<?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-6303018235979721235</id><updated>2012-02-15T23:08:21.950-08:00</updated><category term='listening'/><category term='singing'/><category term='sneaky'/><category term='commando'/><category term='ears'/><category term='swimming'/><category term='baking'/><category term='three'/><category term='puzzles'/><category term='swiper'/><category term='parenting'/><category term='christmas'/><category term='bedtime'/><category term='bunny'/><category term='toddlers'/><category term='naked'/><category term='preschoolers'/><category term='burps'/><category term='fear'/><category term='pizza'/><category term='santa'/><category term='training'/><category term='toilet'/><category term='potty'/><title type='text'>Surviving "3"</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>91</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8040517787762931766</id><published>2009-08-11T15:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T15:27:45.192-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschoolers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><title type='text'>I Survived "3"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SoHv4oO0KJI/AAAAAAAAARk/sN5NFFet67Q/s1600-h/DSCN0666.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SoHv4oO0KJI/AAAAAAAAARk/sN5NFFet67Q/s200/DSCN0666.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368835986953611410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, I can't believe we've reached 4 already?  Has it really been a year?  Pulse... check.  Breathing... check.  Sanity...  questionable.  Looks like I actually survived "3."  I think what I need most is a reality check.  It's true, my baby girl is now "4."  Yes, it is so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've spent the last year writing about all of the fun little things moms go through as we try to grow our 3-year-olds into respectable little people.  I feel a great sense of accomplishment.  I set out to blog for an entire year and I did just that.  There are 90 blog entries total from June 2008 - August 2009.  These blogs document all of the experiences over the year that I never want to forget.   As we grow older, memories fade and new memories take their place.  I blogged to capture these special moments forever, so we could look back and remember the innocence and beauty of childhood.  This blog will be converted to a blog book (http://www.blurb.com/create/book/blogbook).  I hope that my daughter will cherish it always.  Someday, when Alyssa has children of her own, I hope that she can embrace similar moments with a smile.  To survive "3," you need lots of patience, compassion, a great sense of humor, consistency, and an abundance of love.  If all those fail, a little Captain Morgan and Coca-Cola will do the trick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been fun going back an reading all of my blogs.  We've come a long way in a year, but we still have a long way to go.  Everyone always told me that the 3's are worse than the 2's, so I named my blog "Surviving 3."  Yes, I did it, I survived.  I survived the "What's that?" and "Cuz why?" phase.  I survived the potty training.  I survived the tantrums.   I wish I could say that I survived not listening (a/k/a selective hearing), but we're still working on that.  People with teenagers have warned me that it only gets worse.  I'm starting to wonder how many times I have to repeat myself to get through.  Right now, my biggest frustration is slamming doors and flipping light switches.  Somebody please make it stop!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My greatest joy is when Alyssa comes up to me and tells me she has a secret, then whispers in my ear, "I love you!"  She is an amazing little girl.  She's very affectionate and loves to give hugs.  She is genuinely concerned when you get hurt and offers kisses to make it all better.  She says "please" and "thank you" without being asked.  She will even apologize on her own when she's misbehaved.  If this is any insight of what's to come, I'll take the 4's over the 3's any day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa is an amazing little girl!  I'm so blessed to have her in my life.  She is very bright and has an impeccable memory just like her Daddy.  She's inherited our sense of humor and likes to kid around.  We have lots of fun together!  She loves drawing, coloring, and playing with Play-Doh.  I'm hopeful that she has her Daddy's artistic talents.  She loves to help out in the kitchen, so I hope she enjoys cooking and baking as much as I do.  She is analytical and enjoys working on puzzles that are for 5-6 year olds.  She loves playing games and doing activities on the computer.  She enjoys the outdoors and is willing to try all kinds of sports.  She loves swimming, riding her bike, kicking a soccer ball, playing tennis, and hitting softballs.  She likes to play dress-up, sing, and dance.  She's our little princess.  She is and will always be my baby girl.  I love her so much!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is bittersweet that this is my final blog.  I've been neglecting my handwritten journal over the past year and I'm looking forward to focusing more on my other writing.  Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed reading about our experiences over the past year.  Thank you to all of you who have commented on my blogs.  Your comments will be included in the blog book.  This is the end of one chapter, but the beginning of so much more to come.  I'm proud to say it...  I survived "3."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8040517787762931766?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8040517787762931766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8040517787762931766' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8040517787762931766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8040517787762931766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-survived-3.html' title='I Survived &quot;3&quot;'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SoHv4oO0KJI/AAAAAAAAARk/sN5NFFet67Q/s72-c/DSCN0666.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6025904629835389462</id><published>2009-08-11T12:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T12:29:25.106-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschoolers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><title type='text'>Happy 4th Birthday!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SoHE5oCv-fI/AAAAAAAAARc/QdIiqFXKLmQ/s1600-h/alyssaerin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SoHE5oCv-fI/AAAAAAAAARc/QdIiqFXKLmQ/s200/alyssaerin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368788725082880498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is Alyssa's 4th birthday!!!  I can hardly believe my baby girl is "4" now.  She was so excited to go to bed last night.  She asked Daddy, "When I wake up, will I be 4?"  I'll have to say that over and over until it finally registers... she's 4!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa wore her beautiful birthday dress to school today.  Her friend from class, Erin, gave her a dress at her birthday party.  Her mom bought the girls matching dresses and they agreed to wear them on Alyssa's birthday.  They looked adorable together!  Alyssa was so excited to take cupcakes for her class.  They had the Little Mermaid cupcake toppers and were purple and blue.  During snack time, all the kids will sing "Happy Birthday" to Alyssa and have cupcakes.  I wish I could be there to see it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, we're taking Alyssa to Peter Piper Pizza for dinner and games.  She's really excited!  She's looking forward to playing games with Daddy.  After dinner, we're going to take her to Cold Stone Creamery for her favorite ice cream, pink (a/k/a strawberry) with sprinkles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday, my darling little girl!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6025904629835389462?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6025904629835389462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6025904629835389462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6025904629835389462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6025904629835389462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/08/happy-4th-birthday.html' title='Happy 4th Birthday!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SoHE5oCv-fI/AAAAAAAAARc/QdIiqFXKLmQ/s72-c/alyssaerin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6267655045142505735</id><published>2009-08-09T23:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T23:59:05.942-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschoolers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><title type='text'>Alyssa's 4th Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_A-upmSlI/AAAAAAAAAQs/3XH8pDEaS_c/s1600-h/IMG_5761.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_A-upmSlI/AAAAAAAAAQs/3XH8pDEaS_c/s200/IMG_5761.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368221464755849810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Princes and princesses from across the land joined us on Saturday to celebrate Princess Alyssa's 4th birthday.   The royal festivities began with the crowning of our little princes and princesses with crowns and tiaras, royal jewels, and some sparkles from their Fairy Godmother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_CAv-pCcI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/xqtlMwX3dJ4/s1600-h/IMG_5797.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_CAv-pCcI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/xqtlMwX3dJ4/s200/IMG_5797.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368222598983911874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We started off with Aladdin's Magic Carpets (a/k/a musical chairs) where each prince and princess had to hop on a magic carpet when the music stopped.  Then, it was off to Royal Bingo where they had to mark their cards with Skittles while resisting the temptation to eat their game pieces.  We finished up the games with "Pin the Fin on Ariel," a Princess version of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_CixHZAaI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/QbY6ExqicH4/s1600-h/IMG_5825.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_CixHZAaI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/QbY6ExqicH4/s200/IMG_5825.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368223183404597666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A royal feast was provided for the guests.  Then, it was time to open gifts.  The princes and princesses were so well-behaved.  They all sat around as Alyssa opened her gifts, each one anxiously awaiting for her to pick theirs.  She was thrilled to see that someone got her the Ariel head that she really, really wanted.  She loves this toy!  She even took a nap with it after her party.  She was also excited to get her Ariel bath set.  It's a play set for in the tub that is lots of fun.  She was so happy to get her favorite movie "Enchanted."  She watched it after her birthday nap.  She was walking around the house singing, "That's how you know... you love her..."  It's so sweet listening to her sing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_FLAwP5_I/AAAAAAAAARU/Xt-g_fdT_1U/s1600-h/IMG_5803.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_FLAwP5_I/AAAAAAAAARU/Xt-g_fdT_1U/s320/IMG_5803.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368226073820522482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_DgNGxwpI/AAAAAAAAARE/gk5V0_vp6rU/s1600-h/IMG_5843.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_DgNGxwpI/AAAAAAAAARE/gk5V0_vp6rU/s200/IMG_5843.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368224238890238610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The big birthday surprise was a new bike from Mommy &amp; Daddy.  She was so excited!  She's been playing outside a lot with the neighborhood kids and wanted her own "big girl" bike with a basket and bell.  All of the princes and princesses wanted to try out the new bell.  It was adorable!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_EA9mCXjI/AAAAAAAAARM/a7OW_1NRWGo/s1600-h/IMG_5849.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_EA9mCXjI/AAAAAAAAARM/a7OW_1NRWGo/s200/IMG_5849.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368224801662066226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We all sang "Happy Birthday" and then it was Princess cupcakes and ice cream for all.  It was a royal celebration to remember.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our little Princess is turning 4!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6267655045142505735?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6267655045142505735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6267655045142505735' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6267655045142505735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6267655045142505735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/08/alyssas-4th-birthday.html' title='Alyssa&apos;s 4th Birthday'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sn_A-upmSlI/AAAAAAAAAQs/3XH8pDEaS_c/s72-c/IMG_5761.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-7786343152451542622</id><published>2009-08-03T16:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T16:06:08.684-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Disney Pin Trading</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndtMcitrOI/AAAAAAAAAQc/tc8S-ftBkKw/s1600-h/5800_1196225990616_1377461645_564747_1162104_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndtMcitrOI/AAAAAAAAAQc/tc8S-ftBkKw/s200/5800_1196225990616_1377461645_564747_1162104_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365877541622885602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're newbies to Disney pin trading.  Alyssa picked the Disney Princess starter set and I picked the Fantasyland starter set because it came with a purple lanyard.   We had lots of fun looking at pins and trading pins with Disney Cast Members.  You can trade up to two pins with any Disney Cast Member wearing a lanyard and they have to trade you.  Sometimes, they are even wearing limited edition pins, so you have to know what you're looking for.  We had a lot of fun looking for pins together and trading for pins we liked better.  It's something we can wear every time we return to Disneyland and a memento that Alyssa will have of all her Disney vacations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa wasn't willing to trade away any of her original Princesses, but ended up with a few more anyway.  Daddy bought her a Snow White pin because she's her favorite Princess right now.  Mommy gave her a Tinkerbell pin and a Jessie pin from Toy Story.  Alyssa met a lady from Montana named Yoly.  We ran into Yoly at Disneyland and Alyssa liked her Sleeping Beauty/Cinderella pin.  Yoly offered to trade Alyssa for her Jessie pin and they made the trade.  Then, Alyssa wanted Jessie back.  Yoly was so nice and told her to go ahead and keep the Princess pin.  Then, we saw a Disney Cast Member wearing the little critter from Toy Story that's Alyssa's travel buddy.  She named the critter "Annie" and we take pictures of her everywhere we travel.  So, we were surprised when we saw a pin with Annie.  Alyssa was more than willing to trade Jessie away to get Annie.  I think as she gets older we'll need two lanyards, one she can trade from and one that has the special ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndtT6vgeuI/AAAAAAAAAQk/4p_ds_xUhA8/s1600-h/travelbuddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 183px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndtT6vgeuI/AAAAAAAAAQk/4p_ds_xUhA8/s200/travelbuddy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365877669988694754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I traded away all of my starter pins.  I was on a search for the Little Green Men from Toy Story and ended up with one pin.  They came in a box that was a Toy Story grab bag.  You get two pins, but you don't know which two.  I gambled and bought two boxes and ended up with only one pin that I wanted to keep.  I traded away the others.  All in all, I ended up with some of my favorite Disney and Pixar characters like Dopey, Thumper, LGM, Buzz Lightyear, Woody, and Lightning McQueen.  I also got a special "love" pin from my hubby with Mickey's hands forming a heart since we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary during our trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa and I both got the 2009 commemorative pins to remember the year of Alyssa's first trip to Disneyland and the year we started pin trading.  I am hopeful that this is something Alyssa will enjoy for years to come.  It sure was fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-7786343152451542622?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/7786343152451542622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=7786343152451542622' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7786343152451542622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7786343152451542622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/08/disney-pin-trading.html' title='Disney Pin Trading'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndtMcitrOI/AAAAAAAAAQc/tc8S-ftBkKw/s72-c/5800_1196225990616_1377461645_564747_1162104_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-3109468505932220232</id><published>2009-08-03T14:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T14:15:28.204-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschoolers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><title type='text'>Disneyland!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndQ7GWPozI/AAAAAAAAAO8/0g18RHXkSZw/s1600-h/5440_1193261756512_1377461645_555776_8000365_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndQ7GWPozI/AAAAAAAAAO8/0g18RHXkSZw/s200/5440_1193261756512_1377461645_555776_8000365_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365846457281651506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa has spent much of the past year getting to know the various Disney and Pixar characters.  The first movie she really liked was Finding Nemo.  Then, she started watching Cars and Monsters, Inc.  After that, she fell in love with the Disney Princesses... all of them!  In fact, she likes them so much that her "favorite" one changes almost daily.  So, what better way to celebrate the end of her 3rd year than a trip to Disneyland!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The anticipation and excitement leading up to the trip was almost as exciting as the trip itself.  She knew she was going to Disneyland.  She knew she was going to see the castle.  Most of all, she knew that she was going to meet the Princesses.  She would tell me that she had a secret and whisper in my ear, "We're going to Disneyland..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was all that we anticipated and more.  We enjoyed three full days at Disneyland and California Adventure.  Our first morning, we ran straight to the Matterhorn Bobsleds to introduce Alyssa to roller coasters only to find that the ride was down.  So, her first ride was the Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage.  The expressions on her face as she saw Nemo, Dory, and the other characters was priceless!  We hit the teacups and the Dumbo ride immediately following.  Then, headed off to Toon Town where we met Minnie and Mickey Mouse.  The Gadget's Go Coaster in Toon Town was Alyssa's first real roller coaster experience.  It was fast!  I thought she would be scared to death, but she had a blast and wanted to ride again.   We wanted to take her to meet the Princesses, but the line was two hours long (and we knew we'd see them later on). In the evening, we introduced her to Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.  With eyes wide open and face expressionless, she held on tight.  When we finished the ride, she said, "That was fun!"  While the rest of the park was watching fireworks, we zipped onto the Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion.  She found both of them to be a bit scary, the pirates more so than the ghosts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndSoEtsLMI/AAAAAAAAAPs/mtDXGMOxh8o/s1600-h/5800_1196225950615_1377461645_564746_2704016_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndSoEtsLMI/AAAAAAAAAPs/mtDXGMOxh8o/s200/5800_1196225950615_1377461645_564746_2704016_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365848329448860866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The next day, we were up bright and early for our Magic Morning admission.  At 7:00 a.m., we were off and running.  First, it was the Matterhorn Bobsleds.  Alyssa didn't really care much for the snow monster, but the ride was an absolute blast!  Then, we headed over to the Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters.  What an amazing interactive experience!!!  We all did it twice, then Alyssa and Daddy did it about four more times while I was looking around the store.  Then, we decided to go straight to Space Mountain.  It's always been my favorite ride, but it's very fast and in the dark.  I was hesitant about taking Alyssa on the ride, but she said she wanted to go.  So, off we went!  She was asking to get off about half way through the ride, then asked if we could do it again when it was over.   We rushed over to Splash Mountain and got right on.  Alyssa almost flew out of her seat on the five story plunge, Daddy had to hold her in.  We only got a little wet, so we rushed around and rode again.  This time, we weren't so lucky.  The big plunge drenched us all and Alyssa was completely soaked!  She was not happy.  Off to buy new clothes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndS1a4xdTI/AAAAAAAAAP8/zKfx3PEB0uQ/s1600-h/5800_1196226310624_1377461645_564755_3623947_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndS1a4xdTI/AAAAAAAAAP8/zKfx3PEB0uQ/s200/5800_1196226310624_1377461645_564755_3623947_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365848558739223858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We made reservations for a Princess luncheon at Ariel's Grotto at California Adventure.  As you walk down the spiral staircase, you see Ariel sitting there.  She spent a moment with Alyssa while we took video and pictures.  We were seated and served a three course meal.  As we were eating, each Princess was announced one-by-one... Snow White, Belle, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella.  Filled with emotion, we watched as she met each Princess.  The Princesses came to our table and talked to her, then posed for a picture.  It was a magical experience, one that I will never forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndTXMZpvQI/AAAAAAAAAQU/-iJEbiIfKp0/s1600-h/5800_1196226070618_1377461645_564749_2361938_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndTXMZpvQI/AAAAAAAAAQU/-iJEbiIfKp0/s200/5800_1196226070618_1377461645_564749_2361938_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365849138966150402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In the evening, it was back to Disneyland for fireworks.  We waited and waited for Tinker Bell to fly from the top of Matterhorn to the castle, but we were distracted by the fireworks and missed her.  Alyssa was so disappointed.  We promised that we'd take her to meet Tinker Bell the next day (fingers crossed).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndTD-oq4lI/AAAAAAAAAQM/wIueiu-uqUk/s1600-h/5800_1196226510629_1377461645_564760_4096216_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndTD-oq4lI/AAAAAAAAAQM/wIueiu-uqUk/s200/5800_1196226510629_1377461645_564760_4096216_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365848808853529170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On our last day, we went to Disneyland in the morning and California Adventure for the rest of the afternoon.  We went on a few rides again in the morning.  Alyssa's expectations for rides have gone up since we first arrived.  She now expects them all to go really fast and is quite disappointed when they don't.  We visited Pixie Land to meet Tinker Bell and got very lucky that she was there!  She was so sweet to Alyssa.  We met one of the other fairies first, then saw Tinker Bell.  Alyssa asked her, "Why did you fly so fast?" remembering that we missed her the night before.  She said, "You just have to watch for me, I'm there."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We headed over to California Adventure because Friday is the only day they were doing the Pixar Play Parade.  We went on the Monsters, Inc. ride and it was amazing.  Then, we waited in line to meet Sully.  Alyssa ran up to him earlier in the day and he almost stepped on her, so she was scared to give him a hug.  One of the attendants said, "Never step in front of a walking Sully!"  LOL!  We also met Goofy, Woody, and Sorcerer Mickey Mouse.  We were disappointed that the Toy Story interactive ride had a 2-hour wait time, so we had to skip it.  We decided to see Disney's Aladdin - A Musical Spectacular instead.  It was a wonderful production of the animated feature and a nice way to stay cool for an hour while we were waiting for the parade.  The Pixar Play Parade was magical.  All of the characters we love so much dancing, singing, and riding in the most colorful floats you've ever seen.  What a great way to end our trip to the happiest place on Earth!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndRzuakBpI/AAAAAAAAAPc/EtzbzKr_WrU/s1600-h/5800_1196226470628_1377461645_564759_6912746_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndRzuakBpI/AAAAAAAAAPc/EtzbzKr_WrU/s320/5800_1196226470628_1377461645_564759_6912746_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365847430109857426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-3109468505932220232?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/3109468505932220232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=3109468505932220232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3109468505932220232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3109468505932220232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/08/disneyland.html' title='Disneyland!!!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SndQ7GWPozI/AAAAAAAAAO8/0g18RHXkSZw/s72-c/5440_1193261756512_1377461645_555776_8000365_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2713686966848511873</id><published>2009-07-27T14:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T14:50:43.560-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschoolers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><title type='text'>I Didn't Do It!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sm4hIXa7UyI/AAAAAAAAAO0/rOna6fp59vU/s1600-h/2693_lg.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sm4hIXa7UyI/AAAAAAAAAO0/rOna6fp59vU/s200/2693_lg.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363260633854464802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who did this?  I didn't do it!  Oh really?  You didn't do it?  Then, who did?  Monkey did it!  Oh, I see, Monkey did it.  Well, why did Monkey do it?  I don't know, but he did it.  You don't know?  Okay, did you see Monkey do it?  Uh huh.  Well, I don't think Monkey did it.  Yes he did do it!  In fact, I know Monkey didn't do it.  I think you did it.  No, I didn't do it!  You didn't do it?  You can tell Mommy, it's okay.  Did YOU do it?  (head nod)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Monkey!  He's so innocent and gets blamed for everything.  It's so easy to play detective when you have only one child.  There's no need to wonder who did it.  If a drink is spilled or something is broken or missing, we know who did it... it was Miss Alyssa.  It just cracks me up that she thinks if we didn't see it happen, then she can (1) blame Monkey, (2) just say "I didn't do it!", or (3) simply act like it's a mystery how it happened.  I certainly enjoy the creativity and struggle to keep a straight face when listening to Alyssa describe what happened.  I do not hesitate to put Monkey in Time Out for something he did not do, just to see the look on her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently got an e-mail from Parent Center about preschoolers and lying.  It's pretty common for preschoolers to start lying because they don't understand that it's wrong yet.  Sometimes, they might really forget that something happened.  Or, they are really sorry that they did something so they try to believe that they didn't have anything to do with it.  Children have really vast imaginations.  It's hard for them to distinguish between what's real and what's fantasy at this age.  They don't fully understand what it means to be untruthful until age 5-6.  I guess that's the more appropriate time to start teaching truth and consequences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, I will continue to work on explaining the difference between truth and lying.  I know it's important for her to know that I'm happy when she does nod her head in admission.  I really want her to feel comfortable telling the truth and knowing that she's not going to get into trouble for accidentally spilling her drink or knocking something over as long as she tells me about it.  Since Monkey is just an innocent bystander, there are certain things that are immediately dealt with and certain things that I'd just like to hear from her what happened.  I don't know why Monkey keeps doing all these things he's doing, but the stories sure make me smile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2713686966848511873?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2713686966848511873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2713686966848511873' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2713686966848511873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2713686966848511873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-didnt-do-it.html' title='I Didn&apos;t Do It!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sm4hIXa7UyI/AAAAAAAAAO0/rOna6fp59vU/s72-c/2693_lg.