<?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-6827462165441446335</id><updated>2011-10-01T13:09:05.601-04:00</updated><category term='houses'/><category term='hobbies'/><category term='proposals'/><category term='funny'/><category term='tired'/><category term='books'/><category term='death'/><category term='tagged'/><category term='tattoos'/><category term='shower'/><category term='Master&apos;s Project'/><category term='hair'/><category term='invites'/><category term='bride'/><category term='bff'/><category term='travel'/><category term='taxes'/><category term='snapshots'/><category term='favorite'/><category term='Halloween'/><category 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term='health'/><category term='dearBff'/><category term='fitness'/><category term='drugs'/><category term='Alcoholics'/><category term='money'/><category term='historical'/><title type='text'>bass ackwards.</title><subtitle type='html'>&lt;center&gt;Random thoughts of a clumsy girl.&lt;/center&gt;</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>255</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3094133124478318563</id><published>2011-07-15T08:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-15T09:15:47.017-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><title type='text'>Scenic Route.</title><content type='html'>I'm standing close to a huge intersection in my life.  And while I know either road will take me to the next adventure (my new job) the two routes are so very different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is the anxiety ridden route.  It looks like a gigantic city with one-ways and stop lights and dark clouds. And my GPS is broke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is the slightly curvy, partly-sunny country back road.  This way looks so much more appealing.  I want to choose this path, but I'm worried my mind will steer me towards the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been striving (and mostly succeeding) in living a happier life since we moved.  One where I stop worrying about things I cannot control as soon as the thought crosses my mind; where I truly soak in moments and am fully present in them instead of halfway thinking about tomorrow's troubles like I used to spend all of my time doing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep busy.  If I'm not busy I go for a walk.  I'm not killing myself working out nor beating myself up about it when I don't exercise like I told myself I should be.  I'm only human. I am mindful of what I put in my body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to be happy with what I have, instead of constantly focusing on what I want.  Do I need these things? That always cuts the list in half.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream again; day dream of things I want to do and places and I want to go.  I use this lovely site called &lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/melberry29/"&gt;Pinterest&lt;/a&gt; to organize these dreams.  Even if I don't get to them all, it is great to have hopes again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be great at my new job, not just good.  I spent the last 3 years stagnant in a job I tolerated for a paycheck.  This is my chance to do some interesting and something I might actually enjoy doing every day to boot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am choosing the sunny road, not the complicated city streets shrouded in black clouds.  I am choosing to be happy, mindful and (sometimes stupidly, but oh well)optimistic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm taking the scenic route on this one, and I'm going to enjoy the ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3094133124478318563?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3094133124478318563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3094133124478318563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3094133124478318563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3094133124478318563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/07/scenic-route.html' title='Scenic Route.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2709171065910393647</id><published>2011-07-07T15:59:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T16:04:40.286-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='proud'/><title type='text'>Note to self.</title><content type='html'>Remember this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The absolutely ecstatic rush of finally getting something you've wanted very badly for a very long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been offered a fantastic new job.  And I've accepted it.  And tomorrow when my boss (hopefully) isn't out sick anymore I will be handing in my letter of resignation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't felt this excited/scared/happy/anxious in a really long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2709171065910393647?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2709171065910393647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2709171065910393647' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2709171065910393647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2709171065910393647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/07/note-to-self.html' title='Note to self.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1696439687165254591</id><published>2011-06-16T12:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-16T13:03:07.226-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>I think I just threw up a little.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;*Warning* The following is sickeningly sweet. You may not want to proceed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never knew I could love you more.  I remember on our wedding day (and most of the following week we spent in Florida) thinking I've never loved anyone like this, nor this much.  There can't possibly be any way it gets better than this.  Not in a "this is as good as it gets, its all downhill from here" way but in an "I've never been this happy in my life, this is awesome" way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But here we are, in year two, and it feels like that first week again, but somehow, even better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we still take fabulously awkward pictures together, and I love them even more too:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SiYIEftkgUY/Tfo2QK56B5I/AAAAAAAAAjE/VRwcI6A9VNg/s1600/blog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SiYIEftkgUY/Tfo2QK56B5I/AAAAAAAAAjE/VRwcI6A9VNg/s320/blog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618863136531154834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;seriously...whatcha doin' here?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nBEcQ6Yo5d0/Tfo2QfEGlzI/AAAAAAAAAjM/XZjyd_XjOdw/s1600/snap21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nBEcQ6Yo5d0/Tfo2QfEGlzI/AAAAAAAAAjM/XZjyd_XjOdw/s320/snap21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618863141942630194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;I promise we are not on some mind altering drug, just on the way to Oktoberfest last fall&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;You are my favorite. Ever.&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/6827462165441446335-1696439687165254591?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1696439687165254591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1696439687165254591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1696439687165254591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1696439687165254591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-think-i-just-threw-up-little.html' title='I think I just threw up a little.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SiYIEftkgUY/Tfo2QK56B5I/AAAAAAAAAjE/VRwcI6A9VNg/s72-c/blog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6448323552650877267</id><published>2011-06-08T08:27:00.020-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T11:10:11.710-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Suburban castle'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='moving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='organization'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interior design'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='IKEA'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>Call me the Queen of Suburbia.</title><content type='html'>The exodus from &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/letter.html"&gt;Apartamento&lt;/a&gt; to the &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/change-would-do-you-good.html"&gt;Suburban Castle&lt;/a&gt;  (our new humble abode) went smashingly well.  We have some amazing friends in our lives for helping us on one of the hottest days of the year so far. There were some hiccups, but I was Zen like all day.  I know, shocking, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks in and we are getting the hang of the space. I'm still wrapping my head around the amount of storage space we now have.  There are about 5 boxes in the living room that still need unpacked, so bare with me, but we have gone from this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4fQp1F6bAB4/Te9sMrKhHfI/AAAAAAAAAic/1OQ6g0PONuo/s1600/photo%2B1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4fQp1F6bAB4/Te9sMrKhHfI/AAAAAAAAAic/1OQ6g0PONuo/s320/photo%2B1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615826225355365874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WtCGUIEs2sw/Te9s0CbOIcI/AAAAAAAAAik/-RD98VmIamI/s1600/photo%252810%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WtCGUIEs2sw/Te9s0CbOIcI/AAAAAAAAAik/-RD98VmIamI/s320/photo%252810%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615826901614338498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another angle:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XmeXWTczCJ8/Te9tBhG0y0I/AAAAAAAAAis/fvxdlZd1FAo/s1600/photo%252811%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XmeXWTczCJ8/Te9tBhG0y0I/AAAAAAAAAis/fvxdlZd1FAo/s320/photo%252811%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615827133188590402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tree tapestry seen in the last photo is the coat closet; this place is full of craptastic old closet doors, which now live in the garage.  We also took off the ones in the master bedroom and the girls' room.  Here is a peek at their room (as of Sunday):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XyjmpnmUPlc/Te9uM0gtDkI/AAAAAAAAAi0/cy_e5-IPMqI/s1600/photo%252812%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XyjmpnmUPlc/Te9uM0gtDkI/AAAAAAAAAi0/cy_e5-IPMqI/s320/photo%252812%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615828426887597634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I sort of want to hang a curtain of some sort on their closet...but I'm not sure? There is a lot of storage/toys going on in there, so I feel like it would be nice to close the curtain at bedtime.  I have a cute black and white floral cloth shower curtain I'm not using right now, so I might pick up another tension rod and try it? Not sure at this point about that.  Also, I am secretly ecstatic that I got to hang up the teen magazine posters in an orderly fashion; you should have seen them at the apartamento.  It was chaos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;from the door:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sjWrTCbC4FY/Te9ubYxjQEI/AAAAAAAAAi8/yHHsbDeQEic/s1600/photo%252813%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sjWrTCbC4FY/Te9ubYxjQEI/AAAAAAAAAi8/yHHsbDeQEic/s320/photo%252813%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615828677140103234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I plan on getting two more sets of curtains to frame out the pink sheers, something purple I do believe. I think it will cozy it up a bit.  We also want to get some of those over sized letters for the girls' to decorate and hang over their beds. I saw some cardboard ones at Hobby Lobby a while back, which I think is perfect, because if it does fall off the wall, it won't hurt them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?q=Umbra+black+wallflowers&amp;amp;oe=utf-8&amp;amp;rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&amp;amp;client=firefox-a&amp;amp;um=1&amp;amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;amp;tbm=shop&amp;amp;cid=3308057207185981245&amp;amp;sa=X&amp;amp;ei=_HDvTcWGOarr0gGDt8XzDA&amp;amp;ved=0CC4Q8wIwAQ"&gt;these&lt;/a&gt; on order from Amazon, for a project for the bedroom (more to come later).  IKEA will also be getting a good chunk of my monies soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I love a good list, here is a run down of everything we still need to do/get:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Living Room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curtains (IKEA sheers, for starters)&lt;br /&gt;DVD Storage (&lt;a href="http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/00157246"&gt;Lerberg &lt;/a&gt;from IKEA x3 or 4)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;Closet doors off; tree tapestry turns into curtain w/tension rod and clips&lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Switch out ginormous ceiling fan? Perhaps!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Kitchen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Island (buy or re-purpose something else)&lt;br /&gt;Chalkboard Wall&lt;br /&gt;Girls' Art Gallery-need to ID drawings for this and get sizes for frames (IKEA)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Laundry/Utility Room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steel Shelving to create pantry storage&lt;br /&gt;Hang curtain to hide furnace/Hot Water Heater (IKEA again)&lt;br /&gt;Organizing bins for cabinets over washer/dryer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Hall&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hang Framed photos (&lt;s&gt;size each with paper ads&lt;/s&gt;, hang papers on wall in pattern, nail through and hang up pictures)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bathrooms&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get 1 small and 1 large rug for main bath, brown&lt;br /&gt;existing large green one goes in half bath&lt;br /&gt;Something for walls-&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;one picture has been printed, just need a frame and I'm thinking of shopping what we already have for the half bath.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Girls' room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;Hang up collage wall near Kiddo's bed &lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;Organize toy bins/put in closet/take off closet doors to maximize floorspace&lt;br /&gt;Curtains&lt;/s&gt; (still need purples, IKEA?)&lt;br /&gt;Big Letters for over their beds&lt;br /&gt;Spice racks as front facing bookshelves from, you guessed it, IKEA&lt;br /&gt;DIY Canopies (maybe)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Master&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long and low dresser 6-8 drawers, I want to find old one and re-paint and get new hardware for&lt;br /&gt;Bedskirt/new bedding&lt;br /&gt;DIY project with Wallflowers&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ordered&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prints off Etsy (frames IKEA, do you see a pattern here?)&lt;br /&gt;Different curtains&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-eventually&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have yet to unpack my books and get the Expedit 100% organized, so that is on the agenda for tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how this place is evolving and I can't wait to see what it will become by the end of the Summer. The husband and I keep saying this place makes us feel like grown ups; I feel like it is exactly where we need to be right now.  We have the opportunity to acquire all the crap we need for a house, without having to worry about the upkeep on things.  I think by the time our lease is up (in two years) we might actually be able to look into buying. Or not, but that is okay too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day my sister says, "what's with all the talk of "projects"? When did you become so crafty?"  I've been reading on the interwebs about all this stuff basically since I got married in 2009, now I have a blank slate to execute on, and I'm so excited.  And you know what? I just can't hide it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6448323552650877267?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6448323552650877267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6448323552650877267' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6448323552650877267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6448323552650877267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/06/progress.html' title='Call me the Queen of Suburbia.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4fQp1F6bAB4/Te9sMrKhHfI/AAAAAAAAAic/1OQ6g0PONuo/s72-c/photo%2B1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-839562645998339521</id><published>2011-05-20T12:01:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-01T11:31:43.036-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><title type='text'>Letter.</title><content type='html'>Dear Apartamento:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never missed anyplace I have called home (excluding fleeting moments of missing my hometown/parents place) and I've called A LOT of places home in the past seven years.  I am going to truly miss you, in all your hippie village glory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your walls are where the husband and I got engaged and &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/search/label/weddingplanning"&gt;planned&lt;/a&gt; our DIY wedding.  You have hosted the hubsfamily Christmas 3 years running, and had countless gatherings of friends and family, both big and small throughout our stay.  Every twice annual Street Fair that takes place in town brought us lots of visitors, plus I always got out on the streets early to avoid the crowds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your open concept layout has been amazing.  I will probably miss that the most; being able to make dinner/do anything in the kitchen but still be engaged in whatever is going on in the living room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But our time is up, my knees are achy from climbing those &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/all-before-9am.html"&gt;21 steps of death&lt;/a&gt; every morning and night and to all good things must come an end.  We need a yard for the girls, and less steps for the clumsy (ie: me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Plus we are gaining: &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/change-would-do-you-good.html"&gt;an entire other toilet, a garage, yard and storage room&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for the memories, for being so well insulated (we never turned our furnace on through 3 Ohio Winters; our Vectren Gas bill was never over $20.) and hosting our lives for the past 3 years. I'll miss you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best,&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Melberry&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-839562645998339521?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/839562645998339521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=839562645998339521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/839562645998339521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/839562645998339521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/letter.html' title='Letter.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3799346884566883465</id><published>2011-05-13T14:27:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T14:32:59.881-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><title type='text'>Anytown, Ohio.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tkHTIqoU0V8/Tc15IkoZ3HI/AAAAAAAAAho/-FEw7mtOrjE/s1600/photo%25288%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tkHTIqoU0V8/Tc15IkoZ3HI/AAAAAAAAAho/-FEw7mtOrjE/s320/photo%25288%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606270299325193330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Caught this on my way through a downtown the yesterday.&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-3799346884566883465?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3799346884566883465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3799346884566883465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3799346884566883465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3799346884566883465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/anytown-ohio.html' title='Anytown, Ohio.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tkHTIqoU0V8/Tc15IkoZ3HI/AAAAAAAAAho/-FEw7mtOrjE/s72-c/photo%25288%2529.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-9148196947035636829</id><published>2011-05-11T15:35:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-11T15:57:30.903-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='moving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><title type='text'>(Browser)Window Shopping.</title><content type='html'>I've had an epiphany: Craigslist is like a cyberspace thrift store.  I love thrift stores, therefore I love Craigslist.  I spend many more hours than I'd like to admit browsing its pages, imagining random pieces of furniture in my (soon-to-be) &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/change-would-do-you-good.html"&gt;ranch style duplex-condo-apartment-half house type of dealy.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love me a good Craigslist browse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I remember, we have no extra monies because of the impending move into said ranch style duplex-condo-apartment-half-house type dealy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sad face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really need to stop imagining where furniture will go in the new place.  If I have learned anything in almost two years of marriage, its to stop having expectations, you won't be let down when things don't go as you imagined and reality can be better sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it is so very hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so very excited about the new place.  With its storage and multiple toilets and washer dryer hookups.  Do you know what this means?! It means no more brand new tops shrunk in the dryer when my laundry doing husband &lt;s&gt;forgets&lt;/s&gt; isn't told to leave something out.  So Exciting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-9148196947035636829?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9148196947035636829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=9148196947035636829' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/9148196947035636829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/9148196947035636829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/browserwindow-shopping.html' title='(Browser)Window Shopping.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6055975327649267879</id><published>2011-05-10T09:29:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-10T09:32:17.928-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beauty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><title type='text'>Gone Fishing.</title><content type='html'>For real. We went fishing Sunday for a few hours.  I caught one tiny guy.  And this gorgeous view:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oEy7LkRhcVg/Tck-BTal7LI/AAAAAAAAAhY/M7_DnoCCpxw/s1600/photo%25287%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oEy7LkRhcVg/Tck-BTal7LI/AAAAAAAAAhY/M7_DnoCCpxw/s320/photo%25287%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605079403351895218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Yeah, I have a pink and purple fishing pole.&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-6055975327649267879?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6055975327649267879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6055975327649267879' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6055975327649267879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6055975327649267879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/gone-fishing.html' title='Gone Fishing.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oEy7LkRhcVg/Tck-BTal7LI/AAAAAAAAAhY/M7_DnoCCpxw/s72-c/photo%25287%2529.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6808293639353450123</id><published>2011-05-06T14:11:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-06T15:38:37.547-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>This Step-Mom's take.</title><content type='html'>Unless you live under a rock, you know Sunday is Mother's Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a weird day for me, being a part-time-parental-unit-type-person that I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother, being the amazing woman that she is, always gives me a card and a little something, because she knows all the motherly type things I do for the girls.  On the flip side, my husband, being.....my sometimes dense but oh so lovable husband, doesn't do squat.  I'm okay with both these things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not a mother.  I'm the wife of a father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I do get the inkling I know what it feels like to be "mom". Those moments when Little One sits on my lap and absentmindedly holds my hand and sort of pets it, or when the Kiddo says something so poignant and wise beyond her years.  My heart swells for a moment and I think, thank you, who ever/what ever/the universe for bringing these girls to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, alas, those moments are fleeting; I'm snapped right back into place with exchanges such as this one, last weekend in the car:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little One: "Daddy I need a drink of water please."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Husband was driving, so I grabbed the bottle of water and handed it back to her)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little One: (not missing a beat) "Uhh, I asked my Daddy for some water, not you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Step-Mom Me: "Well, Little One, (I actually busted out her full name, which neither of us exactly like in the first place so we usually call her by a shortened version the husband came up with shortly after her birth) Daddy is driving, so that's why I'm getting it for you and you can ask me for it next time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tiny reminders of how I'm not mom.  How he is always preferred by the girls to me, with good reason, no doubt, but still it stings a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read an article on CNN about one step-mother's anguish about not having the relationship with her step-daughter that she thought she should. And how Mother's Day is so hard for her.  (I'm not linking to said article because I honestly don't like how it was written or what she had to say.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't see it like that.  I don't have any expectations when it comes to my relationship with the girls.  I just let it be what it is.  I don't try and make it something its not; I'm not trying to be their best friend nor am I trying to be their mother.  I do try my very hardest to be a good example; a positive female role model.  I try to show them there are many ways to look at things and how being different from others is quite alright.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am happy to have a front row seat to their lives, with a smidge of influence on who they will become.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Sunday, as my step-daughters are giving their mothers handmade cards and probably little gifts made at school, I'll be quietly thankful I get to be part of their existence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that fact alone is enough for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lofxRzi2Xe0/TcRBHWkD18I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/fp6WVm7OE78/s1600/38147_624717678996_39501253_35861228_7888861_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lofxRzi2Xe0/TcRBHWkD18I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/fp6WVm7OE78/s320/38147_624717678996_39501253_35861228_7888861_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603675430927456194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Kiddo and I, at an amusement park last Summer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LrRGDtag7WI/TcQ_fFOC6II/AAAAAAAAAhA/JjUaoBCCmOo/s1600/67129_654954564036_39501253_36619393_6732071_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LrRGDtag7WI/TcQ_fFOC6II/AAAAAAAAAhA/JjUaoBCCmOo/s320/67129_654954564036_39501253_36619393_6732071_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603673639565322370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Little One and I, December 2010&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-6808293639353450123?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6808293639353450123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6808293639353450123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6808293639353450123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6808293639353450123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/step-moms-take.html' title='This Step-Mom&apos;s take.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lofxRzi2Xe0/TcRBHWkD18I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/fp6WVm7OE78/s72-c/38147_624717678996_39501253_35861228_7888861_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-5153386242382548261</id><published>2011-05-04T13:34:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-04T13:49:07.869-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eyeballs'/><title type='text'>Newbies.</title><content type='html'>Speaking of &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/foureyes.html"&gt;four-eyes &lt;/a&gt;here's my highly anticipated $30 internet special spectacles:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0xj8qT3Vq4/TcGOjQz4nVI/AAAAAAAAAg4/Bj7_OA02PDQ/s1600/photo%25286%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0xj8qT3Vq4/TcGOjQz4nVI/AAAAAAAAAg4/Bj7_OA02PDQ/s320/photo%25286%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602916147884760402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;They are nerdy as all hell.  And I love them. (blame the crapastic quality on the shitty overhead lighting I sit under all day at work.&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I purchased new glasses was 2007.  And they cost around $200 out of pocket.  So I wasn't expecting these to be all that cute, but I think I lurve them.  If you have never worn glasses, getting new ones is similar to getting a new hair do: when its good, you are really happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I just need a cut and color in the worst way (and an eyebrow wax to boot) and my head will be ready for wedding season 2011.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-5153386242382548261?