&gt;Next step would be to create a 'gym music' &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;playlist&lt;/span&gt; on my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ipod&lt;/span&gt; and the very next morning I'm off on my first date. I crank up my 'gym music' and try to remember the moves we used to do when last I was in a gym. (oh, you should see the expressions on my little daughter's face as she watches me!)&lt;br /&gt;The next day, I discover some muscles I never knew I had because I'm ACHING all over. But NO!, nothing can deter me from my new found love, so by 10.00am, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; fired up, although not as aggressive as the day before.&lt;br /&gt;By the third day, my infatuation has waned, but I'm still a faithful lover, so I go for a walk with the pram instead. When I get back, I re-view the Ad on TV and note that it says to exercise for around 30&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;mins&lt;/span&gt; at least 3 times a week, so i feel that I am now entitled for a rest.&lt;br /&gt;Next week, I exercise for 2 non-consecutive days of the week. The next week, I skip exercise because ....................... maybe I'm sure &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;I'll&lt;/span&gt; do it the following week.&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, by the end of the month, my fling with exercise is sadly over and I'm back to my 'unhealthy' ways of not exercising :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must say that I have seemed to be able to retain some relationships with some other routines. The ones that I have lasting relationships with are those that I can't imagine living without- like brushing my teeth...you know...I have never left my teeth &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;un-brushed&lt;/span&gt; for a week, maybe a day, but not even up to two days. Brushing seems to be a kind of routine that you've never experienced what it feels like not to do it for a week, yet you're scared stiff of the repercussions so you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; want to try. Maybe its a control thing, or maybe its the way our parents drummed it into our young heads, or maybe its only a fear of the unknown.&lt;br /&gt;Other similar relationships I have are with my daily showers, feeding, sleeping, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;facebooking&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some new routines that I have managed to hang on to are sterilising my daughter's feeding bottles...I figured out how to have a daily date with this routine by doing it immediately after doing the dishes. Did I mention that the only reason I do the dishes is because there's no one else to do them? I mean, who loved doing dishes when they were young? Not me-I remember forcing my brother to wash the spoon that was left over from his batch!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, I am expecting my mother-in-law to arrive soon, and I know she'll offer to do the dishes sometimes. I intend to take her up on the offer and I hope I'll find a way to maintain my sterilising relationship with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Izabelle's&lt;/span&gt; bottles...I have to! Maybe, I can ask Mom-in-law to do them along with the dishes! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Woohooo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till then, I am left with the uphill task of figuring out a way to make my short and intense flings with exercise a long and lasting one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please drop me a line of suggestions and I promise to try every single one...unless its unreasonable (i.e. involves waking up before the godly hour of 6.00am).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-460262070400222656?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/460262070400222656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-flings-with-routine.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/460262070400222656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/460262070400222656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-flings-with-routine.html' title='My flings with Routine'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909840126181901436.post-1178974671798773763</id><published>2009-03-27T18:20:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T18:20:54.100+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Forced sleeping habits</title><content type='html'>After working till late last night, I collapsed on my bed around 2.00am only to hear my 5 month old daughter whimper. From past experiences I knew that this was a sign of what was to come for the rest of the morning (night?), anyway, I tiptoed into her room and put her dummy back into her mouth. My little Izabelle has been quickly advancing in the art of using her fingers, so the dummy was pushed out of her mouth before I could make it to the comfort of my bed.&lt;br /&gt;I decided to follow our usual custom and take her into my bed which often results in a number of intermittent feeds till daybreak.&lt;br /&gt;7.00am saw me wide awake, not for lack of the desire to continue sleeping, but because Izabelle was still keeping me awake. By this time, I was famished. After trying to decide whether to get up, make myself a little brekkie and hop straight back into bed, or just keep sleeping on my rumbling stomach, brekkie seemed the more favoured option so I got up. I warmed up some leftover indomie noodles and made some hot chocolate and was set to climb back into bed and indulge when I felt selfish for not preparing anything for Izabelle (even though all she'd done all morning was feed), so I quickly made 60mls of milk for her.&lt;br /&gt;In the end, I was able to squeeze in about 2 hours of sleep, albeit interrupted, into her schedule and was happy to get up and face the day around 09.30am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having left Izabelle to her childish pursuits (aka past 11.00am morning nap), I have been able to go after more grown up pursuits such as doing dishes, tidying the house, having a shower, blogging and then getting back to some work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3909840126181901436-1178974671798773763?l=mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1178974671798773763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/forced-sleeping-habits.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/1178974671798773763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3909840126181901436/posts/default/1178974671798773763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynewmomramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/forced-sleeping-habits.html' title='Forced sleeping habits'/><author><name>Nancy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07521498693383524435</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XZu9NPEpDOg/TzyNwr6y5tI/AAAAAAAAAGw/hGBG4ljqolg/s220/personal.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