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5410839901047577844</id><published>2009-07-22T11:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T11:50:51.990-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>The Tooth Fairy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmdfgJInFlI/AAAAAAAAAOs/JKY-BHqRukY/s1600-h/toothfairy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 153px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmdfgJInFlI/AAAAAAAAAOs/JKY-BHqRukY/s200/toothfairy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361358887220352594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't anticipate a visit from the Tooth Fairy for at least a year or two.  Alyssa had been complaining over the weekend that her tooth hurt and we found out on Tuesday that she had an abscessed tooth which had to be removed.  She is such a little trooper.  The abscess caused an infection which swelled up the left side of her face.  She started feeling better last night and is on the road to recovery.  We're lucky we caught it when we did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dentist sent home her tooth in a tiny green treasure box.  We explained that the Tooth Fairy comes at night while you are sleeping, takes the tooth, and leaves money under your pillow.  She was quite intrigued!  So, we placed the little green box on her dresser so it wouldn't get lost in her bed.  I finished reading her nightly book and she said to me, "Mommy, please go now.  I don't want the Tooth Fairy to see you!"  That was the quickest I've ever gotten her to bed.  She was overwhelmed with excitement and wanted to be sure she went to sleep right away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She woke up at 4:00 a.m. to use the restroom.  She called for me from her room.  I asked what was the matter and she told me she had to go potty.  She was afraid to get up, fearful she'd miss the Tooth Fairy.  She returned to her room and asked about the Tooth Fairy.  I told her to check the little green box.  Since she saw the box still sitting on her dresser, she assumed that the Tooth Fairy didn't come.  She got a sad look on her face.  I suggested that she check under her pillow.  She flipped over the small pillow in her bed and looked and me with the saddest face you've ever seen and said, "Look!  She didn't come!"  So, I suggested that she look under her big pillow.  To her surprise, the Tooth Fairy had left a $5.00 bill under her pillow.  She got the biggest smile on her face and took off out of the room to shouting to Daddy, "Daddy look! The Tooth Fairy came! She took my tooth and left me money!"  Keeping in mind it was 4 o'clock in the morning, Daddy shared her excitement.  There were even traces of fairy dust (glitter) on the $5.00 bill as proof that it was from the Tooth Fairy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This all happened so quickly that I didn't have time to make the Tooth Fairy a special pillow.  Hopefully, we won't be seeing the Tooth Fairy for two more years or so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5410839901047577844?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5410839901047577844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5410839901047577844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5410839901047577844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5410839901047577844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/tooth-fairy.html' title='The Tooth Fairy'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmdfgJInFlI/AAAAAAAAAOs/JKY-BHqRukY/s72-c/toothfairy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-7380067902076468857</id><published>2009-07-20T08:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T09:08:44.920-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>4-Year Portraits</title><content type='html'>I'm so pleased with Alyssa's 4-year portraits.  We went to Portrait Innovations for the third year in a row and they continue to amaze me.  This year, we asked for just a few pictures on black and white backgrounds and took her Little Mermaid costume for some fun pictures on the beach background.  I had no idea that I'd end up liking the mermaid pictures the best.  They are absolutely beautiful!!!  Alyssa is growing up into such a darling little girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmSV0vRdD6I/AAAAAAAAAOc/QCJ4kdRWfdo/s1600-h/pics1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmSV0vRdD6I/AAAAAAAAAOc/QCJ4kdRWfdo/s400/pics1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360574189753143202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmSWft2itmI/AAAAAAAAAOk/CHxffDaSH9k/s1600-h/pics2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmSWft2itmI/AAAAAAAAAOk/CHxffDaSH9k/s400/pics2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360574928106206818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-7380067902076468857?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/7380067902076468857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=7380067902076468857' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7380067902076468857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7380067902076468857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/4-year-portraits.html' title='4-Year Portraits'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SmSV0vRdD6I/AAAAAAAAAOc/QCJ4kdRWfdo/s72-c/pics1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4714547110530811365</id><published>2009-07-16T08:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T08:49:23.262-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>First Tennis Lesson</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sl9Lx1e-HOI/AAAAAAAAANs/ZvodIfD364E/s1600-h/hitting.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sl9Lx1e-HOI/AAAAAAAAANs/ZvodIfD364E/s200/hitting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359085401136831714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every morning for the past two years we have driven past the Deer Valley High School tennis courts.  As we pass, we yell out "Moon shapes!"  Those are the moon-shaped cut-outs in the tarps covering the fencing around the courts.  Just recently, Alyssa started asking, "What is that?"  Of course, I responded, "Moon shapes!"  To which she replied, "No, what is it?"  So, every day we've been talking about the tennis courts.  I told her Daddy would teach her to play and every day as we pass she says, "Can we play tennis?"  Yesterday, I told her we would play after dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was so excited to get out her racquet and hit balls.  Daddy showed her how to hold the racquet and swing even with her waste.  I still remember when I was 19 and he taught me how to play tennis with the same methods.  First step, learning how to swing the racquet properly and connect with the ball.  It's just like spanking a baby, but you're spanking the tennis balls.  Alyssa got a kick out of that!  "Spank the baby!" she said as she hit the balls.  She never ceases to amaze me!  She was making great contact and hitting a majority of the balls that Daddy bounced to her.  There's nothing greater than the look she has on her face when she does something she's proud of.  It makes me smile!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were practicing hitting, Alyssa would run around picking up the balls for us.  It was really nice to have a ball girl.  We're looking forward to getting back into tennis.  We haven't played since before she was born.  We fell in love playing tennis together and it's so wonderful to finally share that with our daughter.  My husband is an amazing tennis player and great teacher.  I love watching her learn something new from her Daddy.  It's something she will cherish for the rest of her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sl9L1imMiUI/AAAAAAAAAN0/4QUr8RTUGd4/s1600-h/alyssadaddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sl9L1imMiUI/AAAAAAAAAN0/4QUr8RTUGd4/s320/alyssadaddy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359085464786340162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4714547110530811365?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4714547110530811365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4714547110530811365' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4714547110530811365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4714547110530811365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-tennis-lesson.html' title='First Tennis Lesson'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sl9Lx1e-HOI/AAAAAAAAANs/ZvodIfD364E/s72-c/hitting.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6580278220368502559</id><published>2009-07-09T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T12:39:51.377-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>My Little Fish</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SlZHV9z6M4I/AAAAAAAAANk/6VUl_FxImY4/s1600-h/logo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 50px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SlZHV9z6M4I/AAAAAAAAANk/6VUl_FxImY4/s200/logo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356547249498895234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa has been in swimming lessons at Aqua-Tots since last August.  We go every week for 30 minutes.  In that time, I've seen improvements during her lessons, but I had no idea how well she was swimming until last weekend.  We spent the 4th of July weekend at the Westin Kierland Resort &amp; Spa.  They have a wonderful family pool with a large section for kids that goes up to 3 ft. deep.  She was swimming like a fish!  I am filled with amazement and absolutely speechless over her swimming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She can swim from the middle of the pool to the side without taking any breaths, then climb out of the pool on her own.  She loves to dive for her Disney Princess toys and rings.  When she misses one, she pops up for a breath and quickly dives back down.  She watched another little girl do a summersault under water and quickly did the same.  She loves to jump in the deep end and quickly swims to the surface.  She can even jump in the deep end, surface, float on her back, and then swim back to the side of the pool.   Her favorite thing to do in the pool is to have Daddy toss her high in the air.  She pops back up and asks for more.  She is amazing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I simply cannot find the words to express how impressed I am and how pleased I am with the instructors at Aqua-Tots.  I am very confident that if my daughter fell into a swimming pool that she would be able to swim to the edge and get out.  She is learning the fundamentals of swimming that will be with her a lifetime.  I'm so very thankful that she's developed confidence in the water and is not fearful to try new things.  She has quickly advanced through her classes and I'm very proud of her!  Way to go, my little fish!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6580278220368502559?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6580278220368502559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6580278220368502559' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6580278220368502559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6580278220368502559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-little-fish.html' title='My Little Fish'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SlZHV9z6M4I/AAAAAAAAANk/6VUl_FxImY4/s72-c/logo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5596497204058847070</id><published>2009-07-02T08:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T08:42:46.327-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Good Job, Daddy!</title><content type='html'>Last night, Alyssa asked if she could put stickers on the papers that she brought home from school.  As she was putting on the stickers, she was telling herself, "Good job!"  Her coloring is just amazing!  She doesn't just pick one color and stay in the lines, she selects multiple colors and blends them.  Naturally, all of her pictures are well-deserving of a sticker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone else received a "Good job!" sticker last night too.  Alyssa awarded one to Daddy for the good job he did on his painting.  He's had weeks of artist block and finally started painting again.  She placed the sticker right in the middle of his painting and said, "Good job, Daddy!"  Of all the thoughts going through his head, he smiled and said, "Thank you, honey!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, the sticker came off without damaging the painting.  It's hard to explain that we don't put stickers on Daddy's paintings.  When Alyssa does a good job painting or coloring at school, she gets a sticker.  She was just rewarding Daddy for the good job he did.  He earned that sticker and he should be proud!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkzVXddCu9I/AAAAAAAAANc/VngbNDQ8gJc/s1600-h/15134892.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkzVXddCu9I/AAAAAAAAANc/VngbNDQ8gJc/s320/15134892.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353888656056826834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5596497204058847070?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5596497204058847070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5596497204058847070' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5596497204058847070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5596497204058847070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-job-daddy.html' title='Good Job, Daddy!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkzVXddCu9I/AAAAAAAAANc/VngbNDQ8gJc/s72-c/15134892.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-1723509840452788066</id><published>2009-07-01T13:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T13:38:09.655-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>The Bad Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkvJLNLIe-I/AAAAAAAAANU/Dp0AXmTVXCI/s1600-h/callout.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 152px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkvJLNLIe-I/AAAAAAAAANU/Dp0AXmTVXCI/s320/callout.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353593776412064738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started with Shrek telling the donkey to "Shut up!"  Then, it was the beast in Beauty &amp; the Beast saying, "Stupid!"  I remember the day Alyssa put all of her dolls and stuffed animals in time out for saying "Shut up!"  She'd tell each one that they were in time-out for saying "Shut up!"  Essentially, she was repeating it over and over without getting in trouble because, after all, they were the ones that said it, not her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We try to be mindful of the things that we say and the word choices that we make.  We try not to use words that we don't want to hear repeated.  However, in case we forget, we now have a little person to remind us exactly what was said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is 'weirdo' a bad word?" Alyssa asks.   I tell her that it's not exactly a bad word, but it's not really nice either.  It's a silly word that people say when they see someone who is different or acting goofy.  She tells me she heard the word from a friend at school.  Her friend said, "You're a weirdo!"  She seems a bit sad and says, "But I'm not a weirdo!"  We have a talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is 'crazy old buzzard' a bad word?" Alyssa asks.  I couldn't help but laugh.  It's not a bad word, but it's also not nice to call someone that.  I gave an example and told her if she said that to her Grandma it wouldn't be very nice.  Sure enough, the next time we see Grandma she looks at her and says, "You crazy old buzzard!"  Grandma's looked at her sternly and says, "I don't like that!"  Alyssa cried.  Talk not required.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is 'friggin nuts' a bad word?" Alyssa asks.  I turned my head and busted laughing.  Upon gaining my composure, I asked where she heard that.  She tells me she heard it at school.  Interested, I asked what the kid said to her.  She told me the kid looked at her and said, "You're friggin' nuts!"  I tell her it's not nice to say and we have another talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was driving home on the highway and there was a slow car in front of me going about 25 in a 55.  As my patience was wearing and I said out loud, "I have to change lanes... this car is driving me friggin' nuts!"  &lt;freeze frame&gt;  Oh my!  Did she hear that from me?  How often do I say that?  Is "friggin" even a word?  Maybe she didn't hear that from a kid at school?  Well, it's better than the alternative.  Ohhhh boy!  &lt;silence&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I said before, in case we forget what we say, there's always someone to remind us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-1723509840452788066?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/1723509840452788066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=1723509840452788066' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1723509840452788066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1723509840452788066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/07/bad-words.html' title='The Bad Words'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkvJLNLIe-I/AAAAAAAAANU/Dp0AXmTVXCI/s72-c/callout.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8177802452320257391</id><published>2009-06-23T12:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T12:29:55.815-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Light Switches, Doors &amp; Locks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkEtLzTbRDI/AAAAAAAAANM/wm5Bjns6cpw/s1600-h/light_switch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkEtLzTbRDI/AAAAAAAAANM/wm5Bjns6cpw/s200/light_switch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350607513066357810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the deal with light switches, doors, and locks?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm absolutely amazed that with a room full of toys the only intriguing thing to play with is the light switch.  Light on, light off, light on, light off, light on... "STOP PLAYING WITH THE LIGHT SWITCH!!!"  It stops briefly, then starts again light on, light off, light on, light off, light on... I see Alyssa looking at me with those curious eyes.  She reaches to give it one more try -- light on, light off -- just to make absolutely certain that she's not supposed to be playing with the light switch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time, it’s the bathroom door -- open, close, open, close -- I hear the squeaking.  This doesn’t work in her bedroom because there is a foam door guard at the top of the door.  “SLAM!” the door closes.  “STOP PLAYING WITH THE DOOR!!!!”  I hear a faint voice say, “Mommy, where are you?”  I go to open the door and it’s locked.  I hear giggles in the distance.  “OPEN THE DOOR!!!  1…2…3…”  Apparently, the counting is ineffective when Mommy is on the other side of the locked door.  “I’m getting the key!” and magically the door opens.  We have the first of several discussions about not locking doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You would think that would be enough, but it’s not.  You have to think like a child and anticipate their every move.  Mommy has been locked out of the bathroom, the changing room at swim class, public restrooms, and, yes, even our house.  When your child is running quickly towards a door and giggling, you run as fast as you can screaming, “You’d better not lock that ((SLAM)) door!”  Sometimes, I feel like the big, bad wolf standing outside the door yelling, “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” Little did she know that Mommy had already entered the house through the garage door, I sneaked up behind her and said, “What are you doing?”  It was time for another discussion about not locking doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We’ve made progress.  Alyssa told me yesterday that she’s not going to lock doors anymore because she wants to be a good girl and only bad girls lock doors.  I understand that it’s just something new that she’s figured out how to do by herself.  Meanwhile, she has learned a lot about cause and effect.  Locking Mommy out gets you in BIG trouble!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this hasn’t happened to you already, it will.  If you don’t have another way to get inside a locked door (besides threats and bribery), then you’d better learn to run very, very fast.  It’s like the real life version of Survivor – outwit, outplay, outlast.  You’ve always got to be one step ahead of the game.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8177802452320257391?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8177802452320257391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8177802452320257391' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8177802452320257391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8177802452320257391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/06/light-switches-doors-locks.html' title='Light Switches, Doors &amp; Locks'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SkEtLzTbRDI/AAAAAAAAANM/wm5Bjns6cpw/s72-c/light_switch.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5316301405603390796</id><published>2009-06-16T08:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T08:56:26.907-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Travel Buddy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje90O5dotI/AAAAAAAAALU/RD1BVqt-mpA/s1600-h/sf1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje90O5dotI/AAAAAAAAALU/RD1BVqt-mpA/s200/sf1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347951787575714514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi there!  It’s me, Alyssa.  Mommy has been too busy to work on my blog, so I decided to do this one for her.  I went to San Francisco for vacation this year and it was a blast!  Since Daddy has a travel buddy “Homer,” I wanted a travel buddy too.  This is my “Annie.”  She is a little critter that came with my Jessie doll from Toy Story.  She looks kind of like a bunny rabbit, but with the body of a pig.  She didn’t have a name, so I named her Annie.  We’re going to travel the world together.  She’s my travel buddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAA4YKu6I/AAAAAAAAAMs/MDvbl3Z0W3Q/s1600-h/sf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAA4YKu6I/AAAAAAAAAMs/MDvbl3Z0W3Q/s200/sf2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347954203892038562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite part of vacation is riding all of the carousels.  San Francisco had a HUGE carousel.  It had two stories and I got to go up really high.  Mommy and Daddy let me ride it a few times.  It was fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAFc-GOMI/AAAAAAAAAM0/q2KHGLZij8E/s1600-h/sf3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAFc-GOMI/AAAAAAAAAM0/q2KHGLZij8E/s200/sf3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347954282434279618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to ride in a boat and it was really, really cold and windy.  We went to Alcatraz.  It’s a really scary place that they used to lock people up in.  We had to be very, very quiet because people were sleeping.  Daddy told me they weren’t real, but I saw them!  My daddy made a really neat video of Alcatraz (&lt;a href="http://www.vimeo.com/5032057"&gt;http://www.vimeo.com/5032057&lt;/a&gt;).  We had fun looking around and playing in the cellblocks.  Mommy told me if I wasn’t good that she’d leave me there, but she was just kidding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAK-4v66I/AAAAAAAAAM8/FywxGbR4XBU/s1600-h/sf4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAK-4v66I/AAAAAAAAAM8/FywxGbR4XBU/s200/sf4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347954377437997986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next favorite part about vacation is all the yummy food!  We went to this bakery with lots of yummy bread.  Mommy got me turtle bread and it was so good.  The lady at Boudin Bakery even let me pull around a giant alligator bread that was bigger than me!  We also had pizza, ice cream, mini doughnuts, and salt water taffy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAUhdtSJI/AAAAAAAAANE/Nj2BtB8K5bc/s1600-h/sf5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SjfAUhdtSJI/AAAAAAAAANE/Nj2BtB8K5bc/s200/sf5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347954541338642578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a nice bike ride to the Golden Gate Bridge.  Daddy pulled me the whole way and I slept on the way back.  Now, that’s what I’m talking about.  We stopped at this really pretty place on the way back and I met a little boy.  He gave me some bread to feed the birds.  There were birds everywhere!!!  They must have been really hungry because they kept coming to me for more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took a nice drive out of the city to go find Snoopy.  My mommy loves Snoopy.  We had lots of fun taking pictures with Snoopy.  I even got a super cuddly Snoopy to sleep with.  I love him so much!  We had a nice lunch at the Warm Puppy Café.  Can you believe they even have Snoopy ice cream there?  It was a Snoopy kind of day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje-Vx_4VdI/AAAAAAAAAL8/A870m-3uuGw/s1600-h/sf6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje-Vx_4VdI/AAAAAAAAAL8/A870m-3uuGw/s200/sf6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347952363933554130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had lots of fun in San Francisco!  I got to ride on trains and cable cars.  I went to two aquariums and saw lots of fish.  I really liked looking at the sea lions on the pier.  I’d hear them and say, “Arr, Arr, Arr!”  I think they understand me.  I met lots of new people.  When I’d see someone sitting on the side of the street, I’d say, “Hi!  What’s your name?”  Mommy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.  I was a really good girl for my Mommy and Daddy.  I can’t wait to go on vacation again!  Annie and I have lots of places to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje-YR0z4WI/AAAAAAAAAME/JntEoJyXECM/s1600-h/sf7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje-YR0z4WI/AAAAAAAAAME/JntEoJyXECM/s200/sf7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347952406836797794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5316301405603390796?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5316301405603390796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5316301405603390796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5316301405603390796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5316301405603390796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/06/travel-buddy.html' title='Travel Buddy'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sje90O5dotI/AAAAAAAAALU/RD1BVqt-mpA/s72-c/sf1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4731427774907424445</id><published>2009-06-08T09:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T09:26:34.975-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Two Mommies</title><content type='html'>It's hard to be serious sometimes when your child says or does something so silly that you burst into laughter.  Last week, Alyssa was up to her bedtime antics of running around and not listening.  When I discipline, I get down to her level and make sure she is looking at me when I am talking to her.  She was looking off to the side, so I told her to look at my eyes when I'm talking to her.  As her eyes met mine, she made them cross-eyed.   I raised my voice, then she looked at me straight and went cross-eyed again.  As she crossed her eyes she said, "Look! Two mommies are yelling at me."  At a time when I needed to be authoritative, I clearly failed.  I immediately busted up laughing.  As I was laughing, she looked straight again and said, "One Mommy," then crossed her eyes and said, "Two Mommies."  She then asked me to cross my eyes to see if there were two Alyssas and, of course, there were.  We both got a good laugh and she asked me if I thought she was funny.  Yes, I thought it was hilarious!  We had a good laugh and a big hug.  Now, when she wants to be silly, she looks at me with crossed eyes and says, "I see two Mommies."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4731427774907424445?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4731427774907424445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4731427774907424445' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4731427774907424445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4731427774907424445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/06/two-mommies.html' title='Two Mommies'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-338875561841844744</id><published>2009-06-04T12:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T12:30:52.931-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Just Like Daddy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sigga2Lj5XI/AAAAAAAAALE/PhjzFnQsmbM/s1600-h/060309_mommy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sigga2Lj5XI/AAAAAAAAALE/PhjzFnQsmbM/s200/060309_mommy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343556603467785586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past month, Alyssa has been drawing on the back of her color sheets from school.  All of the kids get the same sheet with a picture to color.  Alyssa is usually the first person to finish her color sheet, so she flips the page over and draws on the back while everyone else is still coloring.  Yesterday, to my surprise, I flipped the page over and it was an amazing drawing of me!  She gave me purple hair because she knows it’s my favorite color and wrote “MOM” at the bottom.  It’s just beautiful!  I love all the green eyelashes.  When I asked her about the drawing, she just smiled and said, “It’s you!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was looking through the other papers she brought home and didn’t realize there was a second drawing.  When I asked her who it was, she told me it was daddy.  These drawings are just amazing.  I’m impressed that her stick figures are developing into detailed faces.  