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5153386242382548261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=5153386242382548261' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5153386242382548261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5153386242382548261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/newbies.html' title='Newbies.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0xj8qT3Vq4/TcGOjQz4nVI/AAAAAAAAAg4/Bj7_OA02PDQ/s72-c/photo%25286%2529.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-114872965751920340</id><published>2011-05-04T09:34:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-04T10:07:43.800-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bodyimage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exerise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DayShred'/><title type='text'>Work it, girl.</title><content type='html'>I weighed in yesterday, which was Day 7 of 30 Day Shred for me.  I had to skip Monday due to &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/foureyes.html"&gt;eyeball malfunction&lt;/a&gt; and I skipped Saturday because of work and my niece's first birthday party.  Even with missing these two days there has definitely been progress.  1.5 pounds lost in seven days. Woo-freaking-hoo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still on Level One, but I can feel such a difference in my endurance.  I am doing the more advanced moves on at least half of the stuff that has beginner modifications and I switched from 3 pound weights to 5.  I never even used 3 pound weights before when working out, but I wanted to ease into the 5 pounders because of all the stuff I read about 30 Day Shred making you more sore than you've ever been in your life.  To that, all I have to say is, yes I was pretty sore for a couple days, but I don't know if its because I've done a similar workout in the recent past or what, but it wasn't that bad.  Or I just think its worth it more? Who knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Diet-wise, I have been using the My Fitness Pal App on my iphone to count calories.  I try to make good decisions and eat healthy.  When we have a busy day and end up getting pizza for dinner, I keep it in check at very least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel great so far, and Jillian Michaels is easy to tune out after you have heard her say the same thing 7 days in a row.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-114872965751920340?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/114872965751920340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=114872965751920340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/114872965751920340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/114872965751920340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/work-it-girl.html' title='Work it, girl.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1795962007673343836</id><published>2011-05-03T09:27:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-03T11:46:44.005-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vision'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='health'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eyeballs'/><title type='text'>FourEyes.</title><content type='html'>I've worn glasses since the wee age of 6.  My amazing first grade teacher (Mrs. Luksic, I still see her at mass when I make it down to go with my parents) was the one who suggested it to my parents.  She noticed I was always active in answering questions during class and acknowledged that I was bright, but my handwriting was awful and I did poorly on handwritten tests.  After my very first trip to the eye doctor, it was confirmed: my eyesight was awful.  Astigmatism in the right eye to boot. Thanks a million to awesome early childhood educators!  I probably would have been held back if I had had a less attentive teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to yesterday, I'm 26 and in for a yearly checkup/follow up on an ocular migraine I had in my left eye two weeks ago. (Side note, if you've never had one of these, here is what it was like for me: wavy vision that doesn't go away when you close your eye and mine lasted about 15 minutes then went away.  Don't google wavy vision in eyes, results all say Stroke and that is scary business.  The doctor says if it lasts longer than 30 minutes, seek medical attention.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do the standard eye tests, puff of air to the eye, press this button when you see the lines, "which is better? 1 or 2? Blah blah blah".  Then I'm doing the whole "look at my ear while I point this annoyingly bright light in your eye ball" thing where they make you look around in a circle to examine the innards of your eye.  Pretty standard stuff.  But then he is looking for a really long time, way longer than the norm for me.  My eye begins to water for the first time, and it actually hurts a bit too.  Something isn't right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looks again, and then decides he want to dilate my eyes, to get a better look, then he looks again and then he says he wants me to see a specialist in the near future.  He seems a bit nervous. Then he looks one more time (my eye is screaming at me by this time, and it actually hurts quite a lot) and says, he wants me to go today.  That's when I start to freak out a bit, on the inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He tried to explain what might be happening with my retina, but he had already dilated my eyes and I don't really get it.  All I know is I might need emergency surgery.  On my eyeball. Fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I scoot on over (in the pouring rain, mind you, I think Ohio is trying to be Seattle recently, for some unknown reason) to the specialist, and took a seat in what appears to be Heaven's Waiting Room.  No one in there was under age 65.  I can do nothing besides people watch through blurry vision, since I'm dilated.  Let me tell you, old people are not very entertaining for people watching.  I overhear the place is running behind, due to an earlier in the day emergency.  I wait what feels like an eternity, literally just sitting there, doing nothing besides thinking about the possibility of having to have eye surgery.  I almost go to the restroom to cry a couple times, but I would hate to occupy the one unisex bathroom in the waiting area, with all these old bladders surrounding me.  I kept it together, somehow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An hour and a half later, I'm called back.  The medical assistant congratulates me when I can read the second to  last line during the vision check, "You are the first patient I've had  all day who could do that." Just remember my waiting room buddies  though. I'm re-dilated and they put those weird, numbs-your-eyeballs drops in as well.  I get really sleepy then, so I sort of wander around the exam room waiting for the doctor, who I'm told is the on-call guy, since the lady my Optometrist referred me to is the lady that is an hour behind.  Whatevs, I'm not going to make a big stink about who I see, since I didn't have an appointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once the doctor comes in its more of the "look at my ear while I point this annoyingly bright light in your eye ball" happens, and all I can think is, how does all this bright light an inch from my eye not do any damage?  I should ask that sometime I'm not waiting for a possible surgery diagnosis. At this point, I've probably had a total of at least 30 minutes of bright light in my eye for the day.  I am Le Tired, but need to know what the fuck is going on in there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(And it only gets worse, in the bright light department.  After my diagnosis, the doctor tells me he wants to take pictures of my eyes.  Ever had this done? Talk about torture.  Plus I'm pretty sure I had a lady who had never done it before.  It felt like it took 25 minutes, on each eye.  Then you are blinded for at least 10 minutes after your are done.  I didn't complain, because I am not that sort of patient, but it sucked big time.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm told I have retinal stasis (which I've tried googling multiple times and I think I've got the spelling totally wrong because I can't find it) meaning 5 of the 10 layers of my retina have detached. No clue why, and no indication that the remaining 5 layers are going anywhere.  I'm told not to worry about this.  I did make the doctor tell me the symptoms of retinal detachment, so at least I'll know what is going on if it ever happens. He also tells me I have calcium deposits around my optic nerves, in both eyes. Yay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't need emergency eyeball surgery. Thank goodness for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ophthalmologist appointment has been made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conclusion: my eyes are moderately jacked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And: I can remain semi-calm during what could be a medical emergency, at least when I'm surrounded by a waiting room full of old people.  I think that's a win for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1795962007673343836?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1795962007673343836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1795962007673343836' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1795962007673343836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1795962007673343836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/foureyes.html' title='FourEyes.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4307691380790587084</id><published>2011-04-28T15:07:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T15:09:59.798-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><title type='text'>Fleeting.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZqV-EunUidM/Tbm7EYd6LQI/AAAAAAAAAgw/ceJifrIk5nM/s1600/photo%25285%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZqV-EunUidM/Tbm7EYd6LQI/AAAAAAAAAgw/ceJifrIk5nM/s320/photo%25285%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600713295573691650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I caught this pretty on my lunch break today.  I was truly thankful for such a gorgeous view, mostly because it has rained for what seems like 3 weeks now.&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/6827462165441446335-4307691380790587084?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4307691380790587084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4307691380790587084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4307691380790587084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4307691380790587084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/fleeting.html' title='Fleeting.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZqV-EunUidM/Tbm7EYd6LQI/AAAAAAAAAgw/ceJifrIk5nM/s72-c/photo%25285%2529.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7418763317281897100</id><published>2011-04-26T08:44:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-26T09:01:38.291-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exerise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tattoos'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DayShred'/><title type='text'>Shred.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I did Day One Level One of Jillian Micheals 30 Day Shred.  Right now, approx. 15 hours post workout, I can feel it in my biceps, abs and thighs.  I'm positive tomorrow will bring the all over aches.  I really liked it, although I got so hot I almost threw up, but every time it got bad, it would switch into recovery.  I really like how just when you think you can't do a move any more, you are done with it and move on to something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before beginning, I did something I have never done before: took pictures of myself with my stomach showing.  They will only see the light of day if on Day 30 I take new ones, and there is visible improvement. While trying to capture my back side I did get this, which isn't too offensive and almost artsy-fartsy.  And I wasn't even trying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zfYIYdNA55s/Tba-xtpcnjI/AAAAAAAAAgA/r52iBzGpUIw/s1600/photo%2B5.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zfYIYdNA55s/Tba-xtpcnjI/AAAAAAAAAgA/r52iBzGpUIw/s320/photo%2B5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599872947958095410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There I am from behind, tramp stamp and all. Thank you, iPhone, for not taking super high definition photos.  And even though Jillian Michaels pretty much annoys the crap out of me, that is exactly what I need right now.  I need something to push me.&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/6827462165441446335-7418763317281897100?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7418763317281897100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7418763317281897100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7418763317281897100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7418763317281897100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/shred.html' title='Shred.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zfYIYdNA55s/Tba-xtpcnjI/AAAAAAAAAgA/r52iBzGpUIw/s72-c/photo%2B5.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8386370267286537556</id><published>2011-04-25T10:42:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-25T14:09:11.991-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='moving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>A Change Would Do You Good.</title><content type='html'>I like to pretend I'll commit to new projects, and be consistent. Then I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 40DaysMovement project sort of fell through, although I am starting the 30 Day Shred video today after work, and I'm excited to do so.  I need a kick in the ass, and I know annoyingly fit Jillian Micheals will do it for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to try to resurrect the Snapshots project though, especially with all the stuff coming up for us.  We'll see how that goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, call me a bad blogger, if you will.  I do always come back, eventually, making up excuses (mostly for myself) about why I, once again, failed to stay consistent at posting. Or exercising. Or much of anything. Oh well. I'm going to forgive myself this time, and not dwell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, I mostly write this blog for my own little documentary purposes, even if they are meager at best.  So I'm really only letting myself down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crazy-exciting news.  We are moving.  As of June 1 we will no longer be in our hippish-small town, but in Surburbia.  I will miss our little town, but the 'burbs have their perks, both in the physical space we call home, and in a more general, accessibility of things.  It is a ranch style duplex-condo-apartment-half house type of dealy.  (I don't like the word "duplex" so I'm having trouble naming it.)  It is one building, with two units.  The landlord lives next door, and she is pretty cool, and we tend to keep quiet these days anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The new place perks:&lt;br /&gt;One story aka: no more 21 steps of death.&lt;br /&gt;Garage. YAY.&lt;br /&gt;Washer/dryer hookups meaning no more laundry mat.&lt;br /&gt;Utility room. No more cat box in the ONE storage closet we have.&lt;br /&gt;Side patio&lt;br /&gt;Backyard&lt;br /&gt;Ceiling fan in living room&lt;br /&gt;Coat closet in living room ie: for shoes, coats and board games. (yay storage.)&lt;br /&gt;Gas range, I grew up with one, and prefer it to electric.&lt;br /&gt;1.5 baths, which is FANTASTIC since I have a husband who enjoys camping out in the bathroom sometimes, if you know what I'm saying.&lt;br /&gt;3 bedrooms ( More STORAGE!)&lt;br /&gt;Attic above the Garage...did I mention I'm really excited about the Storage?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now realizing we have basically be living with all of our crap in plain sight since we moved into together.  Neither place we've lived has had ample storage.  The amount of storage in this place is making me giddy. I thrive on a tidy home, and being able to store the less visually appealing things we own makes me so very happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's say it one more time: STOOOOORRRRRAGE! Yay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is place is literally within walking distance to the husband's work, a fishing pond and a huge playground.  It is also a 5 minute drive to some really great friends.  Target and Kroger's are right down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it will be a great change for everyone, even the girls.  We discussed the fact that the move puts more distance between them and us.  The husband pointed out the way things are with both of them, being 1 hour away is no different than being one town away; we are (sadly) not included in their lives with their mothers and their maternal families.  So he is 100% alright with us being closer to my hometown than his and subsequently, further from the girls as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New half casa, in iPhone photos (nothing exciting, since it's just empty rooms, but pics nonetheless):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BkPFXI-xltM/TbWQUI0sT5I/AAAAAAAAAfo/1tBSP4Xl9lw/s1600/photo%2B1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BkPFXI-xltM/TbWQUI0sT5I/AAAAAAAAAfo/1tBSP4Xl9lw/s320/photo%2B1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599540387345354642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Living Room, from front door, with husband in doorway to kitchen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fG4deDzGcGM/TbWQT-kPWmI/AAAAAAAAAfg/MhHcajoJP2g/s1600/photo%2B2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fG4deDzGcGM/TbWQT-kPWmI/AAAAAAAAAfg/MhHcajoJP2g/s320/photo%2B2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599540384591993442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Kitchen, side door to patio is left of Fridge, Hallway right of oven, Utility Rm right of Hallway&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EQrmnjCxvMk/TbWQTSYfShI/AAAAAAAAAfY/ogKuR-pUFvE/s1600/photo%2B3.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EQrmnjCxvMk/TbWQTSYfShI/AAAAAAAAAfY/ogKuR-pUFvE/s320/photo%2B3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599540372731546130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Full Bath, from main entry (one of the lights is out, hence the super bad lighting)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HPq4BzY23r8/TbWRc6hmf8I/AAAAAAAAAf4/mdrJVypvE0A/s1600/photo%2B4.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HPq4BzY23r8/TbWRc6hmf8I/AAAAAAAAAf4/mdrJVypvE0A/s320/photo%2B4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599541637637636034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;View standing in Master, looking through the half bath into the full (there are pocket doors)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The packing has began.  And I have some plans to document the move.  Good things to come!&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/6827462165441446335-8386370267286537556?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8386370267286537556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8386370267286537556' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8386370267286537556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8386370267286537556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/change-would-do-you-good.html' title='A Change Would Do You Good.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BkPFXI-xltM/TbWQUI0sT5I/AAAAAAAAAfo/1tBSP4Xl9lw/s72-c/photo%2B1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-292209374175840678</id><published>2011-04-06T10:06:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-06T10:26:17.321-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birthday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='favorite'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Love.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It is my husband's birthday today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty happy he was born on this date 29 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the same time, can't believe I have husband.  Who is 29.  That is almost 30. Gah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssCjJh6DFks/TZx1FaeaezI/AAAAAAAAAfA/nVwfTj7wVDg/s1600/58772_633584035746_39501253_36145174_7566830_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssCjJh6DFks/TZx1FaeaezI/AAAAAAAAAfA/nVwfTj7wVDg/s320/58772_633584035746_39501253_36145174_7566830_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592473573153995570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I've written quite a lot about how he levels me out....he is like yoga and I am like crazy bootcamp aerobics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BP16dEyYKvo/TZx1ukPJHKI/AAAAAAAAAfI/DG76oDjOHsA/s1600/luke2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BP16dEyYKvo/TZx1ukPJHKI/AAAAAAAAAfI/DG76oDjOHsA/s320/luke2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592474280148933794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Plus we take amazing photos together....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C55Vh0o0gkU/TZx0OtxlkYI/AAAAAAAAAe4/5tJ-C6o1HEA/s1600/10116_143291331457_767621457_3528789_6950026_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C55Vh0o0gkU/TZx0OtxlkYI/AAAAAAAAAe4/5tJ-C6o1HEA/s320/10116_143291331457_767621457_3528789_6950026_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592472633441882498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Happy, Happy Birthday, Husband, you are my everything and always.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-292209374175840678?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/292209374175840678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=292209374175840678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/292209374175840678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/292209374175840678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/love.html' title='Love.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssCjJh6DFks/TZx1FaeaezI/AAAAAAAAAfA/nVwfTj7wVDg/s72-c/58772_633584035746_39501253_36145174_7566830_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6144549904616707712</id><published>2011-04-05T09:07:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-05T09:13:48.700-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>La Familia.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mZ4-Ci_ySkc/TZsUoV9zi4I/AAAAAAAAAew/z9wwgwUNSBs/s1600/photo%25284%2529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mZ4-Ci_ySkc/TZsUoV9zi4I/AAAAAAAAAew/z9wwgwUNSBs/s320/photo%25284%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592086045634300802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;This is why I can't help but want to procreate with this man. Moments like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;I should probably ask him about it....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&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/6827462165441446335-6144549904616707712?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6144549904616707712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6144549904616707712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6144549904616707712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6144549904616707712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/la-familia.html' title='La Familia.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mZ4-Ci_ySkc/TZsUoV9zi4I/AAAAAAAAAew/z9wwgwUNSBs/s72-c/photo%25284%2529.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4606884395249734870</id><published>2011-03-29T09:13:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T10:15:46.122-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weekend'/><title type='text'>Weekend Adventures.</title><content type='html'>The weekend went by in a flash, just like always.  I did manage to enjoy some adult beverages Friday night and not feel like death Saturday morning.  Not sure how that happened, but I'm hoping to duplicate the results again sometime.  Then I got an IPhone 4 Saturday.  I think I'm in love.  Plus I keep telling the husband it will make my lonely weeknights less lonely. And then Sunday I roadtripped to visit the fam and captured this adorableness in the process:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZ6VWO0gf6I/TZHdWptNqjI/AAAAAAAAAek/sjXlSiWvDUY/s1600/snapshots2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZ6VWO0gf6I/TZHdWptNqjI/AAAAAAAAAek/sjXlSiWvDUY/s320/snapshots2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589491993765849650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;This little lady is crawling now. Soon she'll be going to Prom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;On my way home I stopped and visited with my Grandma.  I'm not sure if I have ever talked about my elderly apprehension on here before, but until Sunday I had never visited my grandma by myself. Ever.  She made me uncomfortable; my entire childhood she wasn't the most grandmotherly type towards me.  I won't go into details, but it sort of made me weird about older people.  Until now.  She talked my ear off, and I would have stayed longer, if it hadn't been 7:00 on a Sunday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like a huge weight has been lifted, and I can't wait to visit with her again.  It was an altogether great weekend.&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/6827462165441446335-4606884395249734870?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4606884395249734870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4606884395249734870' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4606884395249734870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4606884395249734870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/weekend-adventures.html' title='Weekend Adventures.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZ6VWO0gf6I/TZHdWptNqjI/AAAAAAAAAek/sjXlSiWvDUY/s72-c/snapshots2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-5198314292531496815</id><published>2011-03-24T14:50:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-24T14:52:47.777-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sisters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><title type='text'>True?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6XiXifXtzI/TYuStuyasqI/AAAAAAAAAeU/mFoH1F4wLOk/s1600/snapshots.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6XiXifXtzI/TYuStuyasqI/AAAAAAAAAeU/mFoH1F4wLOk/s320/snapshots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587721077034496674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;coaster wisdom a la my favorite sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-5198314292531496815?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5198314292531496815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=5198314292531496815' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5198314292531496815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5198314292531496815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/true.html' title='True?'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6XiXifXtzI/TYuStuyasqI/AAAAAAAAAeU/mFoH1F4wLOk/s72-c/snapshots.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2612159509959379474</id><published>2011-03-24T09:41:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-24T12:09:46.801-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='facebook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><title type='text'>Problema.</title><content type='html'>How......................?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you tell the person you have been with for 6 years, who has thought for those 6 years you didn't want children that you suddenly do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, besides just saying it.  I guess I need to come out of the baby-making closet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side note:  I'm sort of stubborn, and I tend to hate eating my words when wrong.  A lot.  I'm trying to remind myself the advice of my lovely bff: "You are allowed to change your mind; you don't have to justify it to anyone." and also, "Who cares about them? (the people who will say, but I thought you didn't want kids? and I knew you'd change your mind!) They don't matter anyways."  I love her.  She is the part of my brain that all my insecurities tend to drown out a lot of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't exactly made a decision about it either.  I did not wake up one day (like so many people told me I would) and know I wanted to make a baby. That stupid biological clock everyone talks about has began ticking. Ever so quietly in the back of my mind.  Plus the fact that I am literally surrounded by babies and pregnant women everywhere I turn.  And then they are all over Facebook as well. &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/search/label/facebook"&gt; F*cking Facebook.&lt;/a&gt;  I do not blame them, because we are at prime baby-makin' age, but it doesn't help my current predicament either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never expected to wake up and just know.  It was the same bullshit when I was wedding dress shopping.  Everyone said, "You'll *just* know when its the right dress!" I never felt that, and then the dress I chose wasn't even what I ended up&lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/search/label/dress"&gt; getting hitched in. &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, I'm not expecting divine intervention and "just knowing" to happen.  I'm much too &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/logic-vs-intuition.html"&gt;logical&lt;/a&gt; for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The main reason I had thought in the past that I didn't want kids was my own awkward and sometimes painful adolescent experiences.  I think the fact that I am finally coming to terms with them, forgetting the bad and remembering the good has caused this change of heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus my adorable niece is NO help.  I mean she is the cutest thing in the world to me.  Just look at her:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lQZcrNi0pNw/TYtRgLnQvxI/AAAAAAAAAeI/RszIa_WJ_Co/s1600/191748_682637916376_39501253_37091563_5835193_o.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lQZcrNi0pNw/TYtRgLnQvxI/AAAAAAAAAeI/RszIa_WJ_Co/s200/191748_682637916376_39501253_37091563_5835193_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587649375998361362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Showing off her sticking-her-tongue-out skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Husband's new work schedule has him on nights right now, but Saturday he is off a bit earlier so I'm planning on dropping the bomb then.  So much of me committing 100% to having a baby hangs on his reaction and if he wants to as well.  I don't want to unless he wants to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm doing it Saturday.  It needs to be done.  It must be done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2612159509959379474?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2612159509959379474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2612159509959379474' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2612159509959379474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2612159509959379474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/problemo.html' title='Problema.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lQZcrNi0pNw/TYtRgLnQvxI/AAAAAAAAAeI/RszIa_WJ_Co/s72-c/191748_682637916376_39501253_37091563_5835193_o.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8587229283440497555</id><published>2011-03-23T11:00:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T13:33:33.707-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='KittyCat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snapshots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hobbies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>A photo a day....</title><content type='html'>...gives me something to do in my spare time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will admit this one was not taken today, but over this past weekend but it is too cute to NOT share and to kick off a new project:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ed5FF_0Q_Yc/TYoLehvc3vI/AAAAAAAAAeA/tlCJqpoH1Xo/s1600/196356_682518455776_39501253_37089761_842670_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ed5FF_0Q_Yc/TYoLehvc3vI/AAAAAAAAAeA/tlCJqpoH1Xo/s320/196356_682518455776_39501253_37089761_842670_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587290906787897074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Sharing secrets on the windowsill. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus I'm pretty sure my husband took this. Oh well, from now on, they will be from my pov.  And although my way too short for the windows curtains make this picture work, I need to get on that still. Le sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to start carrying my camera with me all the time in an attempt to capture a snapshot from my days.  I probably won't upload them every day, but maybe three or four times a week, but I'll try to have a couple pictures each time.  And they probably won't be anything fancy, but I need a new hobby (besides reading, it will always be my first hobby-love, but I want something new).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wee, fun times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8587229283440497555?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8587229283440497555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8587229283440497555' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8587229283440497555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8587229283440497555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/photo-day.html' title='A photo a day....'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ed5FF_0Q_Yc/TYoLehvc3vI/AAAAAAAAAeA/tlCJqpoH1Xo/s72-c/196356_682518455776_39501253_37089761_842670_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4675293782958679663</id><published>2011-03-22T15:34:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T08:46:00.377-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fail'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><title type='text'>Me.</title><content type='html'>I never  feel put together anymore, but most days I just don't care.  I don't know if I ever was "put together" in the first place.  My wardrobe has shrunk dramatically, but somehow I have a closet full of clothes, yet never anything to wear.  I make it to work most days fully clothed and slightly accessorized (usually with a scarf no matter the season).  That's an accomplishment lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a hair cut and an eyebrow wax in a most serious way.  The at-home dye job I (actually, my husband) did has grown out approximately 3 inches.  75% of the time, the hair is in a knot on top of my head.  Even though I don't especially like how I look with it up.  It gets in the way when its down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides these cosmetic flaws and fallen to the wayside-used-to-be-routine-priorities, I try to appreciate the hair on my head.  The clothes on my back.  The air in my lungs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never been a totally put together person, but it seems like I am still waiting to wake up one day and feel that way.  I can't figure out why.  Blame Society?  Growing up idolizing all the pretty ladies on the covers of fashion magazines?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm flaky, flighty and on a good day, quirky with a game plan.  Clumsy, awkward and just plain nervous all the time on a ordinary day, and let's not talk about the bad days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could get to a point in life where I stop thinking about how disappointed I am with myself.  I know I am my own worst critic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not thin enough.&lt;br /&gt;Pretty enough.&lt;br /&gt;Put-together enough.&lt;br /&gt;Happy enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;is enough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In crappy old BlackBerry Camera Phone Glory:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4BeRTLkAM78/TYnrCBlzslI/AAAAAAAAAd4/sy55WF-n8i0/s1600/_Device%2BMemory_home_user_pictures_IMG00807.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4BeRTLkAM78/TYnrCBlzslI/AAAAAAAAAd4/sy55WF-n8i0/s200/_Device%2BMemory_home_user_pictures_IMG00807.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587255232749089362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4675293782958679663?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4675293782958679663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4675293782958679663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4675293782958679663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4675293782958679663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/me.html' title='Me.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4BeRTLkAM78/TYnrCBlzslI/AAAAAAAAAd4/sy55WF-n8i0/s72-c/_Device%2BMemory_home_user_pictures_IMG00807.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3390945985459269037</id><published>2011-03-08T10:10:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-08T10:32:44.865-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exerise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='40DaysMovement'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lent'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Catholic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='faith'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='optimistic'/><title type='text'>Forty.</title><content type='html'>As I have mentioned before, I was raised Roman Catholic meaning every year around this time I contemplate all the things I tried (and usually failed at) giving up or doing better for the 40 days leading up to Easter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm about as non-practicing as a Catholic can be.  I'm not even a C&amp;amp;E Catholic (Christmas and Easter) I've become only a C Catholic.  Blame my liberal arts degree and that minor I picked up in anthropology.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always loved a good challenge and, as an adult I still like to give up or commit to something during Lent, regardless of my current, actual mass attendance or buffet style (I pick and choose from a variety of belief systems) spirituality.  I would like to make this the year I actually see something through.  I am not sure if I have ever done this, if I did, I don't remember now.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I am, starting tomorrow, challenging myself to 40Days of Movement.  Meaning I will get at least 30 minutes of moderate to high intensity exercise per day, for the next 40.  I am not going to be picky about what form this exercise takes, it could be (but not limited to):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walk/jogging&lt;br /&gt;hiking&lt;br /&gt;Wii-Fit activities&lt;br /&gt;Dancing around my apartment&lt;br /&gt;vigorous cleaning of the apartamento&lt;br /&gt;Chasing children around a playground (ones I know, I'm not a creeper)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And basically anything that will get my blood pumping and my endorphins going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I've already proven I can't blog every day (remember 30 Days of Truth? Yeah I'm just not witty enough to find something clever to say every day) I'm going to twitter about it.  And if anyone wants to join me, tag that shit as #40DaysMovement and get sweaty along with me, because its always more fun than getting sweaty alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's endorphinize! And remember: &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0250494/quotes?qt0423394"&gt;Endorphins make you happy, happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't. &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't have said it better myself. Husbands everywhere will sleep better :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3390945985459269037?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3390945985459269037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3390945985459269037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3390945985459269037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3390945985459269037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/forty.html' title='Forty.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1292961353370951466</id><published>2011-03-04T11:49:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-04T12:58:00.845-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>Logic vs. Intuition.</title><content type='html'>Logically, my college educated, sociology laden brain is screaming, "NOOOOOOO! Baby is not the best choice!" But then there are millions of years of evolution inside me, quietly nudging, "BAAAAAAABBBBBBBEEEEEEEE, makeabaaaaaaabbbbbeeeeeee".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it is slowly driving me nuts, the push and pull of it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, since I love a good list, a made a pros and cons list for (possible) procreation. In no apparent order:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pros:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Will shut up biological clock&lt;br /&gt;-Tiny clothes, shoes and hats w/ears&lt;br /&gt;-Someone to take care of me when I'm old&lt;br /&gt;-cousin for Baby M. (my niece)&lt;br /&gt;-Sibling for Kiddo and Little One&lt;br /&gt;-Having a mini-me (or mini husband in the case of a boy) would be cool&lt;br /&gt;-Getting to parent the way I want, not tip toe around the hard stuff like I do w/the girls because I never want them to say in anger, "you're not my mother!" I already know that.&lt;br /&gt;-Never a boring moment&lt;br /&gt;-hugs and cuddles&lt;br /&gt;-finger painting possibilities&lt;br /&gt;-Being told "you two would make such cute babies!" makes me curious...&lt;br /&gt;-Giving my husband the chance to do the baby thing, one last time when he will be there for all the milestones he missed out on with the girls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cons:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Body never the same&lt;br /&gt;-Mass amounts of laundry&lt;br /&gt;-Taking care of for 18+ years&lt;br /&gt;-Another person to bathe, clothe, feed etc...&lt;br /&gt;-Taking Dad time away from Kiddo and Little One&lt;br /&gt;-Babies turn into kids who turn into teenagers (who, in general, are annoying at best)&lt;br /&gt;-College $&lt;br /&gt;-childcare costs (I doubt we could afford me to do the SAHM thing, sadly and that opens up a whole other issue with me: why have kids if I'm going to pay someone else to basically raise them?)&lt;br /&gt;-doctor's visits&lt;br /&gt;-sticky hands/faces&lt;br /&gt;-Lack of sleep&lt;br /&gt;-loss of identity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is where I stand on the topic. 12 cons versus 12 pros. Completely torn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and I were watching a TV show last night and one of the characters was getting a vasectomy.  He mentioned, "If you are 100% sure you don't want kids we should look into that for me".  I all could say was I don't know.  Twice.  And that is a lot different than how I used to respond to such a discussion.  I should have laid it all out for him right then and there, but I clammed up.  I'm not so good at eating my words, and after years and years of claiming, "I like babies, as long as they are other people's" I am partially hung up on having to do just that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know there is not perfect time to have a baby, but at this juncture of our lives, I couldn't feel it is more wrong: we live in a two bedroom apartment we are quickly outgrowing (w/o another human being taking up residence) and I am on the verge of enrolling in a graduate program where I work while my husband is switching jobs, again (that is a long story, ending with panic attacks and his hair falling out).  We don't even have a washer and dryer, we are kicking it at the laundromat once a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wish the nagging feeling that something is missing would go away, but I am seriously starting to doubt if it will on its own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1292961353370951466?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1292961353370951466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1292961353370951466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1292961353370951466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1292961353370951466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/logic-vs-intuition.html' title='Logic vs. Intuition.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-356421775843878395</id><published>2011-02-09T09:09:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-09T10:03:15.714-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='TJ Maxx'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='couch'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='organization'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interior design'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment makeover'/><title type='text'>Home: Update.</title><content type='html'>It has been almost a month since &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/home-its-where-your-crap-is.html"&gt;I set my goals&lt;/a&gt; for making the ol' apartamento more cozy and organized.  Let's see how I've progressed, shall we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Living room:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Large bookcase (think Expedit 4x4 from IKEA) for books and nonsense storage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;Couch/loveseat  combo OR sectional. I've never owned my very own couch, and the blue  and white checked monstrosity, while comfortable and sturdy has got to  go. I am very thankful that the husband had it donated when he lost  nearly all of his stuff in a fire long before we met, but the time has  come to say goodbye. &lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Re-configure stuff on the walls and perhaps furniture arrangement&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I broke down and ordered a tight fitting sofa cover in chocolate brown and bought some adorable new couch pillows on a great buy one, get three free sale at Value City.  While I'm a bit sad about not getting whole new couch, our tax refund is looking to be a lot smaller than anticipated.  I'm slashing the already tight budget I'd set for all of this.  Such is life&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  Let's hope the cover shows up today in the mail and it fits correctly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Total cost (so far): $66.59&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bedroom:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Closet  system- We currently have one extremely bowed closet rod and piles of  nonsense below, so we need one. It will go with us when we leave, or the  landlord can pay us back.&lt;br /&gt;6 drawer low dresser- Two people and a four drawer garage sale find from when I was 16 does not compute.&lt;br /&gt;Baskets for storage under nightstands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Closet organization system is at the top of the list.  The chaos that is our closet will soon be managed, as long as we can make it work in our budget for this month.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eating is a bit more important than closet organization.  Sometimes.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I am also going to try my damnedest to NOT forget a before photo, because it will be an epic before and after.  You just wait.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bathroom:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;New Shower curtain &lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;Shower organizational thingy-Right now we have two small ones and the clutter in there is suddenly driving me nuts.&lt;/s&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  Both items have been purchased along with new shower curtain liner, pretty hangers and a fancy yet inexpensive suction cup soap dish for the hubster's bar soap.  clutter managed, showering is fun again.  Total cost: $22.96.  I love TJ Maxx.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Girls' room:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They  both need small, three drawer dressers.  We have a clothes storage  issue all-around in our home.  Half of their closet is hanging clothes,  the other half is Christmas tree/hockey crap storage.  We have no  storage besides unused kitchen cabinets.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Before you call me the evil step-mother....we keep the girls' room door closed when they aren't over to conserve heat, so it is hard to put this stuff high on the priority list: I don't see it every day.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Out of sight, out of mind might apply to their storage issues, although trust me, it does not apply to them, I think about what kind of day they are having every single day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little progress is better than no progress at all, so I'm happy with things.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  Stay tuned, living room/couch progress soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&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/6827462165441446335-356421775843878395?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/356421775843878395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=356421775843878395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/356421775843878395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/356421775843878395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/02/home-update.html' title='Home: Update.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8148862503528091173</id><published>2011-01-28T09:24:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T12:31:08.165-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='houses'/><title type='text'>New Normal.</title><content type='html'>I squint through the darkness in order to see what the time is, and once again I've awoken just shy of a half hour until I need to get up.  As I stumble still half asleep to the bathroom (since that's why I'm awake too early once again) the thought of a morning workout crosses my mind but quickly decide "not today" and head back to bed for another 20 or so minutes of sleep. One snooze button hit later, I'm in the shower and he's up and moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm going to go start the cars" he says.  I smile. "Okie" I reply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have been doing the morning dance around each other in our small apartamento for a month now.  For the first time ever we have to be at work at the same time every day.  I sort of love starting my day with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aside from realizing we need at least a bath and a half in our (hopefully in the not-so-distant) future home, it has been strangely nice.  It is easier to get out of the warm bed knowing your personal heater has to get up as well.  And knowing your car won't be warm and/or not covered in snow when you go to depart.  That is worth sharing the bathroom for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His job is going well.  He likes it, and it is a lot of take home work sometimes, but eventually he won't be the new guy and won't have to prep so much for the computer programs he is teaching the next day (because he will have already taught them).  He is finally doing something he actually enjoys, for the first time in over five years.  That makes me so happy for him.  Add in the fact of room for advancement and profit sharing and I think my husband might have a career on his hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 4 months he was unemployed I was constantly waiting for something epic and bad to happen, that we wouldn't be able to afford to fix.  It never happened and here we are on the other side of things, wiser and happier than I could have imagined.  I've been saying the lay off was a blessing in disguise; things really do happen for a reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So even when I'm dark and twisty, things aren't that bad, and I feel like they can only get better from here on out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But wait, what happened to the angsty crap from last time? I would attribute that to really bad PMS....plus I'm working out again, and I've said it before, its my own natural anti-depressant.  It's a wonder what sweating it out can do for your mood.  If only I could stick with it forever and I would be rainbows and smiles permanently...ehhh I don't know about that...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8148862503528091173?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8148862503528091173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8148862503528091173' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8148862503528091173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8148862503528091173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/new-normal.html' title='New Normal.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-5073860167739530085</id><published>2011-01-19T13:51:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-19T14:05:23.609-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apathy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='winter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blarg'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Spring'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blue'/><title type='text'>Winter wins again.</title><content type='html'>I'm suffocating even though I still take breaths in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sinking but my arms don't remember how to &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2009/11/songs-i-love.html"&gt;swim&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm restless but I don't know where I wouldn't be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of this is even bothersome, it is all just mundane. It is all expected, familiar; boring almost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm jealous, bitter, angry, sad, anxious and a million other feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I should get back on the wagon of weight loss (aka treadmill) if only there wasn't such a vicious cycle of apathy going on presently.  I just don't feel like it, so I don't. Then I feel worse, so I don't.  Maybe I should remember &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/experiment.html"&gt;how I felt two short weeks ago&lt;/a&gt;? So easy to be optimistic after two weeks away from the most un-fulfilling part of my days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;59 days til Spring......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-5073860167739530085?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5073860167739530085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=5073860167739530085' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5073860167739530085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5073860167739530085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/winter-wins-again.html' title='Winter wins again.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1590432323202502512</id><published>2011-01-14T15:20:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-14T16:15:52.776-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='couch'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interior design'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='IKEA'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment makeover'/><title type='text'>Home.  It's where your crap is.</title><content type='html'>Since realistically the husband and I won't be ready to look at houses until next year (that will put him at his current job for a full year, increasing our pre-approval amount and giving us the next 12 months to get some things paid off) I need to make some changes to our humble apartamento.  I also need to stop looking at houses online, because I get attached to one, and then someone who IS ready to buy snatches it up.  Then I am sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm hoping to accomplish all the following before we move since I know there will be a long list of things we'll need to buy once we are in a house. Like a lawn mower, ladder and other things I can potentially hurt myself with.  Good thing we have insurance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's list things, shall we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Living room:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Large bookcase (think Expedit 4x4 from IKEA) for books and nonsense storage.&lt;br /&gt;Couch/loveseat combo OR sectional. I've never owned my very own couch, and the blue and white checked monstrosity, while comfortable and sturdy has got to go. I am very thankful that the husband had it donated when he lost nearly all of his stuff in a fire long before we met, but the time has come to say goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;Re-configure stuff on the walls and perhaps furniture arrangement&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bedroom:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Closet system- We currently have one extremely bowed closet rod and piles of nonsense below, so we need one. It will go with us when we leave, or the landlord can pay us back.&lt;br /&gt;6 drawer low dresser- Two people and a four drawer garage sale find from when I was 16 does not compute.&lt;br /&gt;Baskets for storage under nightstands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bathroom:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Shower curtain&lt;br /&gt;Shower organizational thingy-Right now we have two small ones and the clutter in there is suddenly driving me nuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Girls' room:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They both need small, three drawer dressers.  We have a clothes storage issue all-around in our home.  Half of their closet is hanging clothes, the other half is Christmas tree/hockey crap storage.  We have no storage besides unused kitchen cabinets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully, some progress shall be made! Perhaps I'll even remember to take some before/after pictures...they are always my favorite part of the home design shows but let's be honest, I tend to get all excited about new things and organization and only document the after.  Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am also hoping publishing my own little to-do list here will help me actually accomplish some of it.  It is not like I want to re-furnish the entire place.  In the past though, I jump from room to room and can't seem to decide where to start.  This time, I'm starting in the living room, since we spend most of our time there.  That, or the closet in our bedroom.  See...I'm doing it already. Not that we spend a lot of time there, but with the husband's grown up job, he and I are getting ready at the same time now, and the closet leaves SO much to be desired.  I try to keep the bedroom in check so its a peaceful place for us to rest our heads but it often looks as if the dresser upchucked clothing everywhere.  My OCD tendencies don't really enjoy this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to try and make something happen in the next 30 days.  We'll see how it goes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1590432323202502512?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1590432323202502512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1590432323202502512' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1590432323202502512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1590432323202502512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/home-its-where-your-crap-is.html' title='Home.  It&apos;s where your crap is.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6073504994856079157</id><published>2011-01-03T09:31:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-03T09:41:02.063-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='positive'/><title type='text'>Experiment.</title><content type='html'>Today I am going to remember the happiest times over my two week furlough; I am thankful I got to spend that time with my husband, friends and family.  I will remind myself of the benefits of my job; when I can't find the good things I will refuse to let it interfere with my over all happiness.  At least for today.  Tomorrow I start again,  and see how that goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a definite one day at a time experiment.  If I can apply this attitude every day for the next 21 work days, perhaps it will become routine?  Perhaps I will awake to birds chirping and woodland creatures serenading me tomorrow?  Anything is possible, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's benefit: how nice it is to have my own office (where I can take mini breaks to blog randomness).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6073504994856079157?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6073504994856079157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6073504994856079157' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6073504994856079157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6073504994856079157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/experiment.html' title='Experiment.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6581462261822010715</id><published>2011-01-01T16:44:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-01T17:05:27.344-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New Year&apos;s'/><title type='text'>So this is the New Year. Again.</title><content type='html'>It seems like just yesterday it was a year ago. Probably because one year ago I was lazing about watching bowl games much like I am today, but this year feels different.  