It’s also interesting how she selects and blends her colors instead of just using one crayon.  I think she definitely has daddy’s artistic talent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SiggkFeK30I/AAAAAAAAALM/2JuOBq7NvYQ/s1600-h/060309_daddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SiggkFeK30I/AAAAAAAAALM/2JuOBq7NvYQ/s200/060309_daddy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343556762191191874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked her to draw me another picture today.  I can’t wait to see it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-338875561841844744?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/338875561841844744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=338875561841844744' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/338875561841844744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/338875561841844744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/06/just-like-daddy.html' title='Just Like Daddy'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sigga2Lj5XI/AAAAAAAAALE/PhjzFnQsmbM/s72-c/060309_mommy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6589894035749431403</id><published>2009-06-01T11:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T11:04:00.010-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>M-O-M</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SiQYBictKpI/AAAAAAAAAK8/8hbSJF8t1zI/s1600-h/mom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 75px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SiQYBictKpI/AAAAAAAAAK8/8hbSJF8t1zI/s200/mom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342421472674392722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spelling is just the beginning of learning to read.  We see words in a book and Alyssa asks what they are.  I point at the word, spell it, and then sound it out.  That way, the next time she sees the word she knows what it is.  She's been writing words on her own like her name, C-A-T, D-O-G, M-O-M, and D-A-D.  She's so proud when she writes something and we praise her for it.  We're always challenging her to write new words.  We also have a game on our iPhone called SightWords that teaches word recognition.  It's the 100 easiest words in the English language.  Your child can look and hear the word so they learn basic reading just by word recognition.  It's great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We just got back from our family vacation to San Francisco.  One day, we were riding on the train and Alyssa was talking to a very nice lady named Pietra.  I'm still laughing at their conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  Hi!&lt;br /&gt;Pietra:  Hi!&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  What's your name?&lt;br /&gt;Pietra:  Pietra&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  (looks puzzled)&lt;br /&gt;Pietra:  Pietra (sounded out slowly)&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  Pizza?&lt;br /&gt;Pietra:  (laughing) What's your name?&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  Alyssa, A-L-Y-S-S-A&lt;br /&gt;Pietra:  That's a nice name.  What's your mommy's name?&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  Chanda&lt;br /&gt;Pietra:  How do you spell your mommy's name?&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  M-O-M&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not realizing how many people on the train were listening to this conversation, everyone started laughing as soon as Alyssa spelled M-O-M.  I'm so tickled that she associated the spelling of M-O-M with my name instead of just saying she didn't know.  This was one of those special moments that made Mom smile... and I'm still smiling.  :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6589894035749431403?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6589894035749431403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6589894035749431403' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6589894035749431403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6589894035749431403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/06/m-o-m.html' title='M-O-M'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SiQYBictKpI/AAAAAAAAAK8/8hbSJF8t1zI/s72-c/mom.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-3447689257248494222</id><published>2009-05-11T11:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T11:40:07.266-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Letter to Mommy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SghwQFaeviI/AAAAAAAAAKc/fWWRuSG9dxY/s1600-h/flowers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 144px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SghwQFaeviI/AAAAAAAAAKc/fWWRuSG9dxY/s200/flowers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334637180253814306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For Mother's Day, Alyssa colored a picture for me and wrote me a letter.  Daddy asked her what she'd like to thank me for on Mother's Day.  This is what she said as written by Daddy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Dear Mommy,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          I love you.  Thank you for making me breakfast. &lt;br /&gt;          Thank you for candy and food.  I love all my toys. &lt;br /&gt;          Thank you for reading books.  They are fun. &lt;br /&gt;          Thank you for taking me to the park and getting me clothes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Love,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Alyssa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was so excited about her letter that she asked me every day for the past 3-4 days if it was Mommy's Day yet.  When I told her Sunday morning it was Mommy's Day, she took off running to get it.  You could see the pride beaming from her face when she gave it to me.  I love it so much!  She is such a thoughtful little girl.  It's amazing to me how she's starting to express her love.  She asks for hugs now and tells me that she loves me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an incredible Mother's Day.  It seems like it lasted for two weeks instead of one weekend.  Last Friday, we went to As You Wish Pottery and Alyssa painted me a Mommy's Bowl.  I love it!!!!  It's purple just for me and has her name and date on the bottom.  I'll use it every morning and cherish it forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sghwf_4wDiI/AAAAAAAAAKs/IedRqXQbxp8/s1600-h/bowl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 139px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sghwf_4wDiI/AAAAAAAAAKs/IedRqXQbxp8/s200/bowl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334637453648072226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At school, Alyssa did a special craft project for Mother's Day.  She made a pink sparkle frame with a beautiful picture of her inside.  She picked out the shoe and the bow just for me.   It's so adorable!   She looks so pretty in the picture.  I placed it on my desk at work so I can look at it every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sghwo7oOXRI/AAAAAAAAAK0/JiIeV8NjiLk/s1600-h/frame.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 185px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sghwo7oOXRI/AAAAAAAAAK0/JiIeV8NjiLk/s200/frame.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334637607123836178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a nice Mother's Day breakfast at home with Grandma.  Daddy and Alyssa got me some beautiful flowers.  We spent the afternoon at Desert Ridge enjoying the warm weather and the splash pad.  We had a nice lunch on the patio and topped it off with some Cold Stone Creamery ice cream.  What a fantastic day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's wonderful to be a mom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-3447689257248494222?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/3447689257248494222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=3447689257248494222' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3447689257248494222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3447689257248494222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/05/letter-to-mommy.html' title='Letter to Mommy'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SghwQFaeviI/AAAAAAAAAKc/fWWRuSG9dxY/s72-c/flowers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4371092872658475284</id><published>2009-04-27T10:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T10:25:39.211-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Piggy in the Hole</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXqhz7yAQI/AAAAAAAAAKU/eyefWl_ceq8/s1600-h/stuck.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXqhz7yAQI/AAAAAAAAAKU/eyefWl_ceq8/s200/stuck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329423600660381954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We picked up some funnels not too long ago at IKEA for Alyssa to play with in the tub.   Alyssa is done with the baby toys and needed something new to play with in the tub.  She likes to fill them up with water and watch them drain.  You'd think it would be a perfectly safe bath toy, right?  Well, you've seen the picture by now.  Who would have thought we'd end up with a piggy stuck in the hole?  I gave a little tug and it was stuck really good.  You can even see in the picture that her toe was beginning to turn purple.  Good thing it was plastic, I knew that we could cut it off as a last resort.  I asked her if it hurt and she said, "No."  So, I quickly got the camera and took a picture.  Come on, this is good blog material.  Then, I told her I'd have to get the scissors and remove her toe.  You should have seen the look on her face!  We applied lots of soap to both sides and gave it a wiggle, wiggle.  Little piggy was free again!   Let's hope she learned a lesson and keeps her piggy out of the hole.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4371092872658475284?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4371092872658475284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4371092872658475284' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4371092872658475284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4371092872658475284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/piggy-in-hole.html' title='Piggy in the Hole'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXqhz7yAQI/AAAAAAAAAKU/eyefWl_ceq8/s72-c/stuck.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6178428078747706628</id><published>2009-04-27T10:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T10:09:21.072-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Ready, Aim, Fire!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXmY1MeHlI/AAAAAAAAAKE/fI4E5c5OVxU/s1600-h/readyaimfire.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXmY1MeHlI/AAAAAAAAAKE/fI4E5c5OVxU/s200/readyaimfire.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329419048333483602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The water balloons were fun, but the demand far exceeds the supply.  I can't fill and tie them fast enough!  Alyssa tosses them as fast as she gets them.  So, it was time to introduce her to another water sport... water guns.  We're not talking the rinky dinky squirt guns you pick up at Walgreens.  We're talking the AK-47 of all squirt guns... Super Soakers!  We went on a family outing to purchase our arsenal.  We are now armed and dangerous!  It didn't take long for Alyssa to operate her new water blaster.  She quickly learned to pump, aim, and fire.  We picked up several different kinds.  The large ones are difficult for her to operate because they are so heavy when full and her little fingers can't pull the trigger.  The best one is called the "Bottle Shot."  It's perfect for little ones because it doesn't have a trigger.  You just pump and squirt about 20 feet.  You can use the bottle that comes with it or any size water bottle.  She loves it!   In case you're interested, here's a picture:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXmdcBlh2I/AAAAAAAAAKM/fNXwsbjBYaA/s1600-h/bottleshot.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 71px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXmdcBlh2I/AAAAAAAAAKM/fNXwsbjBYaA/s200/bottleshot.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329419127476291426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa isn't shy when it comes to using the "Bottle Shot."  She can hold her own and get drenched with the rest of us.  She loves running around chasing us and getting us wet.  Her favorite is Daddy's reaction when Mommy squirts him in the face.  She giggles hysterically!  We like to gang up on him, but we end up drenched when we do.  One thing about Daddy is that if you get him, he'll get you back twice as much.  She quickly learned how to shoot with her head turned so that she doesn't get her face wet.  It's so much fun being kids again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've been enjoying our family time outside together.  Besides the water balloons and water guns, we've also been enjoying homemade snow cones.  Yummy!  With temperatures already in the 100's last week, we're getting ready for the summer heat.  Beware of spontaneous water fights!  You just might find yourself Super Soaked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6178428078747706628?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6178428078747706628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6178428078747706628' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6178428078747706628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6178428078747706628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/ready-aim-fire.html' title='Ready, Aim, Fire!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SfXmY1MeHlI/AAAAAAAAAKE/fI4E5c5OVxU/s72-c/readyaimfire.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5349694155732451353</id><published>2009-04-19T23:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T23:54:29.965-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Water Balloon Fight!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SewaxOyhy8I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/xwUJONeCSdU/s1600-h/balloon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SewaxOyhy8I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/xwUJONeCSdU/s200/balloon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326661892358392770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you bring in the first really hot day of the year?  We spent time together outside eating homemade snow cones and having a water balloon fight!  Alyssa was breaking them faster than we could make them.  She had so much fun!  It was so cute to see her walk up behind Daddy and just smash one on his back.  When she throws them at Daddy, he just catches them and throws them right back.  Then, they land by Alyssa’s feet and *splash*.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While Mommy was busy filling up balloons, there was an ambush in the works.  Ready, aim, fire… Mommy was drenched!  We all ended up pretty soaked.  Next time we have a water balloon fight, I need to spend some time filling up balloons beforehand.  Fill as you go is hard when you have a little one standing there waiting and you don’t know if you’re the next target.  There will be several more water fights before the end of the summer.  This is just the beginning!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5349694155732451353?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5349694155732451353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5349694155732451353' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5349694155732451353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5349694155732451353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/water-balloon-fight.html' title='Water Balloon Fight!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SewaxOyhy8I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/xwUJONeCSdU/s72-c/balloon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5540853752432933456</id><published>2009-04-19T23:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T23:26:48.676-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Inflate</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SewVo2GMZwI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/LeIvXqRg32Y/s1600-h/inflate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SewVo2GMZwI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/LeIvXqRg32Y/s200/inflate.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326656250732898050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday evening, we went to Christ’s Church of the Valley (CCV) for the “Inflate” event (a/k/a Jumpy Heaven).  There was every kind of inflatable jumpy, slide, and obstacle course you could imagine.  Alyssa had an absolute blast!  He favorites by far were the slides.  I couldn’t believe that she climbed up there all by herself and wasn’t afraid to come down.  She even went on the giant slide that was about three stories tall.  It’s amazing to see your child have so much fun.  In fact, she had so much fun that we played some more after church today.  It was a bouncy, jumpy kind of weekend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5540853752432933456?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5540853752432933456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5540853752432933456' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5540853752432933456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5540853752432933456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/inflate.html' title='Inflate'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SewVo2GMZwI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/LeIvXqRg32Y/s72-c/inflate.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-7500397707582766062</id><published>2009-04-16T08:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T08:46:33.147-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>*click*</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SedS0tMijfI/AAAAAAAAAJs/PQJgU_KyW0o/s1600-h/smboosterwgirl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 145px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SedS0tMijfI/AAAAAAAAAJs/PQJgU_KyW0o/s200/smboosterwgirl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325316149827767794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was driving Alyssa to school this morning, I heard a *click* in the back seat.  "Did you unbuckle your seat?" I asked.  She replied, "No."  Relying on my mom instincts, I asked again.  As I looked in the rear view mirror, she gave me a head nod.  At that point, I immediately went into "freak-out" mode.  I don't know if you have ever been in "freak-out" mode while driving, but you look for the first place you can turn in, jump out of the car, open the door, and start yelling.  Yes, that was me freaking out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I managed to stop yelling and explain to Alyssa that the seat belt is for her safety and it holds her in her seat if another car hits Mommy's car.  I even demonstrated what would happen if she flew forward with it on and described what would happen without it on.  Wanting to make an impact, that description went something like this, "You could going flying out of the seat, go through the windshield, and die!"  It may have been a little extreme, but I followed it up by telling her Mommy doesn't want her to die and the seat belt keeps her safe in her seat.  Like I said above, I was in "freak-out" mode.  This is the first time this has happened while we were driving and I wasn't prepared for the impromptu lecture.  Point made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All buckled in, we get back on the road and Alyssa says, "In church, we learned that Jesus died on the cross."  (pause)  "Mommy, I don't want to die on the cross."  I chuckled, "Honey, you're not going to die on the cross."  I think I have some explaining to do when I get home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-7500397707582766062?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/7500397707582766062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=7500397707582766062' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7500397707582766062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7500397707582766062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/click.html' title='*click*'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SedS0tMijfI/AAAAAAAAAJs/PQJgU_KyW0o/s72-c/smboosterwgirl.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-7878354775161073221</id><published>2009-04-14T09:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T09:56:09.155-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Thanks, Easter Bunny!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_rVXj17I/AAAAAAAAAJc/7d9JWxKeOFs/s1600-h/IMG_4669.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_rVXj17I/AAAAAAAAAJc/7d9JWxKeOFs/s200/IMG_4669.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324591410650011570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;On Saturday night, we painted eggs for the Easter Bunny to hide.  Alyssa had fun dipping her paint brush in the dye and brushing it on.  Mommy and Daddy painted some too.  The eggs were very pretty.  We sat out Alyssa's basket for the Easter Bunny to fill it up and left a bowl of carrots on the table.  It rained Saturday night, so we left a note to let him know to deliver inside.  The note said, "A-L-Y-S-S-A" with an arrow pointing to the basket.  I think he knew what she meant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_eRi5LII/AAAAAAAAAJU/2RLoZVegHrY/s1600-h/IMG_4691.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_eRi5LII/AAAAAAAAAJU/2RLoZVegHrY/s200/IMG_4691.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324591186285505666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Alyssa woke up at 6:00 a.m. saying, "The Easter Bunny was here!"  She looked on the table and her basket was gone.  All that remained in the bowl were some chewed up carrots and he even made a mess on the floor.  The Easter Bunny must have sat at the table to eat his carrots because a piece of his fuzzy white tail was left behind.  Alyssa picked up his tail and said, "Ewwww... a piece of his tail.  How gross!"  Then, she threw it in the trash.  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her Easter basket behind the couch, pointed, and exclaimed, "LOOK!"  She ran to it and started pulling stuff out.  She was so excited!  She absolutely loves her bunny puppet and bubble blower.  Thanks, Easter Bunny!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_0PEzGHI/AAAAAAAAAJk/KzCy2PwxXaA/s1600-h/IMG_4696.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_0PEzGHI/AAAAAAAAAJk/KzCy2PwxXaA/s200/IMG_4696.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324591563579529330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We went through the house looking for Easter eggs.  The Easter Bunny put them in the funniest places.  Alyssa liked the one she found in Daddy's shoe and the one on Elmo's feet.  She loaded up her basket with the painted eggs and plastic eggs filled with goodies, but not without checking to see what was inside the plastic eggs.  They were filling with yogurt raisins, fruit snacks, Yogos, and a few had Nerds candies.  This morning, with a sad look on her face, she said to me, "The Easter Bunny didn't leave me any jelly beans!"  I tried to fill the eggs with stuff she'd be allowed to have for a snack and less candy.  I guess the Easter Bunny will have to remember jelly beans next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we finished our egg hunt, we enjoyed a pancake breakfast and went to Easter service at church.  In the afternoon, we sat on the patio eating homemade snow cones while Alyssa showered us with bubbles from her new bubble blower.  We finished up the day with a nice ham dinner and carrot cake for dessert.   What a great Easter!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-7878354775161073221?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/7878354775161073221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=7878354775161073221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7878354775161073221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7878354775161073221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/thanks-easter-bunny.html' title='Thanks, Easter Bunny!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeS_rVXj17I/AAAAAAAAAJc/7d9JWxKeOFs/s72-c/IMG_4669.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6823904615107027833</id><published>2009-04-13T09:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T09:45:41.116-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Disney on Ice</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeNsMCEgmKI/AAAAAAAAAJE/Qr_kI4T2aRE/s1600-h/IMG_4651.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeNsMCEgmKI/AAAAAAAAAJE/Qr_kI4T2aRE/s200/IMG_4651.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324218138452072610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday, we surprised Alyssa and took her to Disney on Ice - Disneyland Adventure.  It's was her first kid's show and she was so excited to be there.  I'll always remember the look on her face when Mickey and Minnie skated onto the ice.  She kept pointing at the characters and saying their names, "Mickey!  Minnie!  Goofy!  Donald!  Pluto!"  I think I watched her facial expressions more than I watched the show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Incredibles went on a family vacation to Disneyland.  The adventure took us on a Jungle Cruise with Baloo, flying through Space Mountain with Buzz Lightyear, spinning in Tea Cups with Alice and the Mad Hatter, watching the Main Street Parade with Cinderella and Snow White, hiding from ghosts in the Haunted Mansion, floating through It's a Small World, dancing Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Incredibles rescuing Mickey and Minnie from the evil Syndrome.  It was like a trip through Disneyland from our seats.  Boy, do I really want to go!  I am hopeful we can drive to California by the end of the summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope to share more experiences like this with Alyssa.  An experience is so much greater when seen through the eyes of a child.  These are the memories that will last a lifetime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6823904615107027833?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6823904615107027833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6823904615107027833' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6823904615107027833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6823904615107027833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/disney-on-ice.html' title='Disney on Ice'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SeNsMCEgmKI/AAAAAAAAAJE/Qr_kI4T2aRE/s72-c/IMG_4651.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4155524672550779421</id><published>2009-04-07T11:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T11:49:44.192-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>"Can I Drive?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SdugN-93u_I/AAAAAAAAAI8/mW6_aVZISZc/s1600-h/nodriving.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 186px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SdugN-93u_I/AAAAAAAAAI8/mW6_aVZISZc/s200/nodriving.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322023546769619954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa has asked twice now if she can drive to school.  Here is today’s conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  “Can I drive?”&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  “No.”&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  “Why Mommy?  I’m a big girl.”&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  “Yes, you’re a big girl, but you’re too little to drive.”&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  “I’m not little.  I’m huge!  I can do it.”&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  “Well, you have to wait about 15 more years.”&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  *crying* “I want to drive to school!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this was a flash forward about 12-13 years into the future where this conversation is destined to occur again with the same end result… lots of crying.  I never imagined having this conversation with a 3-year-old.  I think I’ll distract her from playing in the driver’s seat.  I wouldn’t want her to get any ideas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4155524672550779421?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4155524672550779421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4155524672550779421' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4155524672550779421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4155524672550779421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/can-i-drive.html' title='&quot;Can I Drive?&quot;'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SdugN-93u_I/AAAAAAAAAI8/mW6_aVZISZc/s72-c/nodriving.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-3272832248802226093</id><published>2009-04-03T12:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T12:31:23.471-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>"I'm a Big Girl!  I'll Do It Myself!"</title><content type='html'>I knew this day would come.  The day my daughter no longer needs my help with every little thing.  She’s exerting her independence by proudly declaring, “I’m a big girl!  I’ll do it myself!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With this declaration there are a lot of behavior issues.  If she doesn’t want to do what she’s asked, we hear lots of “no’s.”  There are arguments when we don’t do something the way she wants to do it.  Worst of all, the tantrums of the two’s have turned into major meltdowns.  As a parent, I understand there is some give and take.  You let them try things on their own until you have to intervene because that’s how they learn.  However, that’s easier said than done.  I often find myself trying to help because that’s what I’ve become accustomed to over the past three years.  There’s a learning curve for moms too.  