Even with its similarities, January 1, 2011 (I wonder how many times I'll write 2010 in the next month?) is a whole new world.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I really enjoy New Year's Eve.  I always have.  I know it is just a flip of the calendar but there is something so refreshing about it for me and my slightly OCD personality.  Its a new start.  A clean slate.  This year I have discovered a new confidence in who I am and how I've grown in the past 365 days.  It makes this day much happier, because there is no place to go but up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2010 was not easy.  It was as much a bitch as it was fantastic.  I learned more about myself and quite possibly about life than I have thus far.  Doors were closed and windows opened.  I worried less and lived more.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My little family is finally united.  That is the best part of all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All is right in the world, or at least my world, for at least a little while.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's to a happy and healthy 2011.  Cheers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TR-iA6rKQKI/AAAAAAAAAdo/xBLkGmPq8JM/s1600/100_0200.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TR-iA6rKQKI/AAAAAAAAAdo/xBLkGmPq8JM/s320/100_0200.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557338601832464546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6581462261822010715?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6581462261822010715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6581462261822010715' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6581462261822010715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6581462261822010715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/so-this-is-new-year-again.html' title='So this is the New Year. Again.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TR-iA6rKQKI/AAAAAAAAAdo/xBLkGmPq8JM/s72-c/100_0200.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6521357264213769749</id><published>2010-12-17T11:54:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-17T12:14:02.908-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>'Tis the Season.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/holi-donts.html"&gt;Back in November&lt;/a&gt; I set up some guidelines for Holiday season sanity, to refresh:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-No crying (at least not of the sad, we-have-no-money kind, tears of joy are allowed.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-No stressing (aka no skipping the gym for this girl.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-No present buying for anyone but the 'rents and the kids. Period. (I have a problem with gift giving...I enjoy it way too much.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't say I haven't cried since this was posted, but I can say the times its happened has been because of my job/my own personal crap....so I guess that's a half-hearted success?&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;I may have given up on going to the gym where I work every night but I've been on the treadmill in our living room at least 3 times a week (and that will change to at least 5 times a week since I'm off work starting Monday til January 3rd...not my choice, but my employer's who is hemorrhaging money and cutting our budget with furlough) and I can tell it is keeping me balanced.   Who knows, maybe I'll start 2011 5 pounds lighter....but I won't know, since we don't own a scale (because I would obsess every fluctuation) so I'll just have to pay attention to the way my pants fit. Which I already do that pretty obsessively anyways.  Good times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We definitely have only shopped for the kids and the parents. So good job us.  Even if I am being a baby and am secretly really sad for no presents from the husband. They are always my favorite at Christmas time....but we have so many Christmas futures, and when I think about it that way, it is not a big deal.  Just the fact that we get to spend so much time together this year is pretty awesome.  And it probably won't happen again for a long time so I'll enjoy it while I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband is on his 3rd interview for one job, and is waiting on a call back for a teaching position he open interviewed for last night AND a friend of ours just emailed him about a possible opening at his work. There is a good chance he will have something by January, which would be a great way to start 2011.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if the insane baby dreams would stop, I could have a freakin' Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year ('s Eve Party....New Year's Eve is my FAVORITE.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Til Next time.&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/6827462165441446335-6521357264213769749?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6521357264213769749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6521357264213769749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6521357264213769749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6521357264213769749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/tis-season.html' title='&apos;Tis the Season.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-5094002560869832963</id><published>2010-12-10T16:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-18T13:54:28.183-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><title type='text'>Toughie.</title><content type='html'>Do step-parenting support groups exist?  If so, I need to know when and where and if there isn't, I should start one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is not an easy job...being a part-time-sort-of-parental-type-person.  You (think you) know what you are getting yourself into, but at the same time, you don't at all; every family is as different as its individuals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to remember why you chose to be with your partner AND their child(ren, in my case) when the going gets tough.  You are allowed to provide basic care (ie: feeding, grooming, purchasing of things to feed and clothe them with) but beyond that, it gets murky, especially if the child's other biological parent goes out of their way to be difficult on a regular basis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can love the child(ren) immensely, but don't expect to be well received if things come up about how they are being raised and/or taken care of when with the other parent.  You can worry about them, but you can't do more than volunteer solutions to your partner when it comes to problem solving issues with the other parent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always said I didn't want kids, but here I am, step-parenting away, which I am honest-to-goodness starting to believe can be harder than parenting in its own way.  I am convinced being a parent is the hardest role anyone can have in life, but emotionally step-parenting has to be at least, on the same page as parenting, if not more confusing at times.  At least I could be 50% of the decision making if they were biologically mine.  Right now, I'm about 10% of one half (I suck at math, so you figure that one out) and all I can do is give my opinion to my husband, whether he takes it or not is completely up to him....and  even if he does, the mom still has veto power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and his girls were a packaged deal from day one, and I thought long and hard before we got serious about how him having kids adds an additional layer of life-complicating situations.  I wouldn't trade my life right now for anything, but some sort of step-parenting manual would be helpful.  Perhaps there exists a "Step-Parenting for Dummies" manual? I need to research this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: It is hard to care so much but keep your mouth shut at certain times. It is something I am still learning how to do 100% of the time.  I try my best to be a positive role model for the girls, and enjoy the fleeting moments we get to spend as a family of four; every other weekend never seems to come soon enough.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-5094002560869832963?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5094002560869832963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=5094002560869832963' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5094002560869832963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5094002560869832963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/toughie.html' title='Toughie.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3367418415367821676</id><published>2010-12-09T12:59:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-09T15:31:54.797-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><title type='text'>Dear Uterus,</title><content type='html'>I would REALLY appreciate it if you stopped making me yearn for something I have adamantly  opposed as long as I understood the concept.  It is really annoying and it is giving me crazy ass dreams to boot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a logic person, uterus, and the cons of reproducing always out weigh the pros for me, so in case you didn't get the memo, I DON"T WANT TO USE YOU TO GROW LIFE, EVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you could please stop making me weepy over babies' photos (besides my niece, I'll allow that) it would really help me....also if you stopped nagging at the back of my brain day and night that would also be nice.  The rest of my brain does not agree, nor does it appreciate the constant conflicting ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Melberry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS- I know you know what "they" say....but I'm on to you, so I'm going to contradict you til the cows come home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3367418415367821676?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3367418415367821676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3367418415367821676' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3367418415367821676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3367418415367821676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/dear-uterus.html' title='Dear Uterus,'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-956106423903906823</id><published>2010-12-06T15:15:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-09T14:25:41.445-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Thirty: Letter.</title><content type='html'>Dear Me,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere, somehow you grew up.  You became self-reliant and (even more) independent than you had always been.  You make sure the bills are paid and that there's food to eat and even though it has become apparent how grown up you are, I love how you remember being a kid, especially where your step-daughters are involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the past year you have began to learn how to worry less and live more; you have learned that how you envision something is very rarely ends up in real life.... and you have accepted that you might as well stop thinking ahead on EVERYTHING.  You can only plan so much, because then life happens and things will be different.  Often things are so different, but still fabulous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how you are learning to embrace the unknown.....you used to say you enjoyed it, but the truth was it terrified you, now you see uncharted territory as endless possibilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how you have began to be comfortable with who you are inside and out...which isn't an attainable goal to you but something that is a skill to hone and change as you change.  I love how you have began to look at exercise as part of your lifestyle, not as something to do for a certain time span to achieve weight loss.  I love how you have finally admitted you may never be smaller than you were on your wedding day, but that is okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how you focus on the positive and in an effort to make the negative melt away...life is too short to remember the bad times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how much you go above and beyond for the people who are most important to you; that you know the best thing you can do is compromise when someone doesn't see eye to eye with you and that you are slowly but surely learning how to admit you were wrong, and mean it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, I love how you have opened up to change....most people don't like change but you have admitted to yourself that people can change for the better and things you used to think you didn't want for your life are starting to make more sense....even if they scare you.  A lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have so much living left to do, so don't be afraid to forget the details (for once) and live in the now, because it passes faster each year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love,&lt;br /&gt;You&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So although it took me a bit longer than anticipated, I completed the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;30 Days of Truth&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;thing. I think it was a learning experience....so woo-hoo for personal growth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-956106423903906823?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/956106423903906823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=956106423903906823' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/956106423903906823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/956106423903906823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-thirty-letter.html' title='Day Thirty: Letter.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2579113711393576802</id><published>2010-12-06T12:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-07T10:54:02.593-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='winter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><title type='text'>Day TwentyNine: Change.</title><content type='html'>Change happens all the time, whether you like or not....whether you want it or not.  I know I am different than I was a year ago, two years ago etc....although at my core I'm the same, or am I? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Driving to work this morning, after I dusted powdery snow off my car, I wasn't a ball of nerves like winter's past. The car I currently drive (and the previous one) is very compact and while I have good tires, it still isn't exactly made for snow.  The past couple winters have been pretty snowy and I spent many mornings/evenings taking the long way to work; being nervous when it comes to driving in inclement weather.  Not today. It didn't even hit me that I should be worried until I was almost to work on my local NPR station was broadcasting school delays.  Then I didn't bother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to continue this change in me....this letting go of constant, nagging worries that consume me to the point of sickness from time to time.  Life is too precious to whittle it away with worrying.  I'm just glad I've FINALLY accepted this, and now I can move forward and enjoy each day, even the mundane ones, to it's fullest.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2579113711393576802?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2579113711393576802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2579113711393576802' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2579113711393576802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2579113711393576802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-twentynine-change.html' title='Day TwentyNine: Change.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-259262217408789392</id><published>2010-12-05T12:11:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-07T10:38:37.945-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Reunited.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T7QHXJiI/AAAAAAAAAdU/9ah-cclZIbI/s1600/fam4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T7QHXJiI/AAAAAAAAAdU/9ah-cclZIbI/s320/fam4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547964068370261538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T7YVgYbI/AAAAAAAAAdM/SW3izrt8VLk/s1600/fam3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T7YVgYbI/AAAAAAAAAdM/SW3izrt8VLk/s320/fam3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547964070577070514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T6_OlYSI/AAAAAAAAAdE/QBDKR4XZpQU/s1600/fam2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T6_OlYSI/AAAAAAAAAdE/QBDKR4XZpQU/s320/fam2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547964063837151522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T6qjyyOI/AAAAAAAAAc8/zLgCbdYJ3J8/s1600/fam1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T6qjyyOI/AAAAAAAAAc8/zLgCbdYJ3J8/s320/fam1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547964058288965858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Saturday Little One came to visit and to see her sister for the first time since 2007.  It was a good day, besides being a little weird.  Husband and I both talked to Kiddo after Little One left and she admitted it was strange, but we told her over time it wouldn't be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait until it is just the 4 of us again....Saturday included Kiddo's Mom and my in-laws, just to cushion things a bit.  The best part was when Little One asked "can I sit with you?" and we took the picture of the two of us.  It is funny to think how she used to sit with me all the time when she was just over a year old....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-259262217408789392?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/259262217408789392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=259262217408789392' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/259262217408789392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/259262217408789392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/reunited.html' title='Reunited.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TP5T7QHXJiI/AAAAAAAAAdU/9ah-cclZIbI/s72-c/fam4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8567723114928055153</id><published>2010-12-05T09:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T10:07:21.507-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Day TwentyEight:Prego.</title><content type='html'>What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to my subconscious, I'd birth a boy child, be sad for a second about it being a boy and argue with my husband over the name (he wanted Tyler Joseph, I wanted Tyson Joseph, we would call him Ty for short, in the real-awake world, I don't even like either.) Yeah, I had my first real, live I'm pregnant dream this week. I woke up sweating and relieved.  And freaked out, because of how happy I was in the dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been sitting on the procreation-is-not-for-me wagon since my girlfriends started talking about having babies when I was a teenager (not having them 16-and-pregnant style, but you know, after they married some dreamy guy, while wearing big poofy dress). I still feel this way.  All the pressure to shape someone's personality and oh the worry....I can only imagine the anxiety.  I worry enough about my step-daughters, and they are even babies anymore.  I have a laundry list of reasons of why I don't want to be pregnant/do the mom thing and won't go out of my way to put myself in that situation, but if it were to happen unplanned is completely uncharted territory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to shrug it off and simply say, I don't want kids, until people sort of got what I meant (or I just completely avoided answering if it were someone I didn't know well) but now....I have no friggen idea what I would do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has started simply enough.  I admitted to myself I am jealous there are two women in the world who have something with my husband that I don't: offspring.  It is in the back of my mind 95% of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I remember my own childhood. The teasing and name calling and bullying and the self-hate that started at an age in the lower single digits. I don't want my (proverbial) kid to go through anything like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I remember how amazing it was to see my niece all tiny and pink minutes after she was born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I think about this: what's the point of having kids and then paying someone else to watch them 40 hours a week? While at the same time thinking: I would lose my damn mind being a stay at home Mom....then I think, well, maybe I would work part time.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I think of how amazing my husband is with his girls and my heart nearly explodes because it is something I really love about him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I think about how fantastic our marriage is right now. And how a new study just came out that &lt;a href="http://www.livescience.com/culture/090408-kids-marriage.html"&gt;90% of parents reported decreased marital satisfaction after having a baby&lt;/a&gt;. That doesn't really bode well with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will admit to being a bit of a control freak.  I like to plan things.  Babies (once they are conceived) can only be planned in naming and preparing for them but there are so many variables: you could have a fantastic pregnancy where you feel amazing all the time or you could be puking for the first two trimesters (like my sister).  Your baby could be pretty much perfect (like my niece) or a mean baby (like one of my sister's friends little one, I swear, she was scowling at my sister in a photo, no joke) you could be supremely happy in the months/year following delivering a child or plagued with postpartum depression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I guess I can say, in all honesty, I have absolutely no clue what I would do if I got knocked up tomorrow.  And since I've been on the pill for years now....the real question is: what would I do if I WANTED to get pregnant tomorrow?  And the real answer is freak the eff out, cry, and tell my husband.  That is all that is for sure.&lt;br /&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/6827462165441446335-8567723114928055153?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8567723114928055153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8567723114928055153' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8567723114928055153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8567723114928055153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-twentyeightprego.html' title='Day TwentyEight:Prego.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8585788217055913790</id><published>2010-12-03T11:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-03T11:20:14.056-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>Day TwentySeven: Best.</title><content type='html'>I feel like the best thing going for me right now is the compilation of all the small things going well, considering our circumstances.  Or perhaps my ability to accentuate the positive?  Either way, here's a list of the good:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a job with decent benefits that is paying our bills.  My family is amazing and the fact that tomorrow my oldest step-daughter will be seeing her sister for the first time in 3 years makes my heart swell.  It won't be long until we get to spend time as a family of four again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have some of the best friends anyone could ask for.  We recently pulled off a surprise benefit for one of the sweetest women I know who is battling cancer where we made over $6700. They keep me laughing and remind me of how important it is to let loose and have fun sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've convinced myself exercise is something I just need to do each day, sort of like brushing my teeth in the morning and before bed.  Just another part of the routine.  This is already helping my mood, which usually takes a nose dive when it gets cold...and then another after Christmas, since its cold AND all the holiday crap is over and there isn't much to look forward to besides spring, which sometimes doesn't come until April or May.  Since I've started now, I'll continue through the dead of winter and who knows maybe even drop a size or two in the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, its all good, if you look at things in the right way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8585788217055913790?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8585788217055913790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8585788217055913790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8585788217055913790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8585788217055913790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-twentyseven-best.html' title='Day TwentySeven: Best.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6701908261361802524</id><published>2010-12-03T09:12:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T10:09:42.867-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sisters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Day TwentyFive/TwentySix: Life.</title><content type='html'>(I tend to suck at writing over the weekends, so here is two more posts to keep me on track)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The reason you believe you’re still alive today.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides the biological fact that my body is functioning and keeping me alive? I think I am still here because of a few very important people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, my bff since the 8th grade.  Adolescence was hard on me, but having one person who always took my side and often defended me to others really made things bearable.  Now that we are adults (so weird to say still) and I look back and feel so damn lucky to have had her.  I don't know if I would have made it through high school without her.  Her house was my second home, and her mom is my second mom.  We don't see each other nearly as often as either of us would like, but when we do get together it always feels like it used to...besides that we work 40 hour weeks and both have husbands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, my sister.  I remember being 6 years old and I got to ride along with her on a errand to the grocery store (she was 16 at the time).  I didn't talk much, because I didn't know what to say to her but I remember thinking to myself, someday we'll be great friends and have so much talk about. And then we were.  I was 16 and she was 26 and I would spend the night with her on the weekends mostly to not have to worry about a curfew, but also just to hang out.  And to get advice on things I couldn't talk to our mom about.  Now I'm 26 and she's 36 and I talk to her every day, either on the phone or through messaging.  She's a mom and I'm a step-mom but I sometimes spend the night at her place still, but now it's so I can play with my niece. I'm pretty much obsessed with her, and I feel like I am supposed to be here to support my sister as she raises her.....but I still get advice on things I can't talk to my mom about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, my husband.  I've written more times than I probably should about how we met and how he balances me so well so I won't go there again.  We don't have much money, we have more scheduling/event planning issues than a conference center and our relationship isn't perfect by any means (he does this pouty-child face while he stares at the floor and doesn't say anything whenever we have a disagreement, it drives me nuts) but at the end of the day, we love each other and we face all the problems together and that makes all the difference.  I still get excited to see him when I get home from work every day. He has brought me more joy than I've ever known and he's allowed me to be the part of two little girls lives in the process, which I feel like is another part of the reason I am here.  I know it can't be easy on kids when their parents are not together, so I really try to be a positive influence/role model for them as much as possible and I feel like that is part of why I met the husband, it be a positive female in the lives of these little girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Yes. Junior year of high school and because I was very depressed. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Looking back, I wish I could have known then what I know now....about how much stuff in high school doesn't matter, but I didn't. And it did matter back then; it was all that mattered.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; All that matters now though, is I didn't give up, I made it through, and life is so much more than 4 years spent in high school. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&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/6827462165441446335-6701908261361802524?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6701908261361802524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6701908261361802524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6701908261361802524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6701908261361802524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-twentyfivetwentysix-life.html' title='Day TwentyFive/TwentySix: Life.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4588231590904699364</id><published>2010-12-02T09:28:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T10:10:03.935-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day TwentyFour: Playlist.</title><content type='html'>Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere Over the Rainbow-Isreal Kamakawiwo'ole&lt;br /&gt;You've Got a Friend-James Taylor&lt;br /&gt;All You Need is Love-The Beatles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Lilly,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing up, I read all the Wizard of Oz books and watched the movie more times than I could count.  That being said, Somewhere Over the Rainbow is a song about wishes and dreams and how great it would be to make those things come true.  I hope it reminds you how important it is to dream and how wonderful dreams can be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've Got a Friend is a guide to knowing when someone you meet is truly a friend or foe. If this song applies to them, then you are lucky, because sometimes good, true friends can be hard to see through the fake ones.  Listen to the words and then you will know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure you will be well educated on the Beatles as you get older, but All You Need is Love is a song I hope you remember when things get rough.  I hope it reminds you of where are you from and of what is truly important in life: the relationships with the people you love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to watch you grow up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Auntie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4588231590904699364?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4588231590904699364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4588231590904699364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4588231590904699364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4588231590904699364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/12/day-twenty-four-playlist.html' title='Day TwentyFour: Playlist.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3814032621684430928</id><published>2010-11-29T11:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T10:10:28.207-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day TwentyThree: Undone.</title><content type='html'>(So last week was a complete fail, once again, at getting back on track with 30DaysofTruth. Now I'm just going to stick to once a day again, just a bit off schedule.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something you wish you had done in your life.  I feel like I am too young to have a lot of major regrets about my life thus far but the one thing that comes to mind is:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; living solo. &lt;/span&gt; I moved from my parents to college, where I never lived with less than two other people.  Then in 2007 the husband and I moved in together (which looking back, was sort of insane, we had only been together for about a year and a half, and we only saw each other once a week good thing that worked out I guess!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I met the husband, I dreamed of living in my own little place (mostly on the days my roommates were driving me crazy) but also just because I thought it would be nice to do my own thing whenever I wanted; to not have to always be surrounded by people.  It was something I always thought I would end up doing that did not happen.  I couldn't imagine not living with my husband though.  I always say he is the best roommate I've ever had because he never borrows my clothes and always takes out the trash :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3814032621684430928?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3814032621684430928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3814032621684430928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3814032621684430928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3814032621684430928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-twenty-three-undone.html' title='Day TwentyThree: Undone.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7455570828196773680</id><published>2010-11-22T10:27:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T10:10:50.427-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='regret'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurt'/><title type='text'>Day TwentyTwo: Regret.</title><content type='html'>Something you wish you hadn't done in your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't regret many things. I learn from the bad experiences and move on.  Except for one gigantic time period that is: adolescence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I wish I wouldn't have been so sensitive to the bullies.&lt;/span&gt;  I wish I hadn't spent night after night crying in high school, cutting myself (with a lady bic razor no less) to dull the pain.  I wish I could look back on those years and smile with nostalgia instead of grimacing with thoughts of how painful things were.  I wish I hadn't let it all get to me so much, because really, it all seems so far away now, so not worth the tears and heartache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet still, after all those painful years, I wear my heart on my sleeve but I do it proudly at this point.  I don't see it as a bad thing, I see it as something that is a part of who I am; something that lets me experience life in a way that many people never will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7455570828196773680?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7455570828196773680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7455570828196773680' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7455570828196773680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7455570828196773680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-twenty-two-regret.html' title='Day TwentyTwo: Regret.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8670707031637469488</id><published>2010-11-22T08:56:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T10:25:46.218-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fail'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drugs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Alcoholics'/><title type='text'>Epic 30DaysofTruth Fail.</title><content type='html'>I failed at this around Day 18 (in my defense, work was crazy AND a benefit for a good friend happened this weekend, so out of work time was crazy and then Kiddo was over and yeah I suck....) but here is my shortened version of each to play catch up:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To each his/her own.  In a time where half of all marriage fail in this country, I feel like anyone, no matter their sexual orientation should have a crack at it. Plus, all those "marriage is sacred" people are usually on their 4 or 5 one (example: Rush Limbaugh is on his 4th where the 59 year old married a 33 year old girl. Nuff said.) Plus my first best friend in the 3rd grade was a boy who later came out in high school.  We played barbies together as kids, so I always knew.  I love me some gay dudes.  In grad school, I had a girl crush on the cutest lesbian ever...we worked together on a project and she called me pretty. How flipping flattering is that?!  Basically, whatever floats your boat is my credo on love in the romantic sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? &lt;/span&gt; (I choose to discuss religion....politics are annoying, at best. Religion talk is the lesser of two evils to me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see religion as something that gets so many people through each day and through tough times of life.  I see the point and why there are so many different ones, but growing up Catholic I found little solace in my faith.  I dabbled in being Methodist for a while.  Then I went to college, became an Anthropology Minor and learned so much about evolution that I can't believe in God and all that jazz.  I also took an Eastern Religions course where I decided if I did ever decide to pursue one again, it would be Buddhism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Currently I like to think we aren't all just floating around on a whim, and that things to do happen for a reason, but I don't think God is that reason.  I don't think praying to this God results in things happening or not happening, but I do think it makes people feel better to believe such a thing, so again, to each his/her own.  Wouldn't it be nice of religious extremists (of all faiths, mind you) could say the same?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also think religion is used by the powerful to undermine the weak, and that it has NO PLACE WHATSOEVER in government (even though it continues to crop up again, an again and yet again.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ehhhhhhhh, this is tricky, because I used to partake in smoking a certain plant (and when legalized, I would probably again) AND I have a very love/hate relationship with booze.  But let the truth be told......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a high strung individual.  I don't decompress easily so I sort of used to use a little maryjane for medicinal reasons.  It made me such a nicer person to be around. And yeah, it was smoked a lot just for the hell of it as well.  After a while though, it got boring, and all I would want to do is nap afterwards, and that's not exactly conducive to getting homework done in college.  I don't think Marijuana is addictive.  At all.  I think some people just really, really like to get high all the time.  I have friends who have jobs, pay their bills and taxes and are awesome people, plus they like to get high.  I think the government should legalize and tax the crap out of it (much like Alcohol and cigarettes) and get on with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides that, I've never done any other drugs, or any "hard" drugs......with one single time of snorting coke.  I was not impressed and never did it again.  Addiction is a scary thing, and I am very careful when prescribed any strong painkillers because having an Alcoholic father and a somewhat addictive personality could equal very bad things.  This also kept me away from anything crazy, along with good common sense that putting something in my body that could potentially make all my teeth fall out (ie: meth) is a BAD idea, no matter the high.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drinking IN MODERATION is something I am A-OK with.  When an individual loses control, time and time again, I have a major problem with it.  It can be a very bad thing for some people.  I've seen it, first hand, deteriorate relationships and cause so many problems that would have never been without intoxication.  Alcoholism is a disease, and if you know me well, I tend to stop drinking altogether whenever something dramatic happens with my dad and the sauce.  I haven't felt out of control with it since before I met my husband though, so I think I am doing just fine with occasionally, socially drinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, my best friend and I are grown ups and we rarely fight anymore.  I'm talking it has been YEARS since we have argued.  We have agreed to disagree on certain things, but we never fight anymore.  We don't live near each other to see each other a lot, so we just tend to have a good time catching up when we do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it would have happened when we were in high school, I would have cried a bunch and then headed to the hospital to make sure she was okay.  If she was I would have apologized, and if she wasn't, I would probably be a much different person today.  She is the best friend I've ever had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that catches me up.  Hopefully from here on out I can keep on track!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8670707031637469488?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8670707031637469488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8670707031637469488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8670707031637469488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8670707031637469488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/epic-30daysoftruth-fail.html' title='Epic 30DaysofTruth Fail.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4723200386925291559</id><published>2010-11-16T08:52:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-18T13:44:00.969-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hobbies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Seventeen: Book.</title><content type='html'>The day we picked up my first set of glasses when I was 6 years old is a day I still remember clearly.  I was mostly nervous but a little bit of me was excited.  I brought a book (Bearenstein Bears) and read the whole thing out loud to my mom on the way home.  My mother said from that day on she would find me in my room, reading out loud to my stuffed animals and later I would spend hours curled up on the couch with a book.  Once I started  a book, I couldn't put it down and once it was finished I wanted more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first book report in the fourth grade was on a biography about Jackie Kennedy.  I read it twice just because I was sad when it was over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read 10 or 15 V.C. Andrews books the summer between 8th and 9th grade simply because my older sister had left them behind in what was now my room after she moved out. I thought it was weird to have them in my room but to have never read them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I did.  And then after I read all of them, I took them to a used bookstore and traded them in for more.  I was on a first name basis with the lady who owned that store by the end of the summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love books.  I've spent countless hours reading in my lifetime but one that stands out on changing my view about something is Number the Stars, by Lois Lowry.  It tells the story of a little girl who's family takes in her friend from school during the war.  I read it in the sixth grade and it was my first exposure (that I remember) to learning about World War II and the Holocaust.  Once I was done, I felt like the world was a different place; that not only good things happen, but also the bad.  I remember thinking how my grandparents were alive when these things were happening and I was in complete awe of how big the world really is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My thirst for books will probably never be quenched.  I go through phases with types and genres.  I've been known to wander libraries for hours, reading backs of books and jacket flaps to find the right one.  Reading is such a great escape, plus it's free!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4723200386925291559?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4723200386925291559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4723200386925291559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4723200386925291559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4723200386925291559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-seventeen-book.html' title='Day Seventeen: Book.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7211122427872629130</id><published>2010-11-16T08:50:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-16T08:53:40.012-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='facebook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Sixteen: Without.</title><content type='html'>Someone or something you definitely could live without.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One word that didn't exist 10 years ago:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Facebook.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have written &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/it-strikes-again.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/facebook.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; about how I love to hate the social networking site to end all social networking sites.  Just last night, I begrudgingly logged on, because I needed to do something besides sit on the couch and vegetate, to find a friend request from my most recent (circa 2004) ex.  It is bad enough he has moved back to the area and I have to see him in person again, but now he wants to be present online as well.  I'm letting him dangle in friend-limbo (Frimbo, perhaps?) for a while. Eventually I will approve and then hide him from my newsfeed. I could really care less what is he up to, but I don't want to be that girl who denies friendships on Facebook.  (Do you see why I hate it?  I shouldn't care about being that girl, but I do.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've recently become friends with Little One's mom on there, which I am still sort of paranoid about choosing to do so, but its too late now.  The damage is done, the friendship requested and approved.  No turning back.  I saw it as a peace offering, and as a chance to let her put together that I am the same girl she used to stalk on Myspace so many years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seriously considered deleting it multiple times in the past 6 months, but then my healthy dose of "I won't know what's going on" fear kicks in, so I just tend to limit time I spend on there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cue U2 singing With or without you....because that's me and the Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In all seriousness, I could live without it, but I choose not to.  I'm too invested at this point....too many pictures of my adorable niece have been uploaded, so some days I pretend like it doesn't exist and I actually, you know, spend time with my friends in person.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7211122427872629130?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7211122427872629130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7211122427872629130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7211122427872629130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7211122427872629130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-16-without.html' title='Day Sixteen: Without.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6993416389471496017</id><published>2010-11-14T20:18:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-15T09:06:28.014-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='coffee'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Fifteen: Without.</title><content type='html'>Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to do both...even if the second one is a stretch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;coffee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I relocated my coffee pot to my office, because previously more often than not, I was buying coffee every single morning while a perfectly good pot went unused at home.  Now if I don't go out and buy some on the weekends I end up sleeping most of the day away.  Most Saturdays aren't a problem, since I am usually out doing something or other anyways but Sundays are different.  One Sunday I didn't go anywhere I think I fell asleep 4 different times between the hours of 1pm and 9pm.  It was ridiculous.  I got a hair up my a$$ a couple winters ago to quit drinking coffee and it sucked. So never again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only drink one cup in the morning....which is actually 16 ounces so it is technically two but that is all I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;my husband. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back when we were dating, we lived an hour apart and only saw each other once a week for the first 2 years.  It first it was fine but after a while it was rough.  Sometimes I missed him so much it hurt and I even got fired from a job (it was only my second day, and they tricked me. I mentioned how I hadn't seen him in 2 weeks and they said, do you want to leave early then? and I said yes. Next time I came in I was told it wasn't going to work out because I wasn't dedicated to the job.) because I left early to go see him.  I hated how most of my friends never saw him and we spent very little time with my family back then.  There were a few times I almost ended it because I wanted a boyfriend who I saw all the time but I always talked myself down from that proverbial ledge by remembering how good we were when we were together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we moved in together (which was mostly his idea) things only got better, so while I haven't had to go from living with him to living without him, going from barely seeing him to living with him makes me think this applies?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if it doesn't, I don't think it matters...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6993416389471496017?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6993416389471496017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6993416389471496017' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6993416389471496017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6993416389471496017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-fifteen-without.html' title='Day Fifteen: Without.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6777880189881430861</id><published>2010-11-14T19:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T19:29:25.038-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Fourteen: Fallen.</title><content type='html'>A hero that has let you down. (letter)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing up, I idolized you.  Even if you didn't know it and I didn't always show it.  All I wanted was your approval an acceptance.  Even when you were mean to me in front of your friends, even when you wouldn't defend me when I was getting picked on in school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We are 26 and 29 and most days I still don't believe I have either from you, but I don't care anymore.  Somewhere through those years I gave up on you.  I grew up and I see you for what you are, for who you are and I pity you most days.  It must be sad living so far from your family but then again, you must feel like royalty when the world stops turning (at least to them) when you are back in town.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I sometimes wonder what could have been and am sad for it for a moment, but its a waste, since that's not reality and never will be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6777880189881430861?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6777880189881430861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6777880189881430861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6777880189881430861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6777880189881430861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-fourteen-fallen.html' title='Day Fourteen: Fallen.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8048721404580719541</id><published>2010-11-13T12:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-14T19:22:18.276-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jack&apos;sMannequin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><title type='text'>Day Thirteen: Music.</title><content type='html'>A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Andrew McMahon,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where would I be without the musical genius that is Something Corporate and Jack's Mannequin?   It is a fact of my existence these two bands have spoke to me more consistently and longer than any other.  Somehow you have created music I relate to on so many different levels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Namely, &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5LjFkibA7w"&gt;Dark Blue&lt;/a&gt; from Everything in Transit and &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sA8PaIw5gcE"&gt;Swim&lt;/a&gt; from The Glass Passenger.  I have clung to these two songs like a life preserver lately.  What else can you do when your life has become this thing where all those things you expected to do....the things you expected to be are so far away from reality?  If you are anything like me, you get in the car and sing a song at the top of your lungs that explains how you feel better than you could ever put into your own words....or you go for a walk on a deserted bike path and you sing and you feel better knowing there are thousands of other fans that do the very same thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for making music with just the right combination of melancholy and hope, it has helped me and continues to do so more than you will ever know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8048721404580719541?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8048721404580719541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8048721404580719541' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8048721404580719541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8048721404580719541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-thirteen-music.html' title='Day Thirteen: Music.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7509757692785095053</id><published>2010-11-12T08:48:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-12T09:05:20.440-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Nevi.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I saw you for the first time in over 3 years.  It was amazing to see the little lady you have become.  I somehow held it together and didn't cry (even though it kept me quiet for the first 30 minutes you were there).  You hair is darker, longer and full of ringlet curls, but your face, especially your eyes, are exactly the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure if you really grasp who I am yet, but that is okay. Your mom said you remembered her telling you about me, and I know it is probably different to see Mommy, Daddy and this other lady all in the same room, but we all love you so that is the important part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your imagination is almost unbelievable and it was a joy to watch you and your daddy interact.  I can't wait for you to see your sister again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TN1IhsQMpZI/AAAAAAAAAc0/zcVF-yTr2tI/s1600/nevi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TN1IhsQMpZI/AAAAAAAAAc0/zcVF-yTr2tI/s320/nevi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538662860387558802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I don't know if your mommy knows I met you when you were barely one month old, or how I fed you bottles and later bananas and rice cereal.  I don't know if she knows that I saw you last when you were just over a year old and how you so sweetly fell asleep in my arms...she doesn't really need to know, but hopefully someday you will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7509757692785095053?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7509757692785095053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7509757692785095053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7509757692785095053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7509757692785095053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/nevi.html' title='Nevi.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TN1IhsQMpZI/AAAAAAAAAc0/zcVF-yTr2tI/s72-c/nevi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7766711215623441026</id><published>2010-11-12T08:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-12T08:46:14.939-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Twelve: Never.</title><content type='html'>Something you never get compliments on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My singing voice.  Not that I spend all that much time singing in front of people...but when I do, it is not something encouraged by others.  Which is a shame since if I hear a song two or three times the lyrics are forever cemented in my brain.  I would rock those singing shows where you have to finish the lyrics and you win money, but I would never, ever sing on tv in front of all those people.  And I love to sing.  It is so much fun and such a release...but it is censored to in my car, in groups of girls acting silly or to my niece when I'm watching her by myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every once in a blue moon I'll sing in front of the husband (usually in the car and half of the time, acting silly) and I get reminded of how tone deaf I am.  He would be one to know;  he can sing, play guitar/bass and play keyboard/piano by ear....oh and he can draw too. The guy is oozing artistic skills out of his behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell him I have an artistic mind which produces different ways of thinking about things...so there's my hidden talent :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7766711215623441026?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7766711215623441026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7766711215623441026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7766711215623441026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7766711215623441026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-twelve-never.html' title='Day Twelve: Never.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-19086348151912648</id><published>2010-11-11T09:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T09:01:11.061-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='makeup'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='skin'/><title type='text'>Day Eleven: Compliment Part One.</title><content type='html'>Something people seem to compliment you the most on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing that came to my mind was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;my skin, specifically my face&lt;/span&gt;. (side note: it is sort of funny since I have a strange zit/mole/wart blemish thingy...not sure what exactly it is...that has appeared on my cheek and it is freaking me out since it came out of nowhere.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How is your skin so clear? What products do you use? OMG you have the prettiest ivory skin tone" (Sometimes I think the last one is just trying to make my pasty Irish-German genes feel better in the dead of winter, but who knows) It is the strangest thing to me, since I never thought much of my skin, negative or positive, besides that I notice new wrinkles every now and then and hate them....and I have a never ending search for under-eye dark circle concealer, since I have them pretty bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a party back in the spring, and a guy friend of mine had brought some chick he had just met.  She had been drinking, a lot, and would not shut up about my skin.  It was on the verge of creepy, like I started to think she wanted to hide-me-at-the-bottom-of-a-pit-and-make-me-put-the-lotion-on-the-skin-creepy.  Then she started talking about how she always breaks out and tries every concealer she can find (ummm maybe why you break out all the time perhaps?) and how she is so ugly and I am so pretty and at that point I exited the room saying I needed to go find my husband.  Talk about awkward.  I was reassured by the guy friend I would never have to see hear again.  He is classy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I don't really have a routine with skin care....besides washing my face in the shower and whenever else it feels gross (sometimes in the mornings, sometimes in the evenings but not always) and I try to remember to wear moisturizer with sunblock.  I use the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clean&amp;amp;Clear Daily face wash--the kind with the micro scrubbers, yeah I should probably graduate to something a bit more adult, but why fix what isn't broken? Plus its cheap!&lt;br /&gt;Neutrogena Healthy Skin Moisturizer with SPF 15&lt;br /&gt;Bare Minerals foundation, bronzer and Mineral Veil (if and when I wear makeup, which isn't every day)&lt;br /&gt;Clean&amp;amp;Clear zit cream for whenever a random zit pops up. I dot it on before bed.  It usually does the trick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is a nice compliment, and I always say thank you and attribute it to not wearing a ton of makeup all the time which is one part lazy and one part I know it breaks me out, so I just don't do it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-19086348151912648?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/19086348151912648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=19086348151912648' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/19086348151912648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/19086348151912648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-11-compliment-part-one.html' title='Day Eleven: Compliment Part One.