I’m learning to let her try things until she asks for help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example, Alyssa likes to dress herself.  It’s so much faster in the morning if I just do it, but I know she’s a big girl and wants to do it.  So, I put out her clothes the night before and now she asks me for help with the buttons if she can’t get them.  The other day she was supposed to pick some shoes and came out with one boot and one flipflop.  I made her go back and put on flipflops.  Now, I wonder if I should have let her go out that way.  It may look a little silly, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is an important milestone.  While I struggle with letting go, these are the tasks that will build her confidence for the future.  By allowing her the opportunity to try things and fail and giving her choices to make so that she can make her own decisions, we are building her confidence.  When she says, “I’m a big girl!  I’ll do it myself!,” that’s my queue to step back and let her give it a try.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-3272832248802226093?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/3272832248802226093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=3272832248802226093' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3272832248802226093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3272832248802226093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-big-girl-ill-do-it-myself.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m a Big Girl!  I&apos;ll Do It Myself!&quot;'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2011001268352125918</id><published>2009-03-26T13:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T13:15:28.485-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Suds Sipper</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Scvh_peJFgI/AAAAAAAAAI0/05Qj8I9O4lc/s1600-h/web.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Scvh_peJFgI/AAAAAAAAAI0/05Qj8I9O4lc/s200/web.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317592268621288962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what it is about kids and bathwater.  You can fuss with them all day long to drink a bottle of water.  Yet, when you stick them in the tub, they won't stop drinking the bathwater.  Alyssa keeps doing it and she finds it quite amusing.  I actually had to look it up to see if other kids participate in this daily ritual.  They do!  Apparently, it's quite normal for children to guzzle water from the tub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what is most concerning to me about this behavior... that she's drinking soapy tap water, that the tub is dirty, or the chance that there just might be pee in the water.  I know all of these things are survivable, but it's just gross!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've just come to the realization that she just might be doing it because of the attention she gets from me telling her not to do it.  The more I say no, the more she drinks.  I think I'd be better off ignoring it than acknowledging it.  It's worth a try!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry my little suds sipper, bathtub cocktail hour needs to end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2011001268352125918?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2011001268352125918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2011001268352125918' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2011001268352125918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2011001268352125918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/03/suds-sipper.html' title='Suds Sipper'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Scvh_peJFgI/AAAAAAAAAI0/05Qj8I9O4lc/s72-c/web.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8876101330779763550</id><published>2009-03-26T12:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T12:29:51.421-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Monsters!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ScvXNoonhrI/AAAAAAAAAIk/M4cRsldq7Yo/s1600-h/sully.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 153px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ScvXNoonhrI/AAAAAAAAAIk/M4cRsldq7Yo/s200/sully.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317580414287054514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our house has been monster free until now.  All of a sudden, they are hiding out in closets and in the bathroom.  When Alyssa turns the corner to walk down that hallway to the bathroom, she'll point down the hallway with her little finger and whisper, "I can't.  There's a monster in there!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trying to be clever, I grabbed the "Oust!" and sprayed the bathroom.  I told her I used "Monster Spray" and he went away.  She peeked in the bathroom and nothing was there.  She seemed a bit intrigued and all was good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, we had another monster hiding out.  I read something in Parents magazine about how to respond to these situations.  Our conversation went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  "There's a monster in there!"&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  "There is?"&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  "Yeah, he's going to get me."&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  "No, he's not.  He's a nice monster.  He's just here to play with you."&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa (yelling):  "No, I don't want to play with him!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for the magazine's advice...  Apparently, kids don't want to play with monsters.  I think I'll stick to the monster spray.  It seemed to work the best.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8876101330779763550?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8876101330779763550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8876101330779763550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8876101330779763550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8876101330779763550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/03/monsters.html' title='Monsters!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ScvXNoonhrI/AAAAAAAAAIk/M4cRsldq7Yo/s72-c/sully.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-9182129774924616766</id><published>2009-03-15T18:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T18:28:30.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Mosquito</title><content type='html'>On Thursday, we had a mosquito in the office at home and I made the mistake of screaming when I saw it.  As soon as Alyssa saw him too, she took off running and screaming.  I grabbed the fly swatter and went in to take care of business.  I took a swipe, but then I could not find him.  He wasn’t flying around, so I thought I got him and he crawled away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa was at her desk coloring on Saturday and all of a sudden she started screaming and crying.  Mr. Mosquito was back!  He must have hid out for a few days.  So, I grabbed the fly swatter again and gave him a good swat.  The little stinker disappeared on me again.  Then, I noticed him in the hallway.  She wanted to watch me swat him again.  There was no way he was going to hide on us this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We celebrated with “high 5’s” and saying, “Yeah, we got him!”  Then, we sang a little song, “Ding, dong, the mosquito is dead!  The mean old mosquito, Mr. Mosquito is dead!” (Like the mean witch song from the Wizard of Oz.)  We had a good laugh and I was thankful he wouldn’t be around to find me while I was sleeping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-9182129774924616766?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/9182129774924616766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=9182129774924616766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/9182129774924616766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/9182129774924616766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/03/mr-mosquito.html' title='Mr. Mosquito'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-599615585211687358</id><published>2009-03-15T18:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T18:13:13.483-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Outhouse Trauma</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sb2npIlncTI/AAAAAAAAAIU/mtUuKiV9Fxw/s1600-h/IMG_0058.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sb2npIlncTI/AAAAAAAAAIU/mtUuKiV9Fxw/s200/IMG_0058.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313587460488786226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m still recovering from yesterday’s outhouse experience.  We went to the Aloha Festival at Tempe Beach Park and the City of Tempe had “Out of Order” signs on all the public restrooms.  Instead, they had outhouses.  One look inside the door and Alyssa took off running and screaming.  Meanwhile, her legs were crossed and she kept repeating, “My pee pee is coming!  My pee pee is coming!”  I tried to convince her to use the potty and she refused.  It was like you watched your cat get ran over by a car… the screaming was that bad!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After finally calming her down, explaining that there are no other places to go potty, and offering a treat to try using the potty like a big girl, we went inside.  Of course, she looked down inside the potty and started screaming again.  She tried to get down and run away because she thought she would fall in the big hole.  Then, because she was scared, she refused to go.  It took everything I had to calm her so that she would finally go and we could get the heck out of there.  If you know me well, you know that I would rather wait hours than to ever use an outhouse.  This was a moment I’d rather have avoided.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While the experience was the most traumatic one we’ve had, the reward was a yummy Hawaiian ice.  It helped us forget the trauma in the outhouse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-599615585211687358?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/599615585211687358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=599615585211687358' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/599615585211687358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/599615585211687358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/03/outhouse-trauma.html' title='Outhouse Trauma'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/Sb2npIlncTI/AAAAAAAAAIU/mtUuKiV9Fxw/s72-c/IMG_0058.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-1129163266831102338</id><published>2009-02-27T18:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T18:23:01.950-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Ice Cream Sundae</title><content type='html'>We planned on going out for ice cream tonight, but decided to have some at home instead.  Here’s the dialogue:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  I want to go out for ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:  Mommy’s going to make you an ice cream sundae when we get home.&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  I don’t want it on Sunday, I want it today!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-1129163266831102338?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/1129163266831102338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=1129163266831102338' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1129163266831102338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1129163266831102338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/ice-cream-sundae.html' title='Ice Cream Sundae'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2716946741195607468</id><published>2009-02-25T13:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T13:11:59.994-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Packing Lunch for Daddy</title><content type='html'>A few weeks ago, Alyssa came to me in the morning and asked what I was doing.  I told her I was packing lunch for Daddy.  She asked if she could do it and I helped her put his lunch into the bag.  Little did I know that she'd be packing his lunch from that day forward.  One day, it was all packed before she got out of bed and she cried, "I wanted to pack lunch for Daddy!"  So I said, " You can do it tomorrow."  Sure enough, she heard me in the kitchen the following morning, hopped out of bed, and came to pack Daddy's lunch.  At first, she was just throwing things into the bag.  I explained to her that the heavy things go on the bottom and soft things like a banana go on top.  Yesterday, we were packing a can of soup and she looked at me and said, "Heavy things on the bottom."  It's also great motivation to wake her in the morning and get her out of bed.  I just say, "Time to get up!  Don't you want to pack Daddy's lunch?"  She gets right up and heads towards the kitchen.  This is obviously very special to her and Daddy is very appreciative (even when some things get smashed).  She has obviously observed me doing getting things ready every morning and wants to help.  I think it's wonderful!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2716946741195607468?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2716946741195607468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2716946741195607468' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2716946741195607468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2716946741195607468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/packing-lunch-for-daddy.html' title='Packing Lunch for Daddy'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-901034009095257674</id><published>2009-02-24T09:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-24T14:00:00.914-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Glowing Lizards</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SaQuSCtHtjI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ssDUX5Y05xY/s1600-h/lizard.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SaQuSCtHtjI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ssDUX5Y05xY/s200/lizard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306417148447929906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's always an experience cashing in the tickets from the arcade and choosing a "prize," especially when you don't have enough tickets to get the good ones.  Alyssa had her choice between a Spiderman tattoo, crayons, and a glow-in-the-dark lizard.  She chose the lizard and was quite excited about it.  When we got home, I showed her how to hold him in the light and take him into the dark to see him glow.  This was quite fascinating!  She played with him in her playhouse for a while and then &lt;u&gt;it&lt;/u&gt; happened.  He disappeared! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was sobbing that her lizard was gone and she could not find him.  We searched her playhouse (with lights on and off) looking for him, but he was not there.  We looked everywhere!  He was nowhere to be found.  I never imagined the drama that could result from a tiny glow-in-the-dark lizard.  She continued to ask for him throughout the night.  Our best guess is that she had him in the bathroom.  If she was holding him and he fell into the toilet, then he was flushed away.  Nevertheless, he was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desperate to hear her stop asking for him, I went to Party City in search of glow lizards.  Yes!  I found a bag of them.  I gave Alyssa three to play with and saved the rest "just in case."  No more than 10 minutes has passed and she was sobbing again.  The lizards were gone!  Unbelievable!  So, I searched and there they were on the carpet by her playhouse.  All was good for about 10 more minutes and the sobbing started again.  The lizards were gone!  Apparently, she decided to grab the markers to color her playhouse and sat them on the counter.  It took me a little longer to find them this time around.  Yes, we have spares, but I don't know how much longer I can handle their disappearances.  These little guys sure are stirring up a lot of trouble.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-901034009095257674?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/901034009095257674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=901034009095257674' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/901034009095257674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/901034009095257674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/glowing-lizards.html' title='Glowing Lizards'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SaQuSCtHtjI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ssDUX5Y05xY/s72-c/lizard.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-991171711105416278</id><published>2009-02-19T18:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T18:15:07.373-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cardboard Box Playhouse</title><content type='html'>Today, we made our first cardboard box playhouse.  I remember as a child how fun it was to make a house out of a giant box.  Alyssa loves it!  We cut out a window and a door.  In the roof, we cut out a circle to insert her flashlight for lighting inside.  We had fun making a flower garden outside the window.  She’s already decorated the inside by drawing faces on the walls.  Daddy did a drawing on the back of the door for her to color.  She’s already moved in her blankets, pillow, some toys, and books.  What a great idea and lots of fun!  It’s the craft project that keeps on going…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4Rw3Vo6nI/AAAAAAAAAH0/nmg_Ox1uQb0/s1600-h/021906_01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4Rw3Vo6nI/AAAAAAAAAH0/nmg_Ox1uQb0/s320/021906_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304696942275127922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4R2mgelzI/AAAAAAAAAH8/r2Kz0eFYRnQ/s1600-h/021906_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4R2mgelzI/AAAAAAAAAH8/r2Kz0eFYRnQ/s320/021906_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304697040836400946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4R700ccII/AAAAAAAAAIE/GB2y3dpAiNU/s1600-h/021906_04.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4R700ccII/AAAAAAAAAIE/GB2y3dpAiNU/s320/021906_04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304697130577588354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-991171711105416278?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/991171711105416278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=991171711105416278' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/991171711105416278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/991171711105416278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/cardboard-box-playhouse.html' title='Cardboard Box Playhouse'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZ4Rw3Vo6nI/AAAAAAAAAH0/nmg_Ox1uQb0/s72-c/021906_01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2213908149716680335</id><published>2009-02-18T18:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T18:57:43.467-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Drawing Faces</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZzKpPlb0HI/AAAAAAAAAHU/qnMZtfG43iY/s1600-h/littlefaces.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 196px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZzKpPlb0HI/AAAAAAAAAHU/qnMZtfG43iY/s200/littlefaces.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304337271042592882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa has been drawing faces and I am amazed! The first time I saw her draw a face was while we were playing with sidewalk chalk.  Since then, her little faces have been improving and are more controlled.  I was so excited when she brought home a page of them from school today.  She drew five faces, each in a different color.  You can see the first circle for the head and two smaller circles for the eyes.  The lines on top are the hair and the lines on the bottom are teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The face is the first object she’s drawn that she’s identified before drawing it.  She knows she’s drawing faces and tells you that she’s drawing the eyes, mouth, hair, and teeth.  I’m certain we’ll see many more faces, but they will change as she gets more practice.  I wanted to capture the innocence of this drawing.  To me, it’s priceless!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2213908149716680335?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2213908149716680335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2213908149716680335' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2213908149716680335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2213908149716680335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/drawing-faces.html' title='Drawing Faces'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SZzKpPlb0HI/AAAAAAAAAHU/qnMZtfG43iY/s72-c/littlefaces.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-9187363446183665214</id><published>2009-02-09T08:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T08:30:44.857-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sneaky Snuggler</title><content type='html'>There's a little snuggler&lt;br /&gt;That sneaks into my bed.&lt;br /&gt;In the morning when I wake,&lt;br /&gt;I see her little head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She comes in late at night,&lt;br /&gt;When I'm deep in sleep.&lt;br /&gt;She slips into the covers&lt;br /&gt;And doesn't make a peep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's quite the little ninja&lt;br /&gt;She sneaks in late at night.&lt;br /&gt;She's a sneaky snuggler,&lt;br /&gt;She gets in just right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she'd wake me up,&lt;br /&gt;I'd put her in her room.&lt;br /&gt;She's a sneaky snuggler,&lt;br /&gt;So what's a mom to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask her in the morning,&lt;br /&gt;Why she's in my room.&lt;br /&gt;She smiles and says,&lt;br /&gt;"Cuz, Mommy I love you!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-9187363446183665214?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/9187363446183665214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=9187363446183665214' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/9187363446183665214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/9187363446183665214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/sneaky-snuggler.html' title='The Sneaky Snuggler'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8042629564629456274</id><published>2009-02-03T11:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T11:04:49.835-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='singing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Sweetest Little Voice</title><content type='html'>I remember when Alyssa was a baby, I wondered what her voice would be like.  I got excited when she first started talking.  Now, I occasionally find myself wondering when the talking will stop.  There's something amazing about hearing your child's voice.  It's the things she says, questions she asks, and expressions (like "I love you, Mommy!") that make me smile.  Her voice is the sweetest little voice I've ever heard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's nothing sweeter than hearing that little voice sing.  I've been singing to Alyssa every night since she was born.  She started singing songs on her own like "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and evolved into belting out full songs from her favorite movies like Beauty &amp;amp; the Beast and The Little Mermaid.  I'm so tickled by her singing that I keep playing her favorite songs in the car just so I can listen to her.  Here's a link to a video of her singing "Something There" from Beauty &amp;amp; the Beast:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://gallery.me.com/fraulino#100315"&gt;http://gallery.me.com/fraulino#100315&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm impressed that she remembers the lyrics and entertained that she directs me and Daddy as to which parts to sing in a duet.  If you try singing the wrong part, you get yelled at.   She takes her singing very serious!   Lately, her favorite song to sing is "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from The Little Mermaid.  I really need to try to get this on video because it's hilarious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Self-expression though music, dance, or art is so important, especially for young children.  Music teaches speech and movement and builds self-confidence.  It also helps with language learning and building vocabulary.  One night, I played the soundtrack from the "Cats" musical and she loved it!  We were dancing around and singing about the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees.  I think she just might end up on Broadway someday.  I hope her love for the arts will continue throughout her lifetime.  Meanwhile, I will continue to enjoy serenades from the sweetest little voice I've ever heard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8042629564629456274?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8042629564629456274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8042629564629456274' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8042629564629456274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8042629564629456274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/02/sweetest-little-voice.html' title='Sweetest Little Voice'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4554009484569244929</id><published>2009-01-25T19:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T19:51:57.229-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>The Magic Kitchen Cookbook</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SX0yp-Pxr1I/AAAAAAAAAG0/XwgYHF3F86A/s1600-h/cookbook1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SX0yp-Pxr1I/AAAAAAAAAG0/XwgYHF3F86A/s200/cookbook1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295444433522765650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;Alyssa is such a great helper in the kitchen that I had to buy “The Magic Kitchen Cookbook” when I saw it.  It’s a Disney themed cookbook with all kinds of foods and desserts that are easy for kids to make.  They are fun themed foods that keep kids interested while also teaching them how to make healthy meals and snacks.  Today, we made Market Fresh Fruit Cups from Aladdin.  It was a parfait made with instant pudding, fresh fruit, and granola (except we used crushed vanilla wafers instead).  They were delicious and Alyssa was so proud to make them.  She did everything except cut the fruit.  We’re looking forward to trying more of these fabulous creations.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SX0y2WhbBKI/AAAAAAAAAHE/rhdvSAtRT6k/s1600-h/cookbook2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SX0y2WhbBKI/AAAAAAAAAHE/rhdvSAtRT6k/s320/cookbook2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295444646197658786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4554009484569244929?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4554009484569244929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4554009484569244929' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4554009484569244929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4554009484569244929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/01/magic-kitchen-cookbook.html' title='The Magic Kitchen Cookbook'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SX0yp-Pxr1I/AAAAAAAAAG0/XwgYHF3F86A/s72-c/cookbook1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8306471147181955519</id><published>2009-01-08T19:12:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T19:15:12.705-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Smiley Faces</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SWbBL1yWRqI/AAAAAAAAAGk/P2lxG3XU6QA/s1600-h/responsibilitychart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 145px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SWbBL1yWRqI/AAAAAAAAAGk/P2lxG3XU6QA/s200/responsibilitychart.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289127221554202274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;I never thought I’d be setting up a responsibility chart for a 3-year-old.  I’m glad I did though because it’s WORKING!  There’s no better reward for good behavior than a nice, colorful smiley face.  :-)&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555; min-height: 16.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;We picked up a “My Magnetic Responsibility Chart” at Barnes &amp;amp; Noble for Alyssa for Christmas.  It’s for ages 3+ and contains age-appropriate responsibilities for children of all ages.  You should see the excitement as we go through each responsibility:  Get Dressed, Brush Teeth, Show Respect (listening to mommy and daddy), Put Away Toys, Get Ready for Bed (in a timely manner), Stop Whining, and Say Please and Thank You.  Every evening, we discuss each one and reward smiley faces for those that were done well.  For those that weren’t, we discuss why she’s not getting a smiley face and talk about how we can do things differently to get a smiley face the next day.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555; min-height: 16.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;So far, so good!  One night, she didn’t get smiley face for picking up her toys because her playroom was a mess.  She looked at me and said, “Hold on a minute!”  Then, she picked up all of her toys and said, “See, I get a smiley face.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555; min-height: 16.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;She really seems to understand when she’s not listening or had a meltdown.  We talk about those things and she’s even said sorry a few times all on her own.  I really like this chart and recommend it to other parents with 3-year-olds.  It comes with lots of responsibilities so that you can change them out for what they need to work on at the time.  You can even customize your own for those bad habits you’re trying to break.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555; min-height: 16.