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7280952813604711659</id><published>2010-11-10T08:41:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-10T09:05:53.381-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Day Ten: let go.</title><content type='html'>Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I honest-to-goodness do not have a person for this topic, but for the sake of the writing exercise (and since I'm going to see Little One and her mother tomorrow) a stretch would be &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Little One's mom.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I didn't know her.  She made the first year of the husband and I's relationship a lot more complicated than it should have been.  I wish she could just be a crazy ex of my now husband, instead of the mother of his youngest child.  I wish I would have pursued him right after I met him in September of 2005 (Little One was conceived in late November).  But I didn't.  And who's to say we would have made it if I had?  Plus Little One would not be, and that would just be messed up.  She was a part of our early relationship and seeing him with her, being there for the first night he kept her overnight....that was sort of something special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband and Little One's mom are communicating well and getting along right now.  I hope that continues...especially after I am added to the mix of things.  Tomorrow. I'm nervous already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same thing can be said about Kiddo's mom, but there would be no Kiddo without her.  So I'm learning to live with her frustratingly illogical, self-centered behavior; to take the road less traveled and not react when she does impossibly selfish things and obviously is not putting her daughter first. Or when Kiddo comes over stinky, time and time again. (She tells us she gets a bath once a week, Wednesdays when she is at her grandma's.  Did I mention she is 8? Yeah.....that's a whole other post.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So while I wish I didn't know these ladies, they are each one half of two little girls that I love.  So I choose to deal with them with a smile on face knowing someday we won't have to see them nearly as much....and someday all of this could make a really good book.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7280952813604711659?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7280952813604711659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7280952813604711659' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7280952813604711659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7280952813604711659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-ten-let-go.html' title='Day Ten: let go.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2961826774580110919</id><published>2010-11-09T08:49:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-09T11:12:19.370-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='college'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Nine: Drifted.</title><content type='html'>Someone you didn't want to let go, but just drifted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without a doubt,&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; this is my sorority big.&lt;/span&gt; (Yeah, I was active in a sorority for about a year and a half in college, deal with it.)  She was/is the sweetest thing in the world, and we became friends that hung out all the time pretty fast.  Once she graduated and had a really bad break-up all at the same time, she sort of disappeared for a while.  Then she moved farther away, and farther still and got married and I saw her less and less.  The last time I saw her was April, when she was about 6 months pregnant (and adorable, since she is about 5''2 and 115 pounds soaking wet) and now she's a mom and I haven't even met the little guy.  Which I think about all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had some really great times together, and I wish we saw each other more, but older I get, the more life seems to get in the way of things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2961826774580110919?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2961826774580110919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2961826774580110919' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2961826774580110919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2961826774580110919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-nine-drifted.html' title='Day Nine: Drifted.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3160298496359554995</id><published>2010-11-08T13:43:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T14:07:25.468-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>Holi-don'ts.</title><content type='html'>I have already began dreading the next two months.  I feel like it starts earlier each year, with Christmas nonsense already filling shelves of every store I've entered since last Sunday, and the TV commercials constantly reminding us of the things to come: Day after Thanksgiving sales, BIG DEALS, consume, Consume, COOOOONNNNNSUMMMME!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are on a very extremely tight budget this year. With the husband losing his job and I being required to take furlough (long story short: campus will be closed from the week before Christmas until the Monday after New Years and one day of pay each month will be taken off my paycheck until next june, hurrah.) things could get hairy but we have a pretty exact plan of action when it comes to present buying.  Mostly, not buying anyone anything besides the girls, Baby M. (my niece) and our parents (ONLY if we can figure out frugal joint presents for each set). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also refusing to become stressed about family obligations. Plain and simple.  If the girls can't be there, it will make me sad but I won't get all worked up over it.  I'm already expecting my brother to muck everything up, with his "surprise" visit or ever changing arrival date (he is known for both, and while I know he doesn't do it on purpose, it always messes up already planned things....and when he's in another country with the Army its one thing, but he's in South Carolina for Pete's sake!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So to re-cap Holiday Season 2010 Don'ts:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-No crying (at least not of the sad, we-have-no-money kind, tears of joy are allowed.)&lt;br /&gt;-No stressing (aka no skipping the gym for this girl.)&lt;br /&gt;-No present buying for anyone but the 'rents and the kids. Period. (I have a problem with gift giving...I enjoy it way too much.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I use parentheses enough in this post or what?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3160298496359554995?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3160298496359554995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3160298496359554995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3160298496359554995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3160298496359554995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/holi-donts.html' title='Holi-don&apos;ts.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2519962219359399963</id><published>2010-11-08T09:04:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T10:10:52.955-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Eight: Life Part Two.</title><content type='html'>Someone who has made your life hell, or treated you like shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the award goes to.....................................&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;my college roommate&lt;/span&gt;. Well, one of the 11.  Every time I lived with roommates, there were always at least 3 of us (for two years there were 4) and there was always one that things would go sour with eventually.  I guess that's what happens when there's a bunch of chicks living together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This specific roomie was an exception.  It wasn't the usual roommate issues that drove us apart, it was much more.  We became friends when she still lived in the dorms, and things were good for a time, but over that time I started to notice things.  And then she treated me worse, and worse until I just couldn't deal with her and her issues anymore. It was hurting me to continue letting her be a part of my life.  I really cared about her, but her actions showed she didn't give a shit about me in return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrote this really long, drawn out narrative of her damage to me, but then I decided, she doesn't deserve a long post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is no longer in my life for a reason, and my life is that much better without her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2519962219359399963?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2519962219359399963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2519962219359399963' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2519962219359399963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2519962219359399963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-eight-life-part-two.html' title='Day Eight: Life Part Two.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6607507601933105276</id><published>2010-11-07T11:54:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T21:24:59.774-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Seven: Life Part One.</title><content type='html'>Someone who has made your life worth living for.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not to be redundant but I am going to be anyway because this also goes to &lt;b&gt;the husband.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before I met him, I wasn't lost or depressed......you could say I was happy but man, I was bored.  I wasn't quite sure why, but I felt like something was missing.  I had all these single girl plans but deep down they freaked me out a little, to do them all by myself.  I had not experienced a successful relationship since I was 19.  And if I remember correctly, I didn't know shit about life at 19 or my self for that matter. (Not that I have all the answers at 26, but I at least have my head on semi-straight at this point. So there's that.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He's my favorite part of every day, my constant comic relief, bug-killer and laundry-mat a-goer.  He's my Lukey and I am so grateful to spend my life with him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6607507601933105276?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6607507601933105276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6607507601933105276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6607507601933105276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6607507601933105276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-seven-life-part-one.html' title='Day Seven: Life Part One.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2769737797349693929</id><published>2010-11-06T16:56:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-06T17:44:11.181-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><title type='text'>Day Six: Never.</title><content type='html'>Something you hope to never have to do.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In all honesty (this is after all, 30 days of truth) I had a hard time thinking of an answer for this.  I've been thinking about it for a few days, and the best I can come up with is: &lt;b&gt;I hope I never bury my husband. &lt;/b&gt; Then I feel like an a**hole and selfish for some reason.  Then the more I think about it, the more it makes sense....I hope to never have to live in a world where he doesn't exist.  And then I think about it some more and get all panicky since, being the sociology major that I was, I know women's life expectancy is around 7 years longer than men on average. But then I remember a study I read once about how left handed people are prone to die before right handed people (I'm a lefty)....then I remind myself shit happens all the time, and we're only in our twenties and to stop thinking these things.  It doesn't get you anywhere and it keeps you from living in the present.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I digress (I haven't had any coffee today and I just got up from a nap, so that could be why.....)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've spent more time single than in a relationship at this point in my life, mostly because I was picky. HAH wait the honest explanation: the guys I actually wanted to be with just wanted to be friends, and most of the time we were. I was sort of famous for trying to date my guy friends and I was usually cool enough of a person to not be weird about it afterwards. So when I found the husband, back at the end of 2005, on one level I knew things were different; mostly because despite gigantic red flags (i.e. baby mama drama) that would have kept most girls from getting romantically involved did nothing for me but mostly because it just felt different and right whenever we were together.  Almost 6 years later and I can't imagine him not being here.  I can't imagine having to tell the girls he's gone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I plan on us living forever, so far it's working.....ooooor we'll go out in a painfully romantic way a la the Notebook...although the more realistic version is how Johnny Cash died less than 4 months after his wife, June Carter Cash.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Until then I'm thankful every day for the time we have together....even on the days he drives me crazy, I'm happy to have him here, doing so.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2769737797349693929?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2769737797349693929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2769737797349693929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2769737797349693929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2769737797349693929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-six-never.html' title='Day Six: Never.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7233575327527802276</id><published>2010-11-05T10:09:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T10:55:11.871-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hope'/><title type='text'>Day five: Hope.</title><content type='html'>Something you hope to do in your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to say get my PhD when asked this question....but the longer I am out of school the less I think that will actually happen, so I'm going to go another direction completely with this: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I want to travel, like take-a-year-and-see-the-world-and-do-it-off-the-beaten-path-travel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not come from money, but somehow my parents scraped together their pennies and sent me to Europe for two weeks when I was 15 years old.  Both my siblings have also been (my sister to England and my brother to France) on similar trips, you know, the ones organized by language courses and in my sister's case, her civics class, during high school.  I took German in high school, so off to Germany I went (we also visited the Czech Republic, Austria, and Hungary.) It was amazing, and all I have thought as I've gotten older is how much more amazing it would be as an adult.  That trip opened my eyes to how big the world is and is a huge factor in why I chose to study Anthropology and Sociology in college.  (Side note: When I was still single, I thought about joining the Peace Corps after getting my degree but then life happened, I had a reason to not live outside the U.S. and that didn't. C'est la vie.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is so much to see and do outside of this country, and I want to see and do those things.  Someday, somehow it will happen, most likely in approximately 15 years, when both the girls will be of age and (hopefully) in college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should probably start saving my own pennies now....I don't want to think about how much a year of world wide travel will cost in 15 years.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7233575327527802276?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7233575327527802276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7233575327527802276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7233575327527802276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7233575327527802276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-five-hope.html' title='Day five: Hope.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4505382119929783895</id><published>2010-11-04T08:50:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T11:16:36.420-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Alcoholics'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='father'/><title type='text'>Day Four: Forgiveness Part Two.</title><content type='html'>Something you have to forgive someone for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one is heavy. This one is going to suck to write. A lot. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I have to forgive my father for being an Alcoholic. &lt;/span&gt;Which is huge, since my reaction to his drinking has always been anger.  I've been angry at my dad for being an alcoholic since before I realized he was an alcoholic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The complex part of things is he has always been a functional alcoholic.  He went to work, provided us with the basics, and even spent time with us on the weekends. He taught us right from wrong as well as any high school graduate with trade school training could do.  He took us to mass every Sunday and Grandmas's every Sunday afternoon for supper without fail.  He projected the epitome of lower-middle class fatherhood.  He has never met a stranger, and is friendly as you can imagine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet my fondest memories with my dad were the Saturday afternoons I'd go with him to do his "sign ups". There I would sit, in smoky VFW and Legion Tap Rooms where I would spend a few hours playing songs on the jukebox, drinking Shirley Temple's and eating popcorn.  It took me until I was about 22 to realize this wasn't normal quality time with a parent.  I was getting impatient one day and a poured the rest of a can of beer into a clear glass with about 4 inches of golden liquid in it (I assumed they were both beer and was trying to speed up the process).  Nope, it was whiskey. My dad sort of laughed at me for it, and downed it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was never physically abused (and for that I am so grateful) but there was a great deal of emotional/psychological abuse.  There was a time he was really wasted one afternoon when I was in high school. We got into an argument about something or other (which was usually a combo of three things: the speed at which I talked, him being hard of hearing AND being intoxicated) and I got scared.  So scared I locked myself in the bathroom, crying. When asked why I had locked myself in the bathroom, I told him he was scaring me and he proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs on the other side of the door about how could I ever think he would lay a finger on me? He would NEVER do that. And he never did, but I can't count the amount of times things resulted in screaming and crying. I would say at least once a week during my teenage years and I witnessed it earlier than that, while my older brother still lived at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I moved out and we've all gotten older, there have been multiple times he's almost drank himself to death. The first is what made me finally realize he is an Alcoholic. The last time it came out that he switched to vodka because my mom wouldn't be able to smell it on him (whiskey was always his drink of choice with a beer....or four) and the people at the bar thought he was having a stroke before he lost consciousness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not want to get that call one day....that he is gone because of booze. So even though I know, for a fact, my anger doesn't stop the drinking, I cling to it, because I don't know what else to be about it because it is so frustrating and I'm so stubborn (&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;much like him) about things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The anger I feel about it is dumb.  I know its a disease, I know it is so much harder than just stopping.  I know he is now retired after working over 35 years and he doesn't know what to do with himself.  I know there is probably some mental health issues he has and has never confronted. I know I have to forgive him for it, for being loaded most evenings of my childhood, for the memories of my parents fighting about it, resulting in him walking to the bar a few blocks from our house, for putting my mother through dealing with him all these years, its just hard.  Hard to let go of anger I have been brewing for over half my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hasn't drank since the last "episode" with the vodka (as far as I've been told) so I'm hoping things stay that way.  Although it is very hard to be optimistic when he has "quit" more times than I can count and he always goes back and he never tries AA.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4505382119929783895?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4505382119929783895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4505382119929783895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4505382119929783895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4505382119929783895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-four-forgiveness-part-two.html' title='Day Four: Forgiveness Part Two.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-277832593999692948</id><published>2010-11-03T11:59:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-03T12:17:23.694-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='winter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><title type='text'>It's War.</title><content type='html'>Dear Ohio Winter,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it is still officially the best season ever but I'm on to you, and your cold temperatures, and this year, I am prepared. You may have won the battle that was Winter 09-10 but you have not won the war that will ensue this 10-11 season.  You like to sneak attack after New Year's, with your holiday weight gain showing, minimal sunshine shining and snowy conditions....snowing (Dr. Seuss would be proud) but I have a plan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am equipped with boots and leggings and gloves and (as soon as I locate it), I'll be sporting my winter hat most mornings.  I am reminding myself how lovely it feels to sweat it out in the dead of winter, and how taking a lunch break on those sunny days to get a bit of vitamin D is crucial.   I'm going to remember how nice the snow is on those days I call off due to road conditions (and I will not feel guilty for doing so, since I almost died at least 6 times driving to and from my work on BFE country roads covered in the white death) and maybe take my step-daughters sledding. I AM NOT GOING TO FALL DOWN THE BACK STAIRS OF MY APARTMENT (that's a definite no-go.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Winter, you won't get me this year!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Melberry&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-277832593999692948?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/277832593999692948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=277832593999692948' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/277832593999692948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/277832593999692948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/its-war.html' title='It&apos;s War.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6655915436654736997</id><published>2010-11-03T09:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T08:55:01.472-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bodyimage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ouch'/><title type='text'>Day Three: Forgiveness Part One</title><content type='html'>Something you have to forgive yourself for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I have to forgive myself for being overweight&lt;/span&gt;.  It feels so juvenile to still be carrying around these self-image issues I have had for as long as I can remember; so long that the last time I didn't think of myself as "overweight/fat" I was 6 years old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was my heaviest in October of 2007 weighing in at just under 220 pounds.  I joined Weight Watchers and lost almost 50 pounds by summer 2008.  I got bored with the program so I quit going, then I re-joined that fall, suprised that I had only gained around 8 pounds over the summer. I got engaged Christmas of 2008 and quit going to Weight Watchers due to money by April of 2009.  I told myself I was going to keep eating right and exercising because I wanted to, not because I was getting married ( ha!). It is a wonder what a silly white dress can do to your workout motivation.  I dropped down to the smallest I've been in my adult life, around 185 and had never felt better.  Then I turned 25. I had a crappy winter. I slept too much, ate too much and socialized too little.  I gained at least 15 pounds from September 09 to January 10 (I know this because I ordered a bridesmaid dress in September and when it arrived in January it barely zipped). I was depressed. It was not fun times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spent many years of my life being told I was fat and being made fun of  because of my size and appearance.  Due to this my weight is directly  related to my happiness. Still, even as an adult,  I torment myself about my size.  Everything I  eat I think about if I should be or not, when I don't exercise, I beat  myself up.  My very unhealthy relationship with food requires more time than I have to write at the moment and the worst part of all of this?  The reason I &lt;s&gt;need&lt;/s&gt; have to  forgive myself for this? I have a husband who loves me exactly how I am and I have friends who just want me to be  happy no matter what I look like.  I have to let the past rest.  I have  spent way too many years hanging on to the painful memories of an  awkward youth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So hello, my name is Melberry, and I'm overweight. Deal with it.  I am finally ready to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow: &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-four-forgiveness-part-two.html"&gt;Something you have to forgive someone for&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6655915436654736997?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6655915436654736997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6655915436654736997' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6655915436654736997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6655915436654736997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-three-forgiveness-part-one.html' title='Day Three: Forgiveness Part One'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2731846604759331315</id><published>2010-11-02T08:47:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-03T09:11:12.114-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='video'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Day Two: Lurve.</title><content type='html'>Something you love about yourself.....I feel so emo, I had such an easy time writing the&lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-one-hate.html"&gt; hate&lt;/a&gt; post and now I have no clue where to go with this.  My nose doesn't bother me too much in life, but I wouldn't go as far as to say I love it, plus who really wants to read about someone's love for their nose??&lt;br /&gt;(I guess?) &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I love my ability to look at the bright side of everything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband loses his job? It was a dead-end job anyways. Dad almost has a stroke because he can't stop drinking? Dad quits drinking because he almost has a stroke. Kiddo's mom restricts her time with her dad? Makes the time she spends with us that much more valuable and usually, that much more fun. Have to begin paying child-support on Little One? Husband gets to see his daughter (finally!) AND her mother is being overly helpful and flexible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere between all the bullshit I've been through in life, I've learned to approach things (even if its only to make them seem less awful) with a "things could be worse" attitude.  In turn that makes me pick out the diamond in the rough (times).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, this song comes to mind....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WlBiLNN1NhQ?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;color1=0x234900&amp;amp;color2=0x4e9e00"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WlBiLNN1NhQ?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;color1=0x234900&amp;amp;color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow's topic: &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-three-forgiveness-part-one.html"&gt;Something you have to forgive yourself for&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2731846604759331315?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2731846604759331315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2731846604759331315' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2731846604759331315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2731846604759331315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-two-lurve.html' title='Day Two: Lurve.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1244056067150628047</id><published>2010-11-01T09:19:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2010-11-02T09:12:32.667-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30DaysOfTruth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><title type='text'>Day One: Hate</title><content type='html'>Thanks to &lt;a href="http://tabulouslyme.blogspot.com/"&gt;Tabulous &lt;/a&gt;I've been introduced to The Thirty Days of Truth.  This is an experiment where every day for the next 30 I'm going to blog about something or other in a most earnest way.  I think it will be a good learning experience, so I'm going to give it a try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day One: Something you hate about yourself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a perpetual perfectionist, I could create a detailed list of my shortfalls, but that's not the point of this experiment, so I'm going to pick a biggie and go with it.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; I hate how much I worry about what other people think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing up, I can't fathom the number of times I said, "I don't care what they think anyway" even though on the inside, I did.  