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;I placed our chart up high above her toy box where she can’t reach it.  One day, she decided to climb up and fill in all the smiley faces on the entire chart.  She even made sure each day had a different color!  She called me in to take a look and said, “See, I got all my happy faces!”  It caught me so off guard that I busted laughing.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555; min-height: 16.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Tahoma; color: #555555"&gt;Since we’ve started using the chart, I’m amazed how she voluntarily dresses herself and brushes her teeth.  She’s exerting her independence and building self-confidence.  Additionally, we’re successfully working on the behaviors that we’re trying to improve.  I love it!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85);  font-family:Tahoma;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8306471147181955519?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8306471147181955519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8306471147181955519' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8306471147181955519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8306471147181955519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/01/smiley-faces.html' title='Smiley Faces'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SWbBL1yWRqI/AAAAAAAAAGk/P2lxG3XU6QA/s72-c/responsibilitychart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4899639571235311101</id><published>2009-01-03T20:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T20:37:06.861-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Screaming &amp; Running</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:ArialMS"&gt;You would think that we'd start the New Year off with a good blog, but today I've reached a peak level of frustration.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Alyssa has started screaming.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If she can't button a shirt or get her pants snapped, she screams.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If something gets stuck somewhere, she screams.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If she can't figure out something, she screams.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I understand that she's screaming out of frustration.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I'm sure there's many times where we'd all just like to scream.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, I remember before she could talk when she'd move from one thing to another if she couldn't figure something out.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;I know she's trying to be independent and do things by herself without mommy and daddy helping.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;I just don't understand why she doesn't ask for help when she gets in a bind.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know this too will pass and I'm trying hard to be patient, but it's been a struggle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:ArialMS"&gt;On top of that, she now thinks it's funny to run away and be chased.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She laughs and giggles as she's running off shouting, "No, Mommy!"&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is not acceptable, especially in a shopping mall, parking lot, or anywhere else she could get lost or injured.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The other day, she took off running towards the escalator.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I feel like a crazy woman chasing her out-of-control kid.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I'm so embarrassed.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don't know where in the world this came from, why it started, or if it's even normal for children this age.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The only thing I can be certain of is that it's coming to an end very quickly.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:ArialMS"&gt;I can look back and remember times before I was a parent when I'd see children kicking and screaming as their parents were pulling them by the arm.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I remember thinking to myself, "Can't they control their kids?"&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I now look at this situations from a new perspective.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If you have children, you're probably laughing and thankful that you're beyond these years.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If you don't have children, try to be considerate of what the parents are going through rather than critical.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As for me, I'd just like to take off screaming and running.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4899639571235311101?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4899639571235311101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4899639571235311101' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4899639571235311101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4899639571235311101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2009/01/screaming-running_03.html' title='Screaming &amp; Running'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8111461960419109302</id><published>2008-12-29T23:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T23:47:41.639-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Riding the Light Rail</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnRVp31ZoI/AAAAAAAAAF8/SXIr5kbPyy8/s1600-h/122908_03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnRVp31ZoI/AAAAAAAAAF8/SXIr5kbPyy8/s200/122908_03.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285485807643485826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Phoenix Light Rail began service on December 27th and is free to use through the end of the year, so we went today to check it out.  We took the Light Rail downtown to go to the Children’s Museum of Phoenix.  It was nice to go downtown without worrying about parking.  The Light Rail stopped in front of Chase Field, so it was just a short walk to the museum.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnRaoIZ2nI/AAAAAAAAAGE/0rRdMaZ9vK0/s200/122908_07.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285485893075458674" /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Children’s Museum of Phoenix opened in June 2008.  We went to the Chicago Children’s Museum in the summer, so we were excited to find out that Phoenix finally had a children’s museum.  While many of the exhibits will not open until the end of 2009, there are several interactive exhibits for young children to enjoy. Alyssa’s favorite was the Noodle Forest.  She would take off running in there and disappear.  When it was time for us to go, she screamed “No!” and ran into the noodles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We had a nice picnic lunch at the museum and then we walked to the Arizona Center.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnRldlbZHI/AAAAAAAAAGU/w8HLMgmQ3Nk/s200/122908_20.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285486079222965362" /&gt;&lt;div&gt; We enjoyed a Starbucks coffee before returning to the Light Rail for our trip back.  Alyssa loves going to Starbucks to get vanilla milk.  Her favorite!  We only waited about 5 minutes for the train, but when the doors opened it was packed.  I guess that’s what happens when you ride free.  So, we stood all the way back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We had a fun day out and we’re looking forward to many more trips on the Light Rail.  It’s a convenient way to get downtown, go to the museums, or go to the ballpark.  We’re already planning another trip downtown to have some pizza at Pizzeria Uno.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8111461960419109302?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8111461960419109302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8111461960419109302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8111461960419109302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8111461960419109302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/riding-light-rail.html' title='Riding the Light Rail'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnRVp31ZoI/AAAAAAAAAF8/SXIr5kbPyy8/s72-c/122908_03.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2767088909407769444</id><published>2008-12-29T23:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T23:38:01.531-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Serenity Now!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I remember the episode of Seinfeld where George’s father said, “Serenity Now!” whenever his blood pressure was about to go up.  Well, “Serenity Now!”  I don’t know if it’s all the excitement of the holidays or if Alyssa is just happy to spend all this time with me.  She knows exactly how to push our buttons.  In the past week, we’ve had some major meltdowns.  She’s entered a phase of not listening, back talking, sneaking, and not telling the truth.  I know this is typical 3-year-old stuff, but it’s hard spending your vacation time dealing with it.  This is supposed to be family fun time, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa got some Wall-e candies in her stocking from Santa and they were all setting on the counter.  I found an empty plastic bag on the carpet in her playroom and asked if she ate the candy to which she replied, “No.”  Then, Daddy pointed out that her tongue was blue and green.  So, we went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.  She gave me her typical embarrassed look.  I asked again if she ate the candy and she replied, “Well, maybe one.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the New Year just around the corner, I’m so thankful for the blessings in my life.  Even though we have our moments, there is no greater blessing than the love of a child.  I write to document these experiences, knowing that I am not alone.  The third year is the most difficult year and we’re not even midway through.  I am hopeful that I will make it to four with my sanity intact and I’m sure there will be many more “Serenity Now!” moments before then.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2767088909407769444?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2767088909407769444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2767088909407769444' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2767088909407769444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2767088909407769444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/serenity-now_29.html' title='Serenity Now!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2209686253874845740</id><published>2008-12-29T22:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T23:53:38.351-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='christmas'/><title type='text'>Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnSvSSJO5I/AAAAAAAAAGc/-Y-00yw83DU/s1600-h/121208_03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnSvSSJO5I/AAAAAAAAAGc/-Y-00yw83DU/s200/121208_03.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285487347499613074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can’t believe that Christmas is already over.  So much has happened in the last month that I wanted to write about.  With all the holiday baking and preparing for Christmas, time just got the best of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa had her first dance recital this month.  She was so excited to dance on the big stage.  When I saw her up there, she looked so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes.  She had three dances during the program.  It was a real mommy moment.  I have never felt so proud before.  Seeing her up on that stage dancing was amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandma took all of us to see “A Christmas Carol” at the Herberger Theatre.  It was Alyssa’s first play.  She thought we seeing a movie.  When the curtain opened and the actors were singing and dancing, her face lit up!  To our surprise, she behaved very well and enjoyed the play.  The Herberger is very family friendly and we’re looking forward to seeing more plays there in the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We introduced Alyssa to “A Christmas Story” this year.  She absolutely loves the movie!  She is still asking to watch it even though Christmas is over.  It’s hilarious to listen to her tell you all about Ralphie and the bully (which she calls the “Scarecrow”).  She also likes the part where the kids are standing in line waiting to see Santa and one of the kids says, “I like the Wizard of Oz.”  That’s one of her Grandma’s favorite parts, so Alyssa keeps saying it because it makes everyone laugh.  The other night she was in bed and I found her holding her tongue saying, “Stuck! Stuck! Stuck!”  I never imagined she’d like the movie so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had family over for Christmas Eve.  We all spent the day making our traditional lasagna.  We made a great &lt;a href="http://gallery.me.com/fraulino#100206"&gt;video&lt;/a&gt; of the entire process and it was a lot of fun!   Getting ready for Santa was so much of fun this year.  We sat out carrots for the reindeer and even sprinkled powdered sugar on the patio to get his boot prints.  Since we don’t have a chimney, we left Santa’s magic key outside.  Then, we made chocolate chip cookies and sat out the cookies and milk.  Alyssa took a bite out of one of the cookies to make sure it was okay for Santa.  With all the excitement, it took her a while to get to sleep this year.&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas morning was magical!  We woke her up and she went right to the back door to see if he came.  The look on her face when she saw the chewed up carrots and Santa’s boot prints was priceless!  Then, we went to the tree and saw that Santa was here.  She was so excited!  Santa ate almost all his cookies, drank his milk, and left his magic key on the table.  Santa left the baby doll she wanted and wrapped all her gifts in special Disney Princess paper.  She knew exactly which ones were hers.  After we looked through our stockings, she opened her Santa gifts one after the other.  It didn’t take us very long this year to get through the gifts.  I’m still amazed at how quickly a child’s mind switches from one toy to the next.  It’s like they are so excited that they don’t know what to play with first.  Of course, every toy is bound in the box and it takes scissors, wire cutters, and a screwdriver just to get them out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day after Christmas, we went to the movies to see “Marley &amp;amp; Me.”  Alyssa and I watched the movie trailers for two movies and she wanted to see the one with the puppy.  Little did I know that the puppy was only in a small part of the movie.  The movie ended up being very sad and she ended up getting bored.  So much for a fun day at the movies!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a wonderful Christmas!  We have almost two weeks at home, so we are looking forward to spending time together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2209686253874845740?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2209686253874845740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2209686253874845740' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2209686253874845740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2209686253874845740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas.html' title='Christmas'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SVnSvSSJO5I/AAAAAAAAAGc/-Y-00yw83DU/s72-c/121208_03.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-1470302856097721518</id><published>2008-12-20T18:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T18:09:17.253-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stocking Stuffers</title><content type='html'>I was having a conversation with Alyssa about stocking stuffers and asked her what she wanted in her stocking.  She listed several items including sparkly lipstick, candy, toys, and a Cubs ball with a string that she could hang on the tree.  She said, "Daddy would like that!  He would!"  So as we were talking, I asked her what she thought Santa would put in my stocking.  She had a puzzled look on her face and said, "Baby Jesus Lipstick."  I chuckled and said, "What?"  She said that's what I get from Santa in my stocking.  It's funny the things kids come up with.  She cracks me up!  I wonder if I should market that product next Christmas.  I can envision the packaging, "Baby Jesus Lipstick... the Ultimate Lip Savior!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-1470302856097721518?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/1470302856097721518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=1470302856097721518' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1470302856097721518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1470302856097721518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/stocking-stuffers.html' title='Stocking Stuffers'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8725283712735507298</id><published>2008-12-11T08:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T08:05:34.391-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa's Coming!</title><content type='html'>There is no greater joy than experiencing the excitement of Santa Claus through the eyes of a child.  It's magical!  This year, will be one of the best years ever.  The awe and wonder of a mere Santa sighting, the Advent calendar counting down the days, messages from Santa, the preparation of milk and cookies for his arrival, the magical key, the phone call from Santa on Christmas Eve, and the anticipation of gifts under the tree... it's all for preparation for Christmas morning.  We're counting down the days until Christmas... just twelve more to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I'm busy preparing for Christmas, Alyssa is preparing for Santa.  The other day, she started hiding her toys.  "Santa's coming!" she exclaimed.  Then, she put her new Elmo in her closet and told us that she doesn't want Santa to take him.  That's right!  She's afraid that when Santa leaves new toys he's going to take some of her old ones with him.  She knows Santa won't go in her room while she's sleeping, so she started hiding her favorite toys in her closet.  She's be busy getting ready for Santa's arrival, but in a way that was totally unexpected.  I took Elmo out of the closet last night and she told me to put him back or Santa will take him.  It cracks me up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the joys and memories of the holidays that last a lifetime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8725283712735507298?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8725283712735507298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8725283712735507298' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8725283712735507298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8725283712735507298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/santas-coming.html' title='Santa&apos;s Coming!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-9031203297802433336</id><published>2008-12-08T08:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T08:58:01.826-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Mommy's Little Helper</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ST1R1I5nN3I/AAAAAAAAAF0/aTzCX3-iGeo/s1600-h/120308_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ST1R1I5nN3I/AAAAAAAAAF0/aTzCX3-iGeo/s200/120308_02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277464311712135026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ST1R0p9t0fI/AAAAAAAAAFs/OOOf9NGMzoM/s1600-h/113008_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ST1R0p9t0fI/AAAAAAAAAFs/OOOf9NGMzoM/s200/113008_02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277464303407845874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the things I love about Christmas is all the baking!  Lots of yummy treats to give away and to eat.  Alyssa has been my little helper this year.  We've been having lots of fun making all kinds of goodies.  Her favorite part... SPRINKLES!!!  We've made chocolate dipped pretzels with sprinkles, rice krispy treats with sprinkles, sugar cookies with sprinkles.  In fact, we had so many sprinkles one night that we had to vacuum them up off the kitchen floor.  Daddy wasn't too happy to see green and red sprinkles in the tile grout, but we cleaned them all up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a blast making sugar cookies.  Alyssa had fun rolling out her own dough with her little rolling pin while I rolled out mine.  However, big balls of dough kept finding their way into her mouth.  She thought it was funny to steal the dough while I wasn't looking.  She is pretty sneaky!  Between eating dough and licking sprinkles off her hands, I think we ended up washing hands that night about 15 times.  I tried explaining that we don't lick our hands while we're baking cookies to give away.  Every time I caught her, I sent her back to the bathroom to wash them again.   I knew she was having a good time, so I just had fun with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She really enjoyed making marshmallow snowmen.  She put two big marshmallows on a lollipop stick, we dipped them in melted white chocolate together, then she put the mini chocolate chips on them for eyes, mouth, and buttons.  They turned out really cute and they taste great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're looking forward to building our gingerbread house this weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-9031203297802433336?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/9031203297802433336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=9031203297802433336' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/9031203297802433336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/9031203297802433336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/mommys-little-helper.html' title='Mommy&apos;s Little Helper'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/ST1R1I5nN3I/AAAAAAAAAF0/aTzCX3-iGeo/s72-c/120308_02.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6220975721846813716</id><published>2008-12-03T08:32:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T08:33:05.316-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Go Away! I Can Dress Myself!"</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;That's right!  This morning I was told to go away.  I don't know whether to be sad that she doesn't need me to help her anymore or to be happy that we can both get dressed at the same time now.  She's just becoming more independent.  I've thoroughly enjoyed the last three years and it's time for me to let her be her own person.  She likes to pick out her own shoes in the morning, although sometimes I have to "help" her pick a different pair.  I think she'd really enjoy picking out her clothes too, but I'm not ready for that.  Instead, I set out her clothes in the evening and ask if she'd like to wear a particular shirt/sweater.  That way, there's no fussing in the morning and her clothes are waiting for her to put on.  It's amazing how much she likes to do on her own now.  While my mommy instincts try to do things for her, I'm working on stepping back and letting her try to do things on her own.  I think it's good for both of us, but it's hard for me.  For example, she had such a blast this year decorating the Christmas tree.  She was grabbing breakable ornaments and helping put them on the tree.  I could see how happy she was and how much fun she was having.  If you know me though, I was on pins and needles hoping that she wouldn't drop them.  Life is way too short to worry about the small stuff.  Things don't have to be perfect and if something gets broken...oh well.  Becoming a mom has really changed me for the better.  It's the joy of seeing your child do something on their own and seeing how proud they are of their accomplishments that's important.  It's not the stuff that will be remembered, it's the experiences that will last a lifetime.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6220975721846813716?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6220975721846813716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6220975721846813716' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6220975721846813716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6220975721846813716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/go-away-i-can-dress-myself.html' title='&quot;Go Away! I Can Dress Myself!&quot;'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-810930406996679278</id><published>2008-12-03T08:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T08:33:50.512-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='potty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='training'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>You Wet It, You Wipe It</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;I thought potty training was complete when your child stops wearing diapers/pull-ups and starts using the potty.  Seems pretty simple, doesn't it?  Well, I've discovered that potty training continues long after the big switch from pull-ups to panties.  It's the "training" part that I've been working on for the past month.  While we've been fortunate enough to not have any bedtime accidents, we are having paper training issues.  That's right, "You wet it, you wipe it!"  My daughter can't seem to get that through her head.  Boys don't use paper, why should she?  She uses the potty and pulls up her panties.  Then, she walks funny and complains that her panties are wet.  I've reached the point of frustration and cannot understand why she will not use paper.  The problem is that she knows what she's doing.  Sometimes, she'll say, "I used paper, Mommy," and I praise her.  Yet, other times she'll choose not to and she makes this little smirk when I ask her about it.  She has a facial expression that she does when she's embarrassed or has done something that she knows is wrong.  I just don't get it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;The other part of training I've been working on is getting her to poop in her own bathroom.  Instead, she goes in ours because she doesn't want to make hers stinky.  It took me a while to get her to start using hers.  Now she asks if I'll spray after she goes.  It cracks me up!  She recently made the observation that girls sit and boys stand to go potty.  So, the other day she asked me if boys stand to go poo poo too.  I don't think she understands why they can't do that.  I'm just thankful that they don't.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-810930406996679278?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/810930406996679278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=810930406996679278' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/810930406996679278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/810930406996679278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/12/you-wet-it-you-wipe-it.html' title='You Wet It, You Wipe It'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2845251052998981495</id><published>2008-11-20T23:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T08:33:33.882-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swimming'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Swimming Lessons</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  white-space: pre;font-family:'Lucida Grande';font-size:10px;"&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xQfbEq0lBt8&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xQfbEq0lBt8&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2845251052998981495?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2845251052998981495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2845251052998981495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2845251052998981495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2845251052998981495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/11/swimming-lessons.html' title='Swimming Lessons'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-1045079932391801073</id><published>2008-11-20T11:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T11:15:24.650-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='santa'/><title type='text'>Fear of Santa Claus</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSW3R-Bf95I/AAAAAAAAAFM/twOh0vW0xRc/s1600-h/santa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 141px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSW3R-Bf95I/AAAAAAAAAFM/twOh0vW0xRc/s200/santa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270820458241980306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Last Christmas, we waited over an hour in line with Grandma to see Alyssa meet Santa.  She was so excited!  She kept pointing at him, jumping up and down, and saying, "There's Santa!"  When it was her turn to see Santa, she flopped on the floor kicking and screaming.  Talk about an embarrassing moment!  She refused to even get close to him and we ended up leaving without a Santa picture.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Santa was visiting early this year.  Last weekend, he was already at the mall for pictures.  There was no line, so we thought we'd ask Alyssa if she would like to see Santa.  Of course, she said yes and got all excited when she saw him.  However, when we approached him she clung to me and refused to get near him.  Santa's helper was really nice and let us stand there and look at him, but no matter how much I tried she didn't want to go near him.  We managed to ask for a dolly and give a "high five," but that's about it.  I could have left at that point, but it was important for me for Alyssa to overcome her fear.  There was nothing to be afraid of, yet I knew she was scared to death.  At Halloween time, she walked up to a life size doll of Hannibal Lector and wasn't afraid at all.  It took about 45 minutes and she agreed to see him as long as I went with.  