All I wanted was to be liked, but at the same time, I was sort of a weirdo who did my own thing and that wasn't always the status quo.  That made my adolescence a time of ridicule leaving me to forgive but to never forget how I was treated. It has a lot to do with why I don't want kids (well and the fact that I just plain don't feel the need to procreate) but it has also taught me to be wary of my actions, because people react to them, sometimes negatively, and that can hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now as an adult (I guess you can call me that?) this problem has become specific to certain people in my life, mostly the moms and my co-worker's.  I have this never-ending internal editor going, before I do many things (ie: say/do much of anything with the girls, get dressed, pipe up at work,  etc...) and the worst part is, it exhausting, but it is also something I don't even realize I'm doing at this point.  It has became interwoven into my normal thought pattern; I let it become a part of who I am.  If I wanted to attempt to pseudo-psycho-analyze myself, I could say I worry the most about what those people who I know don't accept/like me think. Which is so stupid since who cares what people who don't like me, for whatever reason I can't really control, think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do, that's who.  It is not without good reason (at least from my perspective) that I worry about the moms of my step-kids and the people I work with.  The moms have every reason to not like me: I'm the one He chose to be with forever. And at work....well, I am the minority, and I definitely feel it a lot of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the time, I still tell myself "I don't care what they think" even though it is me trying to convince myself of just that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.....there is that, now on to Day Two: &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-two-lurve.html"&gt;Something you love about yourself&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1244056067150628047?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1244056067150628047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1244056067150628047' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1244056067150628047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1244056067150628047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-one-hate.html' title='Day One: Hate'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8970789354521858057</id><published>2010-10-28T09:04:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-28T09:20:39.405-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='facebook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>It strikes again.</title><content type='html'>Stupid Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it was going to happen, just not this soon.  Little One's mom (who used to stalk Husband on another social networking site, and stalk me and send me emails with lies trying to get to me to break up with him) wants to be friends with us on Facebook.  Husband wanted to say "we can be friendly but I wouldn't call us friends" but he didn't know how, so he told her he would be alright with it, but maybe wait until we see each other more (as in, the mom and me). I told him whenever she requests/he approves, he needs to get into his settings and make some changes for what she can see.  I know her type.  She will be all up in our business.  I think he is so glad they are getting along so well he doesn't want to rock the boat, and I am in the same opinion, plus we would get to see pictures of Little One and what not, its just scary? Nerve-racking? Stress-inducing? (All of the above.) I don't update my every move on Facebook anyway, but with her in the mix, I'm going to feel the need to censor myself. And I worry the crazy will come back.  I worry the same girl who sent me messages telling me that she's sorry but my (then) boyfriend cheated on me with her and how "they were really serious about getting married some day" (which wasn't the least bit true) will reappear and cause a bunch of unneeded drama in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe she is a changed woman. Maybe she'll continue to play nice and eventually we will turn into some 21st century thing that sort of resembles a quasi-family.  I would actually really enjoy that scenario, but the worry is still there, and probably will be there for a few years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you have it, yet another reason &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/facebook.html"&gt;Facebook is the devil&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8970789354521858057?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8970789354521858057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8970789354521858057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8970789354521858057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8970789354521858057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/it-strikes-again.html' title='It strikes again.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1632848112252165531</id><published>2010-10-26T10:59:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-26T11:10:09.824-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='victory'/><title type='text'>Little things.</title><content type='html'>They make me really happy sometimes. for example....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not trying to take credit for this, (hah, who am I kidding??) buuuuuuut Kiddo's "new favorite animal" is the owl. They are doing reports on animals at school and she's chosen the Snowy Owl.  I've sort of had this thing with them for years, beginning when I was very small and was gifted my great-grandmothers turquoise double owl necklace after she passed.  Now that they have become quasi-trendy once again probably has something to do with Kiddo's new affinity for them, but I like to pretend I may have had some influence as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will I ever admit this tiny victory to anyone else? No but it is nice to know I have an impact on her likes, (or at least I like to think so?) even if its something as trivial as "favorite animal" which will probably change 10 more times in the coming years, but oh well. Score one for step-moms every where.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1632848112252165531?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1632848112252165531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1632848112252165531' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1632848112252165531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1632848112252165531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/little-things.html' title='Little things.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-9091291792942252583</id><published>2010-10-14T09:26:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T10:07:47.872-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>(Pleasantly)Surprised.</title><content type='html'>Child support procedures are pretty messed up these days.  The amount my husband is responsible for paying each month was established on September 13.  Approximately a week after this, he received a letter stating he was past due and owed X amount of dollars by the following Wednesday.  After some quick math and a Monday morning call to the Child Support Enforcement Agency(CSEA for short) the reason was established: he owed back payments from the date he received the court papers.  That was Father's Day. I guess they expect people to pull a number out of their hineys and save moolah whilst they wait 3 months for their court date where the actual amount of support to be paid is established??  I definitely gained a few wrinkles trying to make sense of that injustice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(disclaimer: I know there are scumbags out there who don't care about seeing their children and/or financially supporting them, but the same rules applying to good fathers is a bunch of archaic bullshit that really needs to be reformed.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But wait, this post was titled '(Pleasantly)Surprised' although there is nothing pleasant about that scenario.  I know this, the previously described turn of events was scary, especially since once he talked to CSEA he found out he owed for September as well, which was not included on the back balance and to top it off, we were going into the first month of no paychecks for him due to getting downsized. Fantastic!  I had more than one angry crying moment due to it all.  It has been handled and he is current (for now) but it was not fun times for a couple weeks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving on to the good part.  Yesterday the husband got a phone call from Little One's mom &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;thanking&lt;/span&gt; (whaaaaa? this is unheard of in our world) him for the money.  She said she was very surprised at the amount and she told him its all going into a savings account she has for Little One.  She also suggested meeting at a Chuck E. Cheese 15 minutes from us (they usually meet half way between where we live and where they live, which is 45 minutes away) for this week's visit and that it's all on her.  This is coming from the woman who kept husband from seeing his child for years.  I'm not sure why or how this change of heart has happened, but it is absolutely amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The part about her thanking him really floored me.  It makes me believe she doesn't feel entitled to the money, she feels grateful for it and that makes paying it each month a lot easier.  This is much unlike Kiddo's mom, so it is nice to know someone appreciates it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a brief conversation about me coming today, because the Chuck E. Cheese they are meeting at was the one I first met Kiddo at in March of 2007  but they are meeting at 4 so I'll still be at work.  Plus I really want her mother to be alright with it, and have time to be ready for me to be there, so it will wait a bit longer.  Plus I'm hoping for a sunny fall day/a trip to the park for me being there, because I'll probably cry and then I can hide it with sunglasses at least.  I'm a crier, and the last time I saw this child she was a bebe still, and she fell asleep on me at his parents house, and it was precious, so there will most likely be tears. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was guardedly happy at first at how well things are going with Little One, but that guard is just about gone.  I'm sick of having to be so cynical; having to expect the worst, so its nice to see things continually getting better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if someplace would call the husband back about a job....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-9091291792942252583?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9091291792942252583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=9091291792942252583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/9091291792942252583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/9091291792942252583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/pleasantlysurprised.html' title='(Pleasantly)Surprised.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3119817473728055801</id><published>2010-10-12T09:09:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T10:10:41.359-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Money CAN buy Happiness....</title><content type='html'>Or it can at least buy the husband the right to see his child and that makes us both really happy, especially since (in my completely biased opinion) she is pretty stinking cute:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TLRgee1Iu-I/AAAAAAAAAcg/0CHZg64Vssw/s1600/jpeg95reencoded.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TLRgee1Iu-I/AAAAAAAAAcg/0CHZg64Vssw/s320/jpeg95reencoded.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527148719478717410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Little One (who isn't so little anymore!) Last Thursday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is outgoing and full of energy and I love hearing the stories of his weekly visits.  Her favorite animal is a skunk and she loves to swing and draw.  In November I'll be going with him to visit/"meet" her.  (I use quotations, because I knew her from two weeks old to September of 2007, but we are not sure if her mother knows this, and Little One of course won't remember) He wants me to be there when we reintroduce the girls to each other, since Kiddo is pretty reserved around people she doesn't know and Little One is so extroverted and the last time they saw each other, Kiddo was 5 and Little One was about a year and very blonde. I'm sure it might be uncomfortable at first, but once Kiddo warms up to her, they will probably have tons of fun.  Or not.  Either way, we are a family, albeit a very non conventional one, but a family nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are just as poor as when I was still in college but man, are we happy.  Husband job hunts every day, and has taken to Frisbee Golfing a few times a week to get him out of the apartment.  I am not looking for a job anymore right now, because I can't take a pay cut with Husband not working.  Also when I interviewed at a local private college last week and was told the pay was minimum wage I decided its time to put my job search on hold, and just worry about paying the bills and keeping current on things.  And living life and not getting caught up on the problems so much, because really, who wants to waste their time on the bad parts? Not me.  I have step-daughters to play with, an adorable baby niece to tickle, a husband to laugh with and great friends to see me through and right now, that's about all I can ask for.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3119817473728055801?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3119817473728055801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3119817473728055801' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3119817473728055801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3119817473728055801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/10/money-can-buy-happiness.html' title='Money CAN buy Happiness....'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TLRgee1Iu-I/AAAAAAAAAcg/0CHZg64Vssw/s72-c/jpeg95reencoded.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7355407679943996842</id><published>2010-09-20T09:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T10:02:51.289-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birthday'/><title type='text'>TwentySix</title><content type='html'>25 was a rough birthday. My 25th year was rough.  Here's to a much better 26th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7355407679943996842?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7355407679943996842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7355407679943996842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7355407679943996842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7355407679943996842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/09/twentysix.html' title='TwentySix'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-540939792677097937</id><published>2010-09-15T12:54:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-15T13:12:06.764-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Epic.</title><content type='html'>The first Monday of my husband's unemployment we were at a county courthouse, filled with anxiety that had been building over the course of the last two years.  His youngest child's mother and grandfather were also there. This woman, who has caused my husband all this strife saw me and gave a small smile and in that second, I decided to return the favor.  Now, I'm not trying to take credit for how &lt;a href="http://twitter.com/melberry29/favorites"&gt;unbelievably well&lt;/a&gt; things went, but I don't think my presence and playing nice hurt a thing.  I think it was good for husband I was there, and I feel a thousand times better about everything since I got to tell her myself how I have nothing but the best intentions for Little One.  I even showed them a couple pictures of Kiddo as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, she is crazy and hasn't told Little One this man she married, moved them out of state with and is now divorcing is NOT her dad yet (and they have been separated since November of last year) but a court ordered visitation schedule is in place (we should have a copy by next week via snail mail) and he is going to see her for the first time in almost 3 years next week.  That makes me cry a little, both from happiness that things are finally back on the right track and sadness for the time they have both lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TJD9vFb3DZI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/Bfv3_AYQb1Q/s1600/LnN.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TJD9vFb3DZI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/Bfv3_AYQb1Q/s320/LnN.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517188528883568018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Husband and Little One, the last time he saw her, September 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-540939792677097937?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/540939792677097937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=540939792677097937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/540939792677097937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/540939792677097937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/09/epic.html' title='Epic.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TJD9vFb3DZI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/Bfv3_AYQb1Q/s72-c/LnN.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2632679085334054518</id><published>2010-08-29T11:20:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-29T11:32:13.431-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='married'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Year One.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8MVVTgVI/AAAAAAAAAcA/Idk_hnSMDgM/s1600/DSCI0565.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8MVVTgVI/AAAAAAAAAcA/Idk_hnSMDgM/s320/DSCI0565.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510853645368000850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8L5LAVwI/AAAAAAAAAb4/M66Zy36gTSs/s1600/DSCI0578.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/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8L5LAVwI/AAAAAAAAAb4/M66Zy36gTSs/s320/DSCI0578.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510853637808609026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8LXuwI9I/AAAAAAAAAbw/WP4dpyc4R5g/s1600/DSCI0610.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/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8LXuwI9I/AAAAAAAAAbw/WP4dpyc4R5g/s320/DSCI0610.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510853628831736786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8LLHAKzI/AAAAAAAAAbo/My2dFlmPXJ8/s1600/DSCI0438.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8LLHAKzI/AAAAAAAAAbo/My2dFlmPXJ8/s320/DSCI0438.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510853625443789618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8KgLuYaI/AAAAAAAAAbg/blr4G-OEMAs/s1600/0054-082909.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/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8KgLuYaI/AAAAAAAAAbg/blr4G-OEMAs/s320/0054-082909.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510853613920870818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I could not ask for a better person to share forever with.  Happy Anniversary to us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2632679085334054518?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2632679085334054518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2632679085334054518' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2632679085334054518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2632679085334054518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/year-one.html' title='Year One.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/THp8MVVTgVI/AAAAAAAAAcA/Idk_hnSMDgM/s72-c/DSCI0565.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7776744103242565241</id><published>2010-08-26T13:32:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T13:52:35.963-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='facebook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>Facebook.</title><content type='html'>Facebook is the devil.  I've been saying this for some time now, but recently it has really hit home.  Why you ask?  I'll tell you in this handy list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I know way too much about people I haven't seen in person in over 5 years.  So and so got a new car? Awesome. Whatshisname just got hitched? Cool! (Actually, I don't give a shit.)&lt;br /&gt;-Just when you think TMI has reached its highest level, someone else shares something no one needs to know.&lt;br /&gt;-I've gotten more "wow I haven't seen you since high school, you look great!" than one person needs in a lifetime. Thank you, Random Person From High School, for reminding me of my awkward youth. Congrats on birthing multiple children, working at the same job you had back in the day and still living in our hometown. Keep on living the dream!&lt;br /&gt;-People from college "who love their life and are SO blessed and lucky and about to go on their 15th vacation of the year and then create an album called Sweet Summertime with 150 pictures of them and their girls in bars and in bikinis blah blah blah" are  driving my slowly insane.  I'm all about being thankful, but can we say narcissistic?  And seriously, where the hell are these people getting their money from??  Is there some secret underground money laundering going on that I am missing out on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why don't I leave the Facebook, you say? It's not that easy.  I've contemplated this long and hard, and you can't just walk away from it.  People will talk. Statuses will go un-updated. Birthday wishes will not be given! Invites will not be rsvp-ed to!  No, when it all boils down, I'm a bit narcissistic myself, which is why I ended up with all these Random People From High School as "friends" online.  I wanted to toot my own horn so to speak.  Awkward youth be damned! I'm all grown up with a job and a hubby! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that so wrong? (yeah I know, I'm no better than Whasthername and her Summertime album...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-7776744103242565241?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7776744103242565241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7776744103242565241' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7776744103242565241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7776744103242565241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/facebook.html' title='Facebook.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3219864881340938732</id><published>2010-08-25T10:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-25T10:22:46.525-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blog'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thankful'/><title type='text'>Seriously?</title><content type='html'>People I don't know in real life read this poor excuse for a blog? Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, that sort of made my morning....so thanks to whoever from where ever that has ever stumbled upon my page.  And a preemptive thanks to those who may do so in the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you long time.  (Even if the main purpose of this thing is borderline selfish and just a place for me to vent and be random, thanks for reading).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3219864881340938732?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3219864881340938732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3219864881340938732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3219864881340938732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3219864881340938732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/seriously.html' title='Seriously?'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-322345971803743005</id><published>2010-08-23T09:14:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T09:41:07.431-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interviews'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><title type='text'>One Year.</title><content type='html'>A year ago I was in the home stretch week before my wedding.  I was ready to be married and even more ready to be in Florida for the honeymoon.  Life was good and that week in Florida was spectacular.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much can happen in a year.  So much to make you realize what marriage is really all about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I've became a wife I've also became a stepmother, an aunt and a godmother.  Also a person who is capable of caring for a baby for extended lengths of time (I hadn't ever been alone with a baby for longer than a few hours before).  I've become that married woman who doesn't want her own babies and I'm okay with it, even though society tends to freak out whenever it comes up.  I'm learning how to bite my tongue occasionally and just be supportive but also how to ask him for help when I need it.  I've learned how the dishes are not a valid reason to be angry, ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 3 weeks I'll become the solitary earner in our household.  To me, this is the scariest scenario to date.  Just when I had finally gotten to a place where our finances were not a constant on my mind worry, his company decides to downsize the graphics department and relocate it to an office an hour and half away.  Yes, he'll file for unemployment and yes, I'm sure he'll get it, but it is only a percentage and then there's Kiddo's child support to pay and the court date for Little One is the Monday after his last day of work, which we are responsible for the court fees.  And Christmas will be impossible and the possibility of not being able to stay afloat which is very real makes my chest tighten and my eyes water and the room spins and I don't even know where to start or what to do to make this better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a job interview tomorrow.  The money is better, the job similar to what I do now but (hopefully) with less of the BS.  If it goes well and a job offer comes of it, I'm taking it and we'll be moving shortly after once again.  There are more jobs in Columbus for Husband to pursue and as much as I LOVE where we live now, driving one hour both ways to work every day isn't very appealing.  Things are bad, but could be worse, right? Right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-322345971803743005?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/322345971803743005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=322345971803743005' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/322345971803743005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/322345971803743005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/one-year.html' title='One Year.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1271667158378044261</id><published>2010-08-17T10:46:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-17T11:06:33.968-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interviews'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='moving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Just call us Gypsies.</title><content type='html'>I have dedicated some serious time in the very recent past to google maps.  Why you ask?  I'm trying to map out the best place between work(not my current place, but the state capital where a majority of Ohio's jobs are right now, where I may or may not have interviews in the next month, stay tuned), Kiddo and Little One (who live approximately an hour apart) and our families (which is hard since I'm from 30 miles north of Cincy and he's from 30 minutes west of Columbus).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no place that is a neutral good in-between place for us to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now, we are 30 minutes from Kiddo, 45 minutes from my parents, 1 hour from my niece, 1 hour 20 min from my in-laws and 1 hour and 45 minutes from Little One.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The closer we go towards the kids and his parents, the farther we become from mine.  I have come to accept this, but it doesn't make the idea of being even farther away from them any easier....especially since I've become increasingly attached to my sister's offspring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even factoring out the distance to my side of the fam, it is hard to come up with the best place between the kids (in two different towns, mind you) and Columbus. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is my need to be within a 20 minute drive to a Target that further complicates things, since its Blue Signed Department Store Country, excluding the ritzy burbs of the state capital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on the verge of suggesting RV living for us, because really, thinking of all the driving and the cost of gas to do that driving, makes me ill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend on Twitter even informed me the particular Blue Signed Department Store welcomes overnight RV parking for free.  Parking Lot-Sweet-Parking Lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I need to accept the fact that we will be spending some major time in cars for the rest of our lives....and then start saving for something roomier but gas efficient, since my car hit 100,000 miles earlier this summer and really isn't all that great for Ohio winters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It sucks to grow up.........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1271667158378044261?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1271667158378044261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1271667158378044261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1271667158378044261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1271667158378044261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/just-call-us-gypsies.html' title='Just call us Gypsies.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2374761549238949359</id><published>2010-08-12T09:22:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T09:31:43.460-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='married'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dearBff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>DearBff,</title><content type='html'>You are such a breath of fresh air.....even if its only getting together for a few hours after work.  That's the beauty of our friendship, the amount of time spent together doesn't matter, as long as it happens from time to time.  