As you can see from the photo, we sat next to Santa and not on his lap.  He did ask me if I wanted to sit on his lap which I thought was a bit creepy.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;It's not uncommon for children to be afraid of Santa Claus.  He's a strange man in a bright red suit with a long beard and big 'ol boots.  It's totally normal for children to be fearful of someone or something.  We made several trips to look at him without the pressure to be near him.  I think that helped her see that he wasn't going to hurt her.  I explained that we were just going to tell him that she wants a dolly for Christmas and take a quick picture.  I volunteered to sit with her to help ease her fear and she agreed.  We took a few pictures and she said to Santa, "I want a dolly, a soccer ball, and sparkly lipstick." &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Since then, Alyssa has taken her Santa picture to school with her twice.  She says she wants to go see him again.  If we're at the mall and there's no line, I may let her go just to see if she really wants to see him or just look at him.  Either way, it took a lot of courage to go up there and take the picture.  I am so proud of her!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-1045079932391801073?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/1045079932391801073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=1045079932391801073' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1045079932391801073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1045079932391801073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/11/fear-of-santa-claus.html' title='Fear of Santa Claus'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSW3R-Bf95I/AAAAAAAAAFM/twOh0vW0xRc/s72-c/santa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6688999671868930219</id><published>2008-11-20T10:43:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T11:12:43.269-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Little Monkey Lost Her Grip</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;My little monkey was swinging around, and having lots of fun on the playground.  She followed another girl and went too far, she lost her grip on the monkey bars.  Poor little thing lost her grip and fell face first in the wood chips.  She got a lot of scratches from her eyebrow to her chin, and her little cheek was pretty swollen.  When I saw her I couldn't believe my eyes, she looked at me and started to cry.  It's her first big owie and I'm sure more will come, but it's never going to be easy for her mom.  It's healing good and she's doing much better, I'm so happy we're not doing a Christmas family picture.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6688999671868930219?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6688999671868930219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6688999671868930219' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6688999671868930219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6688999671868930219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/11/little-monkey-lost-her-grip.html' title='Little Monkey Lost Her Grip'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5844368049848054784</id><published>2008-11-14T08:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T08:42:00.667-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swimming'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Leapfrogs to Seahorses</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;I'm so proud of Alyssa!  She was promoted from Level 3 - Leapfrogs to Level 4 - Seahorses in her swimming class.  In the past two months, she has made so much progress.  She absolutely loves diving down for rings!  She talks about it all week and even asks Ms. Sherry right when she sees her.  She is floating on her back, turning over, and swimming back to the step.  She also swims to the wall, climbs out, jumps in, and swims back to the wall.  It's amazing to watch!  We are hoping to get some video next week.  She is so excited when she jumps in the water that you can't help but laugh.  In addition to the physical benefits of swimming, the confidence she is building is immeasurable.  She is so proud of herself and I am very proud of her. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5844368049848054784?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5844368049848054784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5844368049848054784' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5844368049848054784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5844368049848054784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/11/leapfrogs-to-seahorses.html' title='Leapfrogs to Seahorses'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6477848600337299095</id><published>2008-11-06T12:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T12:10:22.255-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yippee, We're Pull-up Free!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;That’s right, we are officially free from all diapers and pull-ups.  It’s been quite a journey, but we’ve reached another milestone in parenting.  I am proud to say Alyssa is 100% potty trained.  I’m just happy that I don’t have to change them anymore.  Yippee!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;For the past two months, I’ve continued to use pull-ups at night.  I could have just let her wet the bed, but I didn’t think she was ready.  She wasn’t getting up in the morning and going straight to the potty and every morning her pull-ups were wet before I woke her.  I didn’t want to risk her wetting the bed and having to wash it and her every morning, so I figured we’d just wait until she was ready.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;About three weeks ago, Alyssa asked to sleep in panties.  She told me she was a big girl and didn’t want pull-ups because they were for babies.  I told her if her pull-ups were dry in the morning for a few days, then we’d try panties on Friday.  On October 24th, we switched to panties.  I made a chart of the week and every morning she was dry she got to put a Dora sticker on the chart.  I told her if she got all stickers by the end of the week that we’d go shopping for a toy.  It worked!  She earned a sticker every day and ended up getting a Tinkerbell movie last Friday.  Every day this week, she’s been getting up in the morning and going.  I think it’s safe to say good-bye to pull-ups forever.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Good-bye expensive pull-ups, good-bye stinky diaper pail, good-bye emergency parking lot changes… you won’t be missed.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6477848600337299095?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6477848600337299095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6477848600337299095' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6477848600337299095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6477848600337299095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/11/yippee-were-pull-up-free.html' title='Yippee, We&apos;re Pull-up Free!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5602198679288897436</id><published>2008-10-28T10:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T10:48:43.665-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Smorgesbord</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;At preschool, all of the kids sit at the tables in the morning and eat breakfast.  For kids that eat breakfast at home (like mine), they may just sit down for a few minutes to drink a glass of orange juice.  The standard breakfast served is 1/2 cup sugared cereal (Trix, Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops) and 4 oz. orange juice.  Since I do not want my daughter eating sugared cereal every morning, I provide breakfast at home so she gets oatmeal, yogurt, fresh fruit, and healthy cereals.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Apparently, the food provided by the school is not enough for some parents.  I’m absolutely amazed by the smorgasbord of food that parents leave with their 2, 3, and 4-year-olds.  This morning, one 3-year-old girl had a bowl of Trix cereal overflowing (approx. 2 cups), a Go-GURT squeezable yogurt, a Fruit by the Foot fruit roll-up snack, a vanilla pudding cup, and a Sunny Delight orange flavored drink.  What is this parent thinking?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;I’ve observed parents dropping off full McDonald’s meals with pancakes, sausage, hash browns, and orange juice for a 2-year-old.  I’ve seen Jello, donuts, cupcakes, and even M&amp;amp;Ms.  One little girl comes to school every day with a bottle filled with soda pop and the school dumps it out and fills the cup with juice or milk.  The 1/2 cup of cereal is not enough, so parents show up with ziplock bags full of cereal.  Some kids eat a package of six gem donuts for breakfast.  Are these people crazy?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;The part that concerns me is that one little girl was sharing her M&amp;amp;Ms with the other kids.  I thought it was nice of her to offer to share her candy, but my daughter doesn’t need chocolate candies for breakfast.  I mentioned it today and they aren’t supposed to share their food due to food allergies.  So, while it is not the norm, the kids that are eating a normal breakfast have to watch the other kids eat candies, donuts, and puddings.  What kid wouldn’t want that for breakfast?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Every day I leave wondering why parents think this is okay.  Are they just submitting to whatever the kids want so long as they are happy?  Or, are they just teaching their children to eat what they eat?  Time can’t possibly be an issue if they can stop at McDonald’s.  Also, the school provides breakfast, so why isn’t that sufficient?  It’s the correct portions for children that age, but these parents don’t think it’s enough.  I’ve spoken to the lady who works in the kitchen and she ends up throwing all the food away that the kids don’t eat.  Not only are these parents wasting food and money, but they are teaching their children bad eating habits that will carry with them throughout their lifetime.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Child obesity has reached epidemic levels with estimates that 15% of children are overweight and an additional 15% are at risk of becoming overweight.  Two thirds of these kids will become overweight adults.  We can prevent childhood obesity by making sure that we provide healthy, nutritional foods for our children and by keeping them active rather than sedentary.  By providing our children with a wide variety of fresh fruits, vegetables, and non-processed foods, we can teach them to expand their palettes and develop healthy eating habits that will last a lifetime.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;As for the daily smorgesbord of food, I will continue to shake my head in disgust at the mere site of it.  I’ve been so tempted to ask the parents why they think their child needs all that food, but I bite my tongue instead.  After all, it’s not my child and what do I know anyway?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5602198679288897436?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5602198679288897436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5602198679288897436' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5602198679288897436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5602198679288897436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/10/smorgesbord.html' title='Smorgesbord'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4160513095497673209</id><published>2008-10-20T21:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T21:06:46.037-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Well, Hello Jerk!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I’m beginning to wonder if I should start grocery shopping alone.  It’s always been a family affair.  After this week and last, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa was riding in the car grocery cart this week.  It’s the shopping cart with a kid’s car on front so that your child can pretend to drive through the store.  She’s absolutely loves riding in the car!  As we were walking down the baking aisle, a nice lady was bent over looking at cake mixes.  Out of nowhere, Alyssa stands up through the front window of the car and says, “Well, Hello Jerk!”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I froze for a minute as if I had just been zapped with a stun gun.  Where in the world did this come from?  I have never heard her say anything like this before and she doesn’t even know what a “jerk” is.  We both yelled at her, told her that what she said was not nice, and made her apologize to the lady.  I also apologized again to the lady and said that I didn’t know where she picked that up.  The lady looked at me and said, “You’ll be surprised at the things they pick up.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It seems like we’re having more and more embarrassing incidents.  I really think that Alyssa thinks she’s being funny and she’s just repeating something silly she learned at school.  When I asked her what she said later that day, she didn’t even remember.  She spends a lot of time with other kids and I’m sure she will be learning lots of things.  It’s my responsibility to teach her to be respectful to others.  Sometimes I struggle with finding behavior appropriate discipline, but I’m working on it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4160513095497673209?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4160513095497673209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4160513095497673209' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4160513095497673209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4160513095497673209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/10/well-hello-jerk.html' title='Well, Hello Jerk!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2006541963621525163</id><published>2008-10-12T21:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T22:02:46.882-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Person Encounter</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;At the grocery store today, Alyssa was watching a gentleman put stuff away.  He just so happens to be a little person.  Loudly she says to Daddy, “Look Daddy, that man is small!”  The man heard her and approached the shopping cart.  He said, “That’s right, I am small.  I was born that way.”  Then he said, “Well, you’re small too!  How about a high five?”  She was afraid and wouldn’t give him a high five.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;Children are so honest when it comes to simple observations.  Sometimes, it can even be embarrassing to parents.  She’s already pointed out the difference in skin colors and asks what’s wrong with people if there’s something different about them.  Sometimes I try not to respond in attempt not to draw attention to her, but if she’s persistent I politely explain without making the situation even more embarrassing.  I hope she learns discretion sooner rather than later.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2006541963621525163?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2006541963621525163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2006541963621525163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2006541963621525163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2006541963621525163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/10/little-person-encounter.html' title='Little Person Encounter'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6942597259797882930</id><published>2008-10-01T09:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T09:47:12.684-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='puzzles'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Puzzled?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SOOo8UwgOcI/AAAAAAAAAFE/KHOuih-A_E4/s1600-h/princesspuzzle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SOOo8UwgOcI/AAAAAAAAAFE/KHOuih-A_E4/s200/princesspuzzle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252227344761895362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Alyssa’s love for puzzles is fascinating.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’ve never seen anything like it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I remember when she used to get frustrated with board puzzles and they were only 9 pieces.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When she finally mastered them, she was so proud.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Look, Daddy!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I did it!” she’d exclaim.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;   &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A week ago we decided to move up to 25 piece puzzles.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These are standard puzzles with oversized pieces.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We picked Cars and Care Bears to start.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;At first, she would get frustrated and ask for help.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I explained that you have to look at the picture and find the rest of the piece.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I also tried to explain that the puzzle makes a rectangle with the flat edges out.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It didn’t take long for her to get the hang of it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It now takes her about 15 minutes to solve a puzzle by herself!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So, we picked up a Dora puzzle and a Disney Princess puzzle that creates three stand-up princesses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The princess puzzles vary in difficulty and do not have a standard edge.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I thought they were going to be too hard for her, but she did it!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The fascinating part is how she goes about solving the puzzle.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She divides them first by color to separate the princesses.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then, she picks one piece and tries all of the others in that spot until she finds a match.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She talks to herself and says things like “No, this doesn’t go here.” and “Where’s Belle’s hand?”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I watched in amazement.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I think we’ll be looking for puzzles with 50 pieces soon.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I never realized how beneficial puzzles are for young children.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They provide brain food for little minds.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Puzzles help children develop a range of skills such as eye movement, eye-hand coordination, and concentration.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They teach self-confidence and problem solving.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They learn to isolate colors and search for designs and shapes.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They make mistakes and learn from them.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They stimulate the thinking side of the brain and force them to focus on problem solving skills such as process and logic.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are experimenting with process and learning which way works best for them.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Upon completion of a puzzle, they have a sense of achievement.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;All of these skills can be transferred to every area of a child’s life.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Additionally, it’s a great way to entertain your child with something other than television or cartoons.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s amazing when you see them so focused on completing a task and so proud to accomplish it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s rewarding for both the parent and child.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If you haven’t introduced puzzles yet, I highly recommend it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You too will be puzzled!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6942597259797882930?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6942597259797882930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6942597259797882930' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6942597259797882930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6942597259797882930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/10/puzzled.html' title='Puzzled?'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SOOo8UwgOcI/AAAAAAAAAFE/KHOuih-A_E4/s72-c/princesspuzzle.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5221441996959915760</id><published>2008-09-23T08:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T08:35:37.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shower Baths</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;I didn’t realize how exciting it was to take “shower baths.”  I let Alyssa take a shower one time and now she requests “shower baths” instead of regular bubble baths.  She absolutely loves turning on the shower and standing under the water.  She loves it so much that she doesn’t want to get out!  I have to keep telling her, “just a few more minutes.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;When we’re in a time crunch, I don’t mind because that means we’re in, washed, and out.  However, for three years I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our bath-side conversations.  It was our alone time together, a special time for mother/daughter bonding.  We’d play games, sing, paint with soap paints, spell stuff with foam letters, blow bubbles, and practice floating.  Could it be that she’s outgrown all of this?  Is she just excited to try something new?  Or, is this a sign of independence because she feels she’s doing it by herself?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;I’m not ready to give up this time just yet.  Bath time has been such an important part of our nighttime routine.  I strongly recommend the Four B’s of bedtime:  bath, bottle, book, bed (in that order).  Our routine usually takes an hour, but my daughter has slept through the night since she was three weeks old.  Once she was too old for the bottle, we continued with bath, book, and bed.  We have been very consistent with the routine starting at 7:00 p.m. and she’s asleep by 8:00-8:30 p.m.  She knows what to expect and has grown to enjoy it… and we have grown to enjoy the piece and quiet!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5221441996959915760?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5221441996959915760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5221441996959915760' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5221441996959915760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5221441996959915760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/09/shower-baths.html' title='Shower Baths'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-866910553236259584</id><published>2008-09-11T12:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T12:18:22.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do As I Say, Not As I Do</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;It’s amazing when your child begins to hold you accountable for all the things you tell them not to do.  This morning, we were eating breakfast at the table and my daughter says, “Don’t talk to me with your mouth full!”  I said, “What?” and looked at her kind of puzzled.  She repeated, “Don’t talk with cereal in your mouth.”  And so it begins… &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;We are always quick to teach our kids the right way, but often don’t realize that we do the things we tell them not to do.  I’ve always been very careful about not saying curse words or doing things that I wouldn’t want her to mimic.   Yet, it’s the little things we do everyday without realizing it that they notice.  They are little sponges soaking up the world around them.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;This is a new beginning, a time to be very careful about the things I do and say.  It’s time to walk the talk and, if I don’t, I’m sure little mom will be right there to remind me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-866910553236259584?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/866910553236259584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=866910553236259584' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/866910553236259584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/866910553236259584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/09/do-as-i-say-not-as-i-do.html' title='Do As I Say, Not As I Do'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4067352335497272640</id><published>2008-09-07T23:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T11:34:25.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sniff...Sniff... I Smell Something!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I had planned on making cookies with Alyssa tonight, but time got away from us.  She had her bath and wanted to play with daddy on the computer.  While they were occupied, I decided to make chocolate chip cookies.  I whipped up a batch and put them in the oven.  When Alyssa was done with Daddy, she was walked into the living room and said, “Mommy, what you makin’ for dinner?”  I said it was nothing and tried to turn her around towards her room to get ready for bed.  She stopped and started sniffing.  She then said, “I smell something!” and started walking towards the kitchen.  I tried to divert her, but she kept sniffing and was looking around the oven.  When she saw the tray of cookies she said, “Those are cookies!”  I started cracking up laughing.  I joked that she was like the pokey little puppy who could smell when mommy was making something good for dessert.  I told her they were a surprise and that she could have one tomorrow after school.  She bought it and went in her room to get ready for bed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We finished our bedtime routine and she asked to snuggle with Daddy.  Daddy went in and said good night and Alyssa said, “I’m mad!”  He asked her what she was mad about and she said, “I’m just mad!”  He asked again why she was so mad and she said, “I am mad that Mommy made cookies and I can still smell them.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4067352335497272640?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4067352335497272640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4067352335497272640' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4067352335497272640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4067352335497272640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/09/sniffsniff-i-smell-something.html' title='Sniff...Sniff... I Smell Something!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8135412975749908238</id><published>2008-09-05T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T12:28:16.006-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life's a Bowl of Sketti</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Dora the Explorer is great for teaching counting, colors, shapes, and even learning Spanish.  However, it’s the silly things that kids remember and mimic.  The first thing Alyssa learned was how to swipe things like Swiper the Fox and take off running.  She now says, “You’re not going to get your &lt;whatever&gt; now.  Hee, hee, hee.” &lt;/whatever&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Recently, she started singing nursery rhymes with the wrong lyrics.  The singing bridge in the Dora Pirate Adventure is broken, so the kids have to help pick which songs are correct.  The wrong versions are so silly that these are the versions she now remembers and prefers to sing.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Twinkle, twinkle little star&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;How I wonder what you&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;Want for breakfast…&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;Old McDonald had a farm&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;E-I-E-I-O&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;And, on the farm he had some pants&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;Oye, Oye, Oye&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;Row, row, row your boat&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;Gently down the stream&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "&gt;Life’s a bowl of sketti (spaghetti)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8135412975749908238?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8135412975749908238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8135412975749908238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8135412975749908238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8135412975749908238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/09/lifes-bowl-of-sketti.html' title='Life&apos;s a Bowl of Sketti'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8260451047466549263</id><published>2008-09-04T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T12:41:19.671-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kid for Sale!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SMA528rBOJI/AAAAAAAAAE8/r2H1W3hSxiE/s1600-h/display.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SMA528rBOJI/AAAAAAAAAE8/r2H1W3hSxiE/s200/display.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242253582421538962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you do when your kid climbs in a display window at the mall?  You take a picture! Luckily, the sales clerks were nowhere to be seen.  After I took the picture, I told her not to do that again.  Yeah, like that was real convincing after telling her to smile for a picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've been having some stroller issues.  She'll ride in the stroller, but she doesn't want to be buckled in.  When she sees something she wants to check out, she then bails out of the stroller to go take a look.  Shopping is no longer fun when I'm constantly battling with her to stay in her stroller.  Is this a glimpse of what is to come?  Are the stroller days really over?  I'm sure going to miss them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8260451047466549263?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8260451047466549263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8260451047466549263' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8260451047466549263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8260451047466549263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/09/kid-for-sale.html' title='Kid for Sale!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SMA528rBOJI/AAAAAAAAAE8/r2H1W3hSxiE/s72-c/display.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-7339792742580721030</id><published>2008-08-26T21:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T21:39:26.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Girl... No More Pull-ups!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;On Saturday, we decided… no more pull-ups.  It’s time to get this potty training under wraps.  We started putting panties on Alyssa when we’d get home from work and she’d use the potty.  Then, when she had a pull-up on she’d go in the pull-up.  She even started to tell us she went in the pull-up rather than using the potty, so that’s it!  We’re done with pull-ups!  We are now four days pull-up free (except for nighttime).  Hurray!  She’s done very well and we are so proud of her.  She’s had no accidents at school and she let’s us know when she has to go.  We were even brave enough to leave the house with panties on.  We are now doing stickers on a chart and if she makes it through the end of the week, she gets a toy.  I haven’t been this excited since we were off formula.  I think this mommy is over the potty training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-7339792742580721030?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/7339792742580721030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=7339792742580721030' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7339792742580721030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/7339792742580721030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/big-girl-no-more-pull-ups.html' title='Big Girl... No More Pull-ups!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6578004746290309152</id><published>2008-08-24T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T22:14:39.751-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bra Shopping</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SLI_i4dGxUI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gEyfrNTuuTo/s1600-h/brashopping.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SLI_i4dGxUI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gEyfrNTuuTo/s200/brashopping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238319185087874370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought this was funny. I went bra shopping yesterday and when I turned around Alyssa had one on! She said, “Look Mommy! I have a bra too!” Of course, I couldn’t just let that one slip by without taking a picture. I’m quickly learning that it’s no longer easy to go shopping with a kid in tow. When she was little, she was happy to have a tray full of Cherrios. Now, she’s pulling tags and stickers off clothing, getting out of her stroller, hiding in clothing racks, standing up in her stroller, whining that she wants a snack or drink, and saying that she has to go potty all the time. It kind of takes the fun out of shopping. However, when something silly like this happens, you forget about the rest.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6578004746290309152?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6578004746290309152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6578004746290309152' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6578004746290309152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6578004746290309152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/bra-shopping.html' title='Bra Shopping'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SLI_i4dGxUI/AAAAAAAAAD8/gEyfrNTuuTo/s72-c/brashopping.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5050910434324155517</id><published>2008-08-20T23:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T23:30:46.168-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy's Lullaby</title><content type='html'>When Alyssa was a baby, I rocked with her every night before bed.  I wanted to talk to her to comfort her, but didn’t know quite what to say.  So, I made up a lullaby and sang to her instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t cry, my baby girl,&lt;br /&gt;Don’t even shed a tear.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy is here,&lt;br /&gt;there’s nothing to fear.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t you cry, baby girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It helped with the crying and as she got older I began singing it less and less.  Soon crying wasn’t the issue anymore…staying in bed was.  So, I changed the words and sang a new version.  I don’t sing it very often anymore and didn’t even know that she knew it until tonight.  She was sitting in the bath holding her little Dora toy like a baby and she sang…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Close your eyes, my baby girl,&lt;br /&gt;Just you go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t make a peep,&lt;br /&gt;Just go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;Close your eyes, baby girl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5050910434324155517?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5050910434324155517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5050910434324155517' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5050910434324155517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5050910434324155517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/mommys-lullaby.html' title='Mommy&apos;s Lullaby'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5151598375831009050</id><published>2008-08-18T20:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T23:31:45.346-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fun with Markers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKpLQxQGhZI/AAAAAAAAADw/_6MJO8ChBpE/s1600-h/081608_01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKpLQxQGhZI/AAAAAAAAADw/_6MJO8ChBpE/s320/081608_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236080268242486674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What happens when you want another piece of paper and mommy won’t give you one?  You find something else that’s fun to color… like your hand!  I always supervise my daughter’s coloring activities, but she’s been doing so good that I let my guard down.  She was talking, coloring, and playing with stickers, then went completely silent.  Silence is never a good sign, so I turned around and said, “What are you doing?”  She told me she was coloring her hand and seemed very proud of the great job she did.  Thank goodness for washable markers.  Let’s hope she doesn’t try that with a Sharpie someday.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5151598375831009050?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5151598375831009050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5151598375831009050' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5151598375831009050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5151598375831009050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/fun-with-markers.html' title='Fun with Markers'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKpLQxQGhZI/AAAAAAAAADw/_6MJO8ChBpE/s72-c/081608_01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6509375997108693653</id><published>2008-08-14T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T11:29:30.518-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Screaming Banshee</title><content type='html'>Have you ever purchased a toy that has that tag sticking out of the battery compartment that says it's to be removed after purchase?  Upon removal of the tag, the toy plays at full volume and it's no longer in demo mode.  Well, I'm feeling like my daughter had her tag pulled out as soon as she turned "3."  Her behavior last night was so unbelievable that I am speechless.  I've gone over all the should of, could have, would haves, but the fact is that I didn't.  I have never been so embarrassed in my life.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa likes to ride on the shopping cart.  She holds the handle and puts her feet up while I push her.  I watch her carefully because she tends to step down and want to push the cart instead. Well last night there was water in her spot, so she moved around to the front of the cart.  This made me nervous because if she were to step down the cart would hit her shins.  Besides that, I didn't want her riding in the parking lot.  So, I picked her up and put her in the back of the cart.  It was like putting a cat in a bathtub.  She flung her arms and legs outward and kicked and screamed that she didn't want in the cart.  After a brief struggle, she was in the cart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, she decided to start screaming that she didn't want to sit in the cart.  I held her arm so she wouldn't flip out and kept walking, ignoring her screaming.  The screams became louder and louder until she was actually shrieking the entire way.  I looked at her totally speechless and she made eye contact and screamed louder!!!  People were staring at us and I just continued on and put her in the car.  I've never experienced a total meltdown like this, so it caught me off guard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The "Screaming Banshee" was taken home, given a quick bath, and put to bed without any reading time or snuggling time.  She knew what she had done was wrong.  This morning, the first thing out of her mouth was, "I screamed at Mommy at Costco.  I screamed like this (shriek)."  I asked if she was sorry and she nodded her head.  Then, I gave her a big hug.  Let's hope that this doesn't repeat itself.  I'd like to keep my sanity for the time being.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6509375997108693653?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6509375997108693653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6509375997108693653' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6509375997108693653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6509375997108693653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/screaming-banshee.html' title='The Screaming Banshee'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2363027231971002139</id><published>2008-08-13T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T12:27:55.696-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bedtime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='three'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Two, Three, Five More Minutes</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The 4 B’s bedtime ritual of Bath, Bottle, Book, and Bed worked like a charm from the beginning.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Even after the bottle was no longer needed, we continued the same ritual every single night without ever skipping and our daughter went right to bed.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;That is, until she figured out that we’re really not in bed when she is.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She began coming out of her room just to see what we were doing and then we’d tuck her back in bed.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then, she started her own ritual.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;First time up, she had a booger on her finger.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Second time, she wanted a drink of water.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Third time, she had to go potty.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Fourth time, she wanted to snuggle. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The stall tactics were all in place and she managed to extend her bedtime routine by an additional 30 minutes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;While we no longer get called in for booger duty, we still get called for snuggles.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What parent can deny snuggle time?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Mommy, will you snuggle with me?” she asks.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Once Mommy has finished snuggle time, she now says, “I want my Daddy.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Daddy goes in for his snuggle time and then she goes to sleep.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Last night, I was finished snuggling and she said, “No Mommy, just two more minutes, okay, three more minutes.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I replied, “Just three more?”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She answered, “Just five more minutes.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I just smiled.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;    &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2363027231971002139?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2363027231971002139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2363027231971002139' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2363027231971002139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2363027231971002139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/two-three-five-more-minutes.html' title='Two, Three, Five More Minutes'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4121502809581393737</id><published>2008-08-11T23:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T23:39:39.582-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='three'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Turning "3" - The Big Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEvZD2wqGI/AAAAAAAAACw/2wjgIcpmaF0/s1600-h/IMG_4032.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEvZD2wqGI/AAAAAAAAACw/2wjgIcpmaF0/s200/IMG_4032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233516349559449698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Happy Birthday, Alyssa! My baby girl turned "3" today. We had a busy weekend getting ready for the big party. The theme was Dora the Explorer and we had quite the fiesta!!! Family and friends joined us for the celebration. We had lots of Mexican food and a chocolate Dora cake. It was so nice to see everyone. Alyssa had a great time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEu_Re_YJI/AAAAAAAAACg/o-mEFvtrWMo/s1600-h/IMG_4035.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEu_Re_YJI/AAAAAAAAACg/o-mEFvtrWMo/s200/IMG_4035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233515906541248658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In fact, we were so busy having a great time that we forgot her special gift from Mommy and Daddy... a Dora scooter like her friend Eden's. Unbelievable! After everyone had gone, Daddy came out and said, "Guess what?" Well, even though we forgot, she absolutely loved it!!! I think our memories are failing us as we get older.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the day off work today to spend with Alyssa for her birthday. We had a nice breakfast together and went to the mall to play on the playground and go shopping with her birthday money. She got some new clothes and toys. I still can't believe that she's "3." I think it's going to take some time to soak in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I started a tradition when Alyssa was born to give her a rose on her birthday for every year old that she is. I hope to continue this throughout my life. Each rose is a reminder of all the years of memories that we've shared together and how much I love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEvujAPceI/AAAAAAAAADA/YnxyX9oa5UQ/s1600-h/DSCN0061.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEvujAPceI/AAAAAAAAADA/YnxyX9oa5UQ/s320/DSCN0061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233516718697968098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4121502809581393737?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4121502809581393737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4121502809581393737' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4121502809581393737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4121502809581393737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/turning-3-big-day.html' title='Turning &quot;3&quot; - The Big Day'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SKEvZD2wqGI/AAAAAAAAACw/2wjgIcpmaF0/s72-c/IMG_4032.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2710164668715672462</id><published>2008-08-06T10:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T14:02:26.546-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='three'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Three Years</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SJnk-288CiI/AAAAAAAAABw/gI77ld6g4jw/s1600-h/3years.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SJnk-288CiI/AAAAAAAAABw/gI77ld6g4jw/s400/3years.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231464210721671714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Three years...  Sam and I were married three years before we decided to have a baby.  It took almost three years to get pregnant.  Now, our little girl is turning "3" next week.  As I reflect on the past three years, I get emotional.  Our little baby isn't a baby anymore.  I remember when we first brought her home from the hospital.  She was in her car seat carrier.  We sat her inside while we unloaded the car.  She was lying there asleep.  We looked at each other and said, "Now what?"  Our lives would never be the same again.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Looking back, I enjoyed every "first" (first smile, first crawl, first tooth, first word, first step), but always found myself looking forward to the next one.  I think as a new mom I was so excited to see what was next that I did not realize how quickly those moments were gone.   I now sit wondering where the past three years have gone.  Yet, I'm also looking forward to getting the 3's behind us.  I guess that's the irony of it all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There will always be more "firsts" to look forward to and there will always be photos to capture the memories.   My precious little baby has grown into such a darling little girl.  It's been an amazing three years.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2710164668715672462?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2710164668715672462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2710164668715672462' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2710164668715672462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2710164668715672462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/three-years.html' title='Three Years'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SJnk-288CiI/AAAAAAAAABw/gI77ld6g4jw/s72-c/3years.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5635045419862914792</id><published>2008-08-01T22:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:59:32.498-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='burps'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pizza'/><title type='text'>Pizza Burps</title><content type='html'>We had pizza for lunch at Costco today.  As we were driving home, Alyssa was sitting in the back of the car having a conversation with herself.  It went something like this...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Oh, I just burped."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I burped a pizza burp."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"It tastes yucky."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I don't like pizza burps."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was laughing so hard I couldn't think of anything to say.  I know it's gross, but I was amused.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5635045419862914792?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5635045419862914792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5635045419862914792' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5635045419862914792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5635045419862914792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/08/pizza-burps.html' title='Pizza Burps'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-1099888475993162702</id><published>2008-07-29T13:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T14:01:10.360-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ears'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='listening'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Are Your Ears Working?</title><content type='html'>Lately, I've been feeling like a broken record.  I find myself repeating things over and over and getting louder and louder the more I say them.  I can't help but wonder what's going on in that little head of hers.  I often ask, "Are your ears working?"  She looks at me with a smile on her face and says, "Yes."  I'm beginning to wonder...  When I picked Alyssa up from preschool yesterday, she was in "Time Out."  I asked the teacher why and she said, "Nothing specific.  She's just not listening."&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember reading an article about toddlers not always listening and how they may not realize they aren't listening.  They just have a very short attention span and they may actually forget what you've asked if their attention is on something else.  So, rather than listening, the goal is to get their attention.  Easier said than done, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's what several experts recommend to get those little ears to work and get them to pay attention:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;Get on their level. &lt;/span&gt; Squat down and look them in the eyes when you're talking to them.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;Be clear. &lt;/span&gt; Speak simply and with authority.  Don't phrase requests as a question if they don't have a choice.  Don't be too wordy.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;Follow through...and quickly.&lt;/span&gt;  If you say you're going to do something, do it.  Don't make threats or promises you aren't willing to keep.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;R&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;einforce your message. &lt;/span&gt; Use visual or physical cues to guild your child if they are too focused, such as pulling down the covers and patting the pillow as a sign that it's bedtime.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Give warnings.&lt;/span&gt;  If it's time to get a bath soon, give a heads up about 5-10 minutes in advance so they know playtime is over.  Don't just pull a child away from an activity.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;Give realistic instructions.&lt;/span&gt;  Rather than telling a child to pick up their toys, try naming specific ones to put away.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Motivate. &lt;/span&gt; Use alternatives to yelling to get good behavior such as making up silly songs or offering rewards for completing a task such as picking out a favorite book for bedtime. Praise the child upon completion of a task.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Model good behavior.&lt;/span&gt;  Listen to your child, look at them when they talk to you, respond politely, and let them finish without interrupting.  Try not to turn your back on a child or walk away while they are talking to you.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I do fairly well on most of these, but I definitely need some work on making my requests clear and following through.  I'm going to work extra hard to make some improvements and see if that helps.  I definitely don't want to spend the next 15 years saying, "Why aren't you listening to me?"  It's time to get those little ears working.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-1099888475993162702?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/1099888475993162702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=1099888475993162702' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1099888475993162702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/1099888475993162702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/are-your-ears-working.html' title='Are Your Ears Working?'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5669532145857363277</id><published>2008-07-22T13:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T14:00:42.803-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='potty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toilet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='training'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>I’ve Got the Toilet Training Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SIZBlcyvIzI/AAAAAAAAABo/DXtOLr5tZAs/s1600-h/toilet1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SIZBlcyvIzI/AAAAAAAAABo/DXtOLr5tZAs/s200/toilet1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225936529250001714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pull-ups are full, the toilet is not&lt;div&gt;I keep on trying, giving it all I've got&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've offered candy, and money too!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What does it take, to get them to go poo?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've got the blues... the toilet training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I bought lots of panties, she put them on&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought it would work, guess I was wrong&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now she knows, when her pull-ups are full&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She takes them off, and throws them on the floor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've got the blues... the toilet training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Do you have to go potty?" She answers, "No."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I beg and I plea, "Will you try to go?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just minutes later, she's standing all quiet&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her pull-up is full, "Why didn't you use the toilet?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've got the blues... the toilet training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She used to go in the morning, but not anymore&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I sit and I wait, and I wait some more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After 5 minutes, she's still looking at me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"How much time, does it take to go pee?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've got the blues... the toilet training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She knows what she's doing, but doesn't care&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm sick of changing diapers, it's just not fair&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've had enough, I can't take anymore&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I drew the line, when poop was on the floor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've got the blues... the toilet training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How long will it take, how old will she be&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before we can say, we're pull-up free&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's one thing worse, than terrible 2's&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's the blues, the toilet training blues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;An original by C.N.F.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5669532145857363277?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5669532145857363277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5669532145857363277' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5669532145857363277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5669532145857363277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/ive-got-toilet-training-blues.html' title='I’ve Got the Toilet Training Blues'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SIZBlcyvIzI/AAAAAAAAABo/DXtOLr5tZAs/s72-c/toilet1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4735133938474428775</id><published>2008-07-21T08:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T08:32:46.260-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Portraits</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SISr_SDUHLI/AAAAAAAAABY/CYpubOEsfkg/s1600-h/alyssa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SISr_SDUHLI/AAAAAAAAABY/CYpubOEsfkg/s200/alyssa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225490571322465458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We had portraits on Friday and they turned out better than I expected.  Alyssa was a little diva posing for the camera.  I told her if she was good that she'd get a lollipop when she was done.  Nothing like good ol' bribery to get some good pictures.  I was so happy that the scratch she got on her face last week had completely healed (thanks Neosporin!).   The photographer couldn't believe that she was turning 3.  He said it's very difficult to take pictures of 3-year-olds.  I'm so pleased with how they all turned out.  We got a really great family portrait too!  You can check them out by clicking on my Flickr album to the right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4735133938474428775?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4735133938474428775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4735133938474428775' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4735133938474428775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4735133938474428775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/portraits.html' title='Portraits'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SISr_SDUHLI/AAAAAAAAABY/CYpubOEsfkg/s72-c/alyssa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2202176141878369818</id><published>2008-07-17T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T12:55:15.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Velcro Kid</title><content type='html'>I've always seen those kids stuck like velcro to their mother's leg.  I'd watch as the mother pried her child from her leg and tried to make the quick escape before reattachment occurred.  I thought children went through separation anxiety around age 2.   Alyssa always loved going to school, so she never cried when I left...until now.  As I go to leave, she runs after me asking for hugs.  Who's going to turn down a hug, right?  When I hug her, she latches on and doesn't let go.  I pry her hands from around my neck, return her to her seat, and she runs after me again.  We do this 2-3 times before I finally say enough.  Then, as I'm leaving, I can hear her saying, "My Mommy!" and she starts to cry.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, it makes me feel terrible that I have to leave her and go to work.  For a while, she would tell me that she's going to work and I'm going to school.  She'd do this silly little "I'm going to work!" walk, giggle at herself, and then she'd return to the table.  It's different now, she's not being silly and it's not funny.  After the Oscar-winning performance today, I peeked on her about a minute after she thought I was gone.  There were no tears.  She was not sad.  She was smiling, eating breakfast, and talking to one of other girls in her class that had just done the same to her mother.   Unbelievable!   They certainly know how to pull our heart strings, don't they?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2202176141878369818?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2202176141878369818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2202176141878369818' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2202176141878369818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2202176141878369818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/velcro-kid.html' title='Velcro Kid'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6231297540012104545</id><published>2008-07-16T19:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T14:01:37.563-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sneaky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>What a Sneak!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SH6pr3o1SnI/AAAAAAAAABI/H8-Du1zAQtw/s1600-h/sneaky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SH6pr3o1SnI/AAAAAAAAABI/H8-Du1zAQtw/s200/sneaky.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223799188931037810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Check this out!  Alyssa was watching a cartoon and I went in to tell her it was bath time and this is what I saw!  She was sitting there eating the peach that I wanted to take for lunch tomorrow.  I could not believe my eyes.  She told me she wanted a snack and I said no because we had just eaten dinner.  She asked for watermelon and it was already all gone because we shared it after dinner.  So, I didn't think anything of it.  I guess the little sneak decided to help herself to a snack.  I told her she was bad, but she smiled at me and said, "It's yummy!"  Well yeah, it's yummy, it's my peach!  Anyway, this is where I need some work on my parenting.  What should I have done?  Should I have taken it away and given her a time out?  It's really hard for me to send her into a raging fit for nothing.  So, I let her finish the peach...at least someone got to enjoy it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6231297540012104545?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6231297540012104545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6231297540012104545' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6231297540012104545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6231297540012104545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/what-sneak.html' title='What a Sneak!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SH6pr3o1SnI/AAAAAAAAABI/H8-Du1zAQtw/s72-c/sneaky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4098060280535029760</id><published>2008-07-14T07:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T23:12:00.270-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Locked Out!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHw_rPJ-TWI/AAAAAAAAABA/IIeUPLv2cyg/s1600-h/raining.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHw_rPJ-TWI/AAAAAAAAABA/IIeUPLv2cyg/s200/raining.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223119679878221154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa got a new Dora umbrella this weekend and we told her she could use it the next time it rained.  Well, we had quite a monsoon storm around 4:00 p.m. yesterday.  It was raining pretty hard, so we went outside to play in the rain.  Alyssa looked so cute standing in the middle of the yard with her umbrella.  She was so excited!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was outside, I noticed a broken sprinkler that needed to be thrown in the trash.  Alyssa was just hanging out on the patio, so I told her I'd be right back.  The thought crossed my head as I was walking that she could go back inside the house, but I never expected her to go inside and lock the door.  I could see her smiling face through the glass.  The little stinker locked me out!  So, I got down on my knees and begged her to unlock the door.  "Alyssa, open the door for Mommy please."  Alyssa says, "I did already!"  Yet, the deadbolt was still locked.  "Alyssa, can you open the top one for Mommy."  (jiggle, jiggle)  Still not unlocked.  "Come on, Alyssa unlock the door."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the back of my mind, I always knew that I could go around the house and go through the garage to get in, so I was patient.  Finally, she opened the door and I told her to never to that again.  Of course, she cried...  I later realized that the door from the garage to the house was locked, so I was truly locked out.  I think it's time to figure out where the spare key is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4098060280535029760?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4098060280535029760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4098060280535029760' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4098060280535029760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4098060280535029760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/locked-out.html' title='Locked Out!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHw_rPJ-TWI/AAAAAAAAABA/IIeUPLv2cyg/s72-c/raining.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-3180651206055477041</id><published>2008-07-12T22:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T14:00:19.278-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swimming'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Swimming Lessons</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHmUJ1rLzXI/AAAAAAAAAA4/HKRBZLgGcdc/s1600-h/swim2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHmUJ1rLzXI/AAAAAAAAAA4/HKRBZLgGcdc/s200/swim2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222368139660742002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHmUGgY8v2I/AAAAAAAAAAw/BVaq83TIz3c/s1600-h/swim1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHmUGgY8v2I/AAAAAAAAAAw/BVaq83TIz3c/s200/swim1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222368082407505762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Alyssa had her first swim lesson today.  She did very well.  There are only four kids per class.  All of the kids sit on the step while they watch the teacher work with another kid.  Of course, Alyssa didn't want to sit so she kept sliding down to the next step.  The teacher told her that if she didn't stay put that she would have to get out of the water.  Alyssa decided to test her and had to sit on the edge of the pool for one round.  It was nice to see the teacher follow through and Alyssa listened from that point forward.  It was really funny to watch too!  She got to make bubbles with her face in the water, practice kicking, practice making scoopers with her hands, jump in the water from the step, and float on her back.  We will be going to swimming every Saturday through December.  Alyssa loves the water and it was nice seeing her following directions and learning from other kids her age.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-3180651206055477041?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/3180651206055477041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=3180651206055477041' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3180651206055477041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/3180651206055477041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/swimming-lessons.html' title='Swimming Lessons'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SHmUJ1rLzXI/AAAAAAAAAA4/HKRBZLgGcdc/s72-c/swim2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6479156991939413017</id><published>2008-07-10T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T12:45:20.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids and Portraits</title><content type='html'>What is it with kids and portraits anyway?  We're one week away from Alyssa's annual portraits and she comes home from school with a 1/2 inch scratch on her face.  Of all weeks, why this one?  Why do kids always get some kind of scratch or bruise on their face right before family pictures?  I know I'm not alone on this one.  I guess it's just Murphy's law.  If this continues to happen over the years, I think I'll schedule two appointments.  If something happens before the first one, I'll just cancel it and have healing time to make the next one.  If it were only that easy, right?   You know why I love taking my own pictures?  Photoshop!!!  Scratches, no problem.  Blemishes, gone.  With a click of the mouse, all of our little imperfections are fixed.  We had beautiful close up pictures of Alyssa when she was a baby, but she scratched up her entire forehead with her fingernails.  Yes, I admit that I removed all of the scratches.  The facial expressions were too priceless!  Anyway, portraits are next Friday.  Let's hope the scratch is all better by then.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6479156991939413017?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6479156991939413017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6479156991939413017' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6479156991939413017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6479156991939413017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/kids-and-portraits.html' title='Kids and Portraits'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-212302854799612269</id><published>2008-07-09T07:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T08:47:30.101-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hide and Seek</title><content type='html'>It's time for hide and seek.  Alyssa likes to tell me to hide and she comes to find me.  Last night, she told me to stay in her room.  So, I hid in the closet.  She came in to find me and I was gone.  She started looking down the hallway and in my room.  Then, it sounded like she was going to cry, "Mommy, where are you?"  A little voice from the closet says, "In here!"  She comes back into her room, "Mommy?"  The little voice says, "Over here!"  I made sure that my head was in clear view and when she found me she exclaimed, "MOMMY!  There you are!"  Then said, "Hide again!"  This time, I hid behind two pillows in the corner of the room.  You could clearly see my head and feet.  She acted as if she didn't know where I was and then pounced on the pillows smashing me. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A couple days ago I hid down the hall and said, "Come find me!"  Alyssa was looking in the doors of the bathroom and bedrooms.  As she walked by me, I crawled out of the room and said, "ROOOAAARR!"  Well, that was a mistake.  I scared her so much she fell on the floor.  I felt like absolute crap for the rest of the evening.  Before she went to bed, she said, "Mommy, you scared me."  I showered her with hugs and kisses, but she still remembers.  She tells me not to scare her.  So, I make sure that I stay quiet until she sees me and says something.  That way, she enjoys playing hide and seek.  Next time, it's her turn to hide from me!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-212302854799612269?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/212302854799612269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=212302854799612269' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/212302854799612269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/212302854799612269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/hide-and-seek.html' title='Hide and Seek'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6958361686530170023</id><published>2008-07-06T22:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:59:10.510-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swiper'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>My Little Swiper</title><content type='html'>"Swiper, No Swiping!"  My little swiper has been learning from Dora the Explorer.  Swiper the sneaky fox is always stealing stuff from Dora and her friend Boots.  Then, they have to find where Swiper put it.  Tonight, Alyssa told me that she's sneaky.  I asked her what she meant and she said she likes to take things from Mommy.  I asked her why she likes to take things and she said she was sneaky like Swiper.  Well, she's not kidding.  She has been taking things from us, but we didn't realize that she was "swiping" them.  Today, she swiped Sam's water bottle and took off with it into her room.  She giggled as she ran away.  While this is cute when it comes to the little things, it's not very cute if she's swiping things that we don't know about.  We're going to have to keep our eyes out for the little swiper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6958361686530170023?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6958361686530170023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6958361686530170023' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6958361686530170023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6958361686530170023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-little-swiper.html' title='My Little Swiper'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2851146685971599108</id><published>2008-07-06T22:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T22:15:06.049-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Explanation for the Piles of Lumps</title><content type='html'>We have been baffled by how many times Alyssa can make the piles of lumps all over the floor and enjoy doing it so much.  She was doing it again today and Sam figured out what it is that she's really doing.  At school, all of the kids take naps on mats on the floor.  The teacher must walk around the room giving each kid their blanket for naptime.  Alyssa is playing the teacher.  She is putting all of the kids (dollies, animals, etc.) down for a nap.  She is telling them to go to sleep.  She's just role playing.  I would have never guessed.  Sam finally figured it out.  I just fold the blankets and put them away for next time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2851146685971599108?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2851146685971599108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2851146685971599108' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2851146685971599108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2851146685971599108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/explanation-for-piles-of-lumps.html' title='Explanation for the Piles of Lumps'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-8140544504313894422</id><published>2008-07-05T19:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T19:18:52.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What?  What?  What?</title><content type='html'>I didn't realize that selective hearing begins at an early age.  My child's response to every question lately is "What?"  I found myself answering the question up to four times before finally catching on.  If she doesn't want to do what I'm asking her to do, she says, "What?"  It's a delay tactic.   Here's a sample conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Alyssa is watching a cartoon.]&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  "Alyssa, it's time to get a bath."&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  "What?"&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  "Come on, it's bath time."&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  "What?"&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:  "I said, let's go get a bath."&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  "What?"&lt;br /&gt;Mommy [frustrated]:  "Movie time is over, it's bath time.  Let's go!!!"&lt;br /&gt;Alyssa:  "What?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-8140544504313894422?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/8140544504313894422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=8140544504313894422' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8140544504313894422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/8140544504313894422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/what-what-what.html' title='What?  What?  What?'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6662850349072584641</id><published>2008-07-02T12:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T13:15:25.788-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You're Not My Friend!</title><content type='html'>I was not prepared for what my darling daughter said to me last night.  I went in for some snuggles and she looked at me and said, "You're not my friend!"  You may as well just grab my heart strings and pull them out.  I said, "What do you mean I'm not your friend?"  She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As part of our bedtime routine, she likes to push me over.  I sit in the middle of the room and she pushes on me from the front until I fall backwards.  As I'm falling, I put my feet on her belly and push her up into the air and bounce her up and down.  She said, "Mommy, I push you over."  I said, "Why, I'm not your friend?"  She looked at me with the most adorable smile ever and said, "Mommy, you're my very best friend."  Now, who could say no to that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6662850349072584641?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6662850349072584641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6662850349072584641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6662850349072584641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6662850349072584641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/youre-not-my-friend.html' title='You&apos;re Not My Friend!'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-2067252188348661339</id><published>2008-07-01T11:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T11:52:45.706-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Post Office</title><content type='html'>Alyssa was sitting on the back of the couch last night and I told her several times to get down.  She sits up there smiling, not realizing that if she falls backwards she will crack her head on the tile floor.  So, I explained to her, “If you fall off the couch, you will crack your head on the floor and we’ll have to go to the hospital.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that night while she was getting her bath, she bumped her head on the tub.  She looked at me and said, “I bonked my head on the tub and I go to the post office.”  I said, “The post office?  Do you mean the hospital?”  She said, “No, I go to the post office.”  I said, “Do you want to mail yourself somewhere?”  She just smiled.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-2067252188348661339?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/2067252188348661339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=2067252188348661339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2067252188348661339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/2067252188348661339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/07/post-office.html' title='The Post Office'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4809148972000281690</id><published>2008-06-29T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-29T19:55:55.083-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Piles of Lumps</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SGhKt39QAKI/AAAAAAAAAAo/2LfJQssEJMQ/s1600-h/lumps.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SGhKt39QAKI/AAAAAAAAAAo/2LfJQssEJMQ/s200/lumps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217502320284139682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not quite sure what to call this.  It's something that Alyssa does quite often and rather enjoys doing it.  It involves taking every single stuffed toy and doll that she has and telling each one to take a nap.  The catch is that they all have to have their own blankie.  So, she completely empties the bottom drawer of her dresser and puts all of her animals and dollies to sleep.  In this picture, she decided to join them, but she's faking sleep with sound effects (aaahhh  choooo ...snoring).  I'm quite amused by the entire process until it comes time to put all of the blankies away.  It's not as fun to fold them all up as it is to watch.  She has so much fun doing this.  I love listening to her talk to her dollies and tell them that they have to take a nap if they want nummies (our word for something yummy).   If they don't listen to her, she'll tell them that if they don't take a nap they'll get a time out.  It's so cute!  If all I have to do is fold blankets...it's totally worth it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4809148972000281690?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4809148972000281690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4809148972000281690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4809148972000281690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4809148972000281690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/06/piles-of-lumps.html' title='Piles of Lumps'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SGhKt39QAKI/AAAAAAAAAAo/2LfJQssEJMQ/s72-c/lumps.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4785453844496414676</id><published>2008-06-26T07:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:58:46.304-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bunny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Making Bunnies</title><content type='html'>A Breakfast Conversation between Alyssa and Daddy...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa:  "Where you going?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Daddy:  "To work."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa:  "Why you go to work?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Daddy:  "To make money."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa:  "To make a bunny?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Daddy:  (Laughing) "No, to make money."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alyssa:  (Giggles)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's what Mommy and Daddy do all day.  We make bunnies.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4785453844496414676?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4785453844496414676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4785453844496414676' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4785453844496414676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4785453844496414676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/06/making-bunnies.html' title='Making Bunnies'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-5979077609158644640</id><published>2008-06-25T07:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:58:15.824-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naked'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='commando'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Going Commando</title><content type='html'>It started happening a few weeks ago.  We'd go check on Alyssa and she'd be sitting there on her couch watching Dora almost naked wearing just her shirt.  I'd ask what's going on and she'd say her pull-up was hurting.  So, when we're at home, she wears panties in the house.  Twice she's removed her pull-up after I've put her to bed and I've found her in the morning naked on the bottom.  Luckily, she didn't pee in her bed.  Last night, that all changed.  She slept commando and woke up at 1:00 a.m.  She wet her bed and it was everywhere.  I asked her what happened and she said she went pee in her bed.  When I asked what happened to her pull-up, she said she took it off like it wasn't a big deal.  Nevertheless, she got to spend the rest of the night with mommy and daddy while her bedding was in the wash.  I told her that she has to leave her pull-ups on at night.  We'll see how that goes.  If all else fails, there's always duct tape, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-5979077609158644640?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/5979077609158644640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=5979077609158644640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5979077609158644640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/5979077609158644640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/06/going-commando.html' title='Going Commando'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-6813945766539287693</id><published>2008-06-24T20:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T20:56:49.231-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Don't Make Me Cry..."</title><content type='html'>I was tucking Alyssa in bed tonight and she didn't want me to leave.  Lately, she gets up about three times.  First time, she has a booger on her finger and needs me to put it in a tissue.  Second time, she needs to go potty.  She hardly ever goes, but we have to listen because we're potty training.  It's so frustrating!  Third time, she needs a drink of water.  Then, she's off to sleep.  The bedtime routine that used to last an hour now takes 30 minutes longer.  Anyway, she skipped the three stallers tonight and said, "Don't make me cry..." in a sad little voice.  I repeated back, "Don't make you cry?"  Her face cracked a smile and she said, "Don't go.  Let's snuggle."  Is this how it's going to be?  Has she already figured out how to lay on the guilt trips?  It worked because I gave in.  I have a weakness for snuggles, but kept it short.  Crazy kid!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-6813945766539287693?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/6813945766539287693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=6813945766539287693' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6813945766539287693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/6813945766539287693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/06/dont-make-me-cry.html' title='&quot;Don&apos;t Make Me Cry...&quot;'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303018235979721235.post-4276548813607160851</id><published>2008-06-24T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T14:37:50.614-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='three'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>Cuz Why?</title><content type='html'>My daughter is turning "3" on August 11th.  If the past month is a glimpse of what is to come, I will need lots of patience to survive the 3's.  We have entered into the "What's that?" and "Cuz why?" phase of parenting where everything requires an explanation.  A wise friend told me to play along for a few questions and then return the questions, "What do you think it is?" or "Why do you think?"  So far, it's working!  She answers the question and the game is over...until the next question.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last week, I heard a little voice say, "Mommy, look at me!"  As I turned my head, I saw my darling daughter standing in the center of the glass coffee table.  When she noticed I was looking, she started jumping up and down.  I would not like to see a video replay of what I looked like running, shouting, and swooping her off the table.  The visions of glass breaking took over and it she was quickly removed from her platform.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought it would be fun spending the next year blogging about little things like these that give insight into what it's like to be a three-year-old and to see if I can survive "3" without losing my sanity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6303018235979721235-4276548813607160851?l=surviving3.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/feeds/4276548813607160851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6303018235979721235&amp;postID=4276548813607160851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4276548813607160851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6303018235979721235/posts/default/4276548813607160851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://surviving3.blogspot.com/2008/06/cuz-why.html' title='Cuz Why?'/><author><name>Chanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02669309484538107676</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zOf0XIzgDlw/SSxa2YUWdtI/AAAAAAAAAFU/PS8felHHaOI/S220/purpleicon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