Don't get me wrong here....there are days where I wish I wouldn't have relocated almost an hour away, but I was never set on staying in our hometown, and we really are only a phone call/45 minute drive away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't let people who are drama-filled and negative pull you down, but perhaps remind them its their life and they can choose to either deal with things and move on or dwell and be miserable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you ever think we'd both be married in 2010?  It's crazy to think about, but I wouldn't have it any other way! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time, keep on livin, l-i-v-i-n!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ps-I'm sure everyone and both the mothers have began asking about babies,  I'm cool with whenever, since you know I love me some other-people's-babies :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2374761549238949359?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2374761549238949359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2374761549238949359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2374761549238949359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2374761549238949359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/dearbff.html' title='DearBff,'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-5306238592147192342</id><published>2010-08-09T10:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T11:36:00.756-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='married'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><title type='text'>Lack of Words.</title><content type='html'>I don't have many words lately.  Shocking I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I babble on and on too often about where I am going, and what's wrong and blah blah blah and I needed a break from all that self-reflection; some time to just be.  It is not an easy task for someone who is constantly doing something, even if the something is worrying about x, y and z.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems to be working for the most part.  I've been walking in the evenings after work, so I have someplace to go, something to be doing, something productive.  I made it out 5 out of 7 days last week and I'm shooting for 6 this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our one year wedding anniversary is coming up at the end of the month.  I am hoping we can keep up good spending habits until then to go to a nice dinner at a local seafood place to honor our Florida honeymoon we took last year.  Originally we had planned on going back for that week, but life happened and now we are going in February.  I'm excited we'll be getting away from cold Ohio for a week, even if its still approximately 200 days away.  Time seems to slip away much faster with each passing year of my life, so 200 days doesn't seem like such a long time anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I almost have my head on straight again for the first time in a while and it is nice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-5306238592147192342?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5306238592147192342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=5306238592147192342' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5306238592147192342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5306238592147192342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/lack-of-words.html' title='Lack of Words.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4431394638896568991</id><published>2010-06-21T09:01:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T09:07:14.664-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><title type='text'>Dear Husband,</title><content type='html'>You are phenomenal.  You own your mistakes.  You somehow don't let the small stuff bug you.  You are patient and kind.  Even when no one would have blamed you for taking the "easy way" out, you wouldn't do it because you are such a wonderful father.  You love your kids regardless of what their mothers have/will put you through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't be more proud to be your wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Father's Day.  We'll get through this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4431394638896568991?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4431394638896568991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4431394638896568991' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4431394638896568991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4431394638896568991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/dear-husband.html' title='Dear Husband,'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8287210655122272772</id><published>2010-06-14T08:34:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T08:51:19.013-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><title type='text'>Revisions.</title><content type='html'>Most of the time, I appear to be a genuinely happy person.  I have good friends, family and all that jazz but more so than not, I've got a lot of dark and twisty (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Grey's Anatomy&lt;/span&gt; fans know what I'm talking about here) going on beneath the surface. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an insistent and neverending urge to worry and be constantly anxious about damn near everything around me.  It's exhausting.  It makes me crabby and one giant Negative Nancy when it surfaces, usually around events I have little to no control over.  I feel like its my masochistic job to carry these worries around, constantly rolling over them in my head.  It's ridiculous, yes, but telling me not to worry is like telling a dog not to bark.  It's a waste of air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when I wrote &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/contrary.html"&gt;this post&lt;/a&gt; last week, I was in full dark and twisty mode. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, I was anxious and worried to say the least. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the weekend, I had a talk with my husband about everything and I finally got how he is feeling about all of this out of him.  And the weight seems a little less heavy and I seem a little less worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The I don't want babies of my own thing is a lot more complex than ever....and I'm trying to figure out the best way  own it, and not let it bother me when people try and tell me, "oh that could/will change blah blah blah" because I'm going to hear it for the next 20 years.  And I'm already sick of explaining myself.  In a few years I can just start lying and saying I can't have kids...that should shut people up a bit faster on the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe if I can get over my own issues from childhood (try being chubby with gigantic early 90's glasses, frizzy hair AND a speech impediment and NOT coming out scarred) I may want to procreate, but right now, the thought of creating a little person to possibly go through what I did just seems wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8287210655122272772?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8287210655122272772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8287210655122272772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8287210655122272772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8287210655122272772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/revisions.html' title='Revisions.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1118009386296955464</id><published>2010-06-09T10:39:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T12:02:57.194-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Contrary.</title><content type='html'>I am full of giant contradictions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am bothered by how there are two women in this world who have something with my husband that I do not have.  Plus its something I don't think I want. I won't even try to explain this...because I don't even understand it.  I try to not think about it often, but with Little One finally coming back into the picture, it is hard not to right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my step-daughters ferociously, more than I think my husband realizes, or even thinks is possible since, you know, I've always said I don't want kids...how could I possibly love someone else's so much?  That answer is easy: they are his and I love him more than anything else, so in my world, that means I have the same feelings towards them.  They are part of who he is.  That part is simple to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be strong and be an unfaltering support system to him as we go through this head on, but that is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  I don't feel strong.  I have so many worries and anxieties about all of this and I have my own amazing support system, but it is pretty much an unprecedented situation to them as well as me, so its frightening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I'm allowed to be emotionally invested with these kids on certain levels but not all, (not that it has stopped me, because it hasn't) I get the feeling I'm not supposed to have any say in any of this, but I'm allowed to bathe, clothe, feed, hug, play with etc. Most people would not see this as a bad thing, but I feel like since I am a presence in the life of this child, a legally acknowledged presence that will be there every step of their lives, all the milestones and I'm allowed to do many of the day to day parenting why can't I be part of things more? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are the other woman, (the childless other woman in my case) in a situation like this, its so hard to sit back and watch someone tell your husband when he will and will not see his kid and not react to it.  And to not tell him "that's bullshit" and that he needs to "try harder and do x,y, and z" even if he's done it a million times in the past and it doesn't get him anywhere.  He really wants me to not react.  That makes me worry he doesn't know me nearly as well as I thought he did.  I'm feisty, and stubborn and I stand up for things when I feel like people are being wronged.  He has been wronged a 1,000 times over when it comes to these girls and I hate that he has basically given up, because he learned when he went through this with Kiddo, the system doesn't care about the father, or his bills or life, just as long as he pays that precious child support.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're going to make it through this, and hopefully he will see Little One again and we'll come out on the other side wiser and stronger but its going to be hard and right now, the high road has never seemed longer or more unattainable to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1118009386296955464?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1118009386296955464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1118009386296955464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1118009386296955464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1118009386296955464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/contrary.html' title='Contrary.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3108131047864053207</id><published>2010-06-01T10:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T10:11:13.437-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='postsecret'/><title type='text'>Post Secret steal.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TAUUk8toJpI/AAAAAAAAAas/t0Dz45eV5XY/s1600/winging+it.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TAUUk8toJpI/AAAAAAAAAas/t0Dz45eV5XY/s320/winging+it.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477807146771424914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;via &lt;a href="http://postsecret.com/"&gt;Post Secret&lt;/a&gt;. Happy Belated Monday (aka Tuesday of a four day work week).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3108131047864053207?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3108131047864053207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3108131047864053207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3108131047864053207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3108131047864053207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/post-secret-steal.html' title='Post Secret steal.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/TAUUk8toJpI/AAAAAAAAAas/t0Dz45eV5XY/s72-c/winging+it.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1920551252671804040</id><published>2010-05-26T15:55:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-26T16:17:38.645-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='angry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Parenting (or lack thereof)</title><content type='html'>Here's a tidbit of common sense: If you can not/do not want to take care of your kids, DO NOT HAVE THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE. If you are in a situation that involves an unplanned pregnancy when you are 15, 16, 17  years old, you know your options.  There are so many people in this world willing to adopt your baby because they can't have their own who can give them the love and attention they deserve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My oldest step-daughter's (Kiddo) mom drives me crazy. She makes me blind with rage and emotion and all my husband does is shrugs his shoulders and tells me there's no point in getting upset and that he has been dealing with her for 10 years now.  He has created a very tough armor against her (even though about twice a year, she cracks him and he gets really upset, when this happens, I have a very strong desire to physically harm her, something I've never felt before) which I have yet to form.  Plus I am a woman.  I am emotional by default of my wiring.  I may not have my own children nor do I plan on ever having them, but I love my step-daughter dearly.  I feel like she is getting shafted in the Momma department, big time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her mother doesn't ever stay home with her when she is sick, her mother calls Husband or her mom to stay home with her (Husband is always more than willing to do so, but its the blatant fact that she doesn't want to have to use her time off work), she doesn't take her to any of the activities we are constantly asked for money for (on top of the child support my husband pays), she doesn't feed her breakfast in the mornings nor does she make sure she brushes her teeth at night.  She's 8 years old, you have to tell them to do that!  Once a week Kiddo spends the night with her maternal grandparents and every other weekend she is not with us in the summer, she spends it with them, regardless of where her mother is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever we try and plan things to do with Kiddo, she is difficult.  She makes plans during our weekends on a constant basis.  She took Kiddo out of school two weeks AFTER spring break, for an entire week to take her to DisneyWorld.  This kept her out of town on one of our weekends, and next week they leave to go to Florida for a second vacation that will be over another one of our weekends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really wanted to plan a day trip to a local amusement park for the Monday after Father's Day weekend, thinking it would be so fun for Kiddo to spend a Friday-Tuesday with us, then Husband reminded me her Mom's brother's wedding is Father's Day weekend, so we probably won't see her at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so frustrating.  I wish we could all get along like adults.  I truly do, but that is definitely not the case with her.  I wish she gave Kiddo the attention she deserves.  I never, ever want anyone to think I am trying to replace her mom, I mean, its her mom! I just want her to be happy and healthy, neither of which I feel her mother is contributing to, besides buying her expensive gifts and "taking" her on expensive vacations (her parents paid for DisneyWorld and her husband's parents are taking them to the beach next week)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could just scream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1920551252671804040?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1920551252671804040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1920551252671804040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1920551252671804040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1920551252671804040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/05/parenting-or-lack-thereof.html' title='Parenting (or lack thereof)'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1217344253516217231</id><published>2010-05-21T12:01:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-21T12:17:13.491-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='busy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Life Happenings.</title><content type='html'>My life in pictures as of late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_avTScyteI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/LD9cptyMsb0/s1600/sara+lilly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_avTScyteI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/LD9cptyMsb0/s320/sara+lilly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473755143020393954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm still obsessed with my niece...seen here on Mother's Day....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9J4tleI/AAAAAAAAAaE/6hxDDrCVgKA/s1600/ShelbyBride.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9J4tleI/AAAAAAAAAaE/6hxDDrCVgKA/s320/ShelbyBride.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473755862276085218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Bff was a GORGEOUS bride who made lots of people cry many times on the 15th (myself included)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9foqTjI/AAAAAAAAAaM/EupAmnzE-GU/s1600/girls.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 305px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9foqTjI/AAAAAAAAAaM/EupAmnzE-GU/s320/girls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473755868114341426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I rocked the dress and had the skinniest day of my life (as seen above)....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9nEMcbI/AAAAAAAAAaU/lJOeBrlu6yA/s1600/journey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9nEMcbI/AAAAAAAAAaU/lJOeBrlu6yA/s320/journey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473755870108873138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Later I rocked it (quite literally) after many-a-drink from the open full bar...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9gTmnaI/AAAAAAAAAac/gu5auxqV5Lo/s1600/JocyLilly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av9gTmnaI/AAAAAAAAAac/gu5auxqV5Lo/s320/JocyLilly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473755868294454690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The day after the wedding Kiddo got to meet her newest cousin...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av-Le4i8I/AAAAAAAAAak/4s_FTBwdNE4/s1600/Lillyseat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_av-Le4i8I/AAAAAAAAAak/4s_FTBwdNE4/s320/Lillyseat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473755879884491714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Who we may see again this Sunday (most likely arriving like pictured above)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Yay for life.&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/6827462165441446335-1217344253516217231?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1217344253516217231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1217344253516217231' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1217344253516217231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1217344253516217231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/05/life-happenings.html' title='Life Happenings.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S_avTScyteI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/LD9cptyMsb0/s72-c/sara+lilly.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-5477761928012472671</id><published>2010-05-12T10:07:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T10:44:39.980-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='faith'/><title type='text'>God and Stuff.</title><content type='html'>I grew up Catholic.  I went to mass every Sunday for the first 18 years of my life.  I went to private Catholic school for the first 3 years and then I went to Monday evening religion classes until confirmation in the 8th grade.  Ash Wednesdays I went to church at 6am before school and then walked around with a dirty forehead (until high school where I would rush to the closest bathroom to wash it off). Midnight Mass was just another part of our Christmas Eve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere along the line I ended up in a Methodist youth group since all my friends attended. Then in college, as an Anthropology minor I sort of gave up on the whole religion thing, because really, scientifically, it doesn't make sense to me.  The simple fact that many religious people believe the Earth is a mere 6000 years old and people lived to be hundreds of years old in biblical times kills me.  There is scientific evidence of our Earth's long history and human lifespan is 120 max, and it was even shorter without western medicine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been throwing around the idea of starting to go to mass again every week at the Catholic church in the small town I live in.  To me there is something comforting about mass.  It's weird I know, but I was recently at a Catholic wedding and I sort of miss being at church.  I mean, more than half my life I went every week.  It was just a part of things to me back then.  I found it so amusing to NOT do anything on Sundays when I first moved out of my parents house, but now, I'm a bit older and I miss it.  I like the excuse to wear a dress.  Plus having to just sit and be still for 45 minutes of the week would probably not hurt me any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I finding some old faith in a higher power that I lost somewhere along my way? Probably not. Does a lot of me wanting to go back have to do with my Niece (Baby M) needing at least one active Catholic godparent in order to be baptized in the church? A little. But I also feel like that is just giving me a push in the direction I was heading anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how the Catholic Church will feel about my reasons for returning (I am also VERY curious to see how Catholic mass in a very liberal community I currently live in compares to what I experienced growing up) but isn't the whole Christianity (yeah, Catholics are Christians, just not all Christians are Catholics) thing about being forgiving and loving everyone?  At least that is what I always thought....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-5477761928012472671?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5477761928012472671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=5477761928012472671' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5477761928012472671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/5477761928012472671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/05/god-and-stuff.html' title='God and Stuff.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-8277166231413575282</id><published>2010-05-07T11:44:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-07T11:49:23.231-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='randomness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='optimistic'/><title type='text'>People.</title><content type='html'>They are generally assholes, self-serving assholes.   I know this to be fact, but I still let myself care too much and I let myself trust when really I should have known better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am cursed with my heart on my sleeve and a vain hope that people can change and people are good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's not how it really is and I know it.  Hopefully, I will be wiser from this point on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-8277166231413575282?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8277166231413575282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=8277166231413575282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8277166231413575282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/8277166231413575282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/05/people.html' title='People.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3091261588016592053</id><published>2010-04-29T09:03:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-25T09:20:21.662-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sisters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Niece( !! )</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lillian Lane Mullins&lt;/span&gt; Born at 4:28a on 4.28.10 Weighing in at 5 pounds 9 ounces and measuring 19 inches long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEG0g4q7I/AAAAAAAAAZE/THysPTjhfw0/s1600/IMG00240.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEG0g4q7I/AAAAAAAAAZE/THysPTjhfw0/s320/IMG00240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465544875501464498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;First peek we had of her&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mENcmZFKI/AAAAAAAAAZM/LNU5PNoT1wg/s1600/IMG00243.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mENcmZFKI/AAAAAAAAAZM/LNU5PNoT1wg/s320/IMG00243.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465544989341193378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She looks a lot like my sister, its crazy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEUR7IfaI/AAAAAAAAAZU/1iUZLZRS6eo/s1600/IMG00244.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEUR7IfaI/AAAAAAAAAZU/1iUZLZRS6eo/s320/IMG00244.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465545106734480802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So tiny&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEd4_jxCI/AAAAAAAAAZc/fdvp9snL-ws/s1600/IMG00245.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEd4_jxCI/AAAAAAAAAZc/fdvp9snL-ws/s320/IMG00245.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465545271840850978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It's too early to be up!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEjPY_dhI/AAAAAAAAAZk/uV0WQ27x348/s1600/IMG00246.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEjPY_dhI/AAAAAAAAAZk/uV0WQ27x348/s320/IMG00246.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465545363752449554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I was pretty much exstatic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEsb0zybI/AAAAAAAAAZs/Zv9o3Sw0hbQ/s1600/IMG00247.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEsb0zybI/AAAAAAAAAZs/Zv9o3Sw0hbQ/s320/IMG00247.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465545521709173170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My mom was beaming.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEyND78hI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/wTuDZuCunNc/s1600/IMG00248.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEyND78hI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/wTuDZuCunNc/s320/IMG00248.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465545620825305618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;She's so pretty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I won't lie, I was half expecting My niece's birth to trigger my urge to reproduce, but no such thing has happened.  I am completely in love with her....as my niece that I can spoil and cuddle and keep for weekends and bring presents.  I'm exhausted, because I was up for about 30 hours and then slept for 4 and went back for another visit, then slept for 10 and here I am, but it was totally worth being there for it all.  My sister is doing great and even though she was born at 36 weeks, to a type 1 diabetic 35 year old mom Lilly Bird is happy and healthy as a one day old baby can be.  And I honestly never understood how people can say newborns look like anyone, because they are so tiny and old man looking, until now.  This baby seriously looks like my sister, its crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my Step-Daughter's Birthday is April 27 and my Niece's Birthday is April 28.  We are screwed when it comes to having money throughout the month of April from this point on :)&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/6827462165441446335-3091261588016592053?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3091261588016592053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3091261588016592053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3091261588016592053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3091261588016592053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/niece.html' title='Niece( !! )'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9mEG0g4q7I/AAAAAAAAAZE/THysPTjhfw0/s72-c/IMG00240.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1813635803539462900</id><published>2010-04-23T16:46:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-23T16:57:22.585-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='married'/><title type='text'>Words on Weddings.</title><content type='html'>Tomorrow is the opening day for my 2010 Wedding Season. It will be the first wedding I"ve attended since we got hitched back in August. Before I was married (and actually before I even met my husband) I discovered weddings make me cry.  At least, when I know the people well, which is the case of EVERY wedding I have this year.  I really hope I can keep my shit together at Bff's wedding in May, since you know, I'm the Matron (uggggghhhh I really don't like that word) of Honor and blubbering like a baby as the vows are being said would probably be mortifying.  I'm thinking some respectful, joyous tears would be perfect, but we'll see how that goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't cry nearly as much as anticipated at my own wedding.   My eyes were dry as a bone when my husband and I did our pre-ceremony pictures (whereas he was quite surprisingly weeping...it was so endearing), I had one moment walking down the aisle, and a bit of a moment during my vows, but nothing major.  I save those for other people's weddings I guess.  Oh and once we were in Florida, the night after the wedding and I got on Facebook (we are nerds and don't leave home without our MacBook) and forgot I had changed my name on their the night of the wedding, I burst into tears, happy-yet-sad, exhausted tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, to make the husband dance with me or not tomorrow...that is the question :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1813635803539462900?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1813635803539462900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1813635803539462900' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1813635803539462900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1813635803539462900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/words-on-weddings.html' title='Words on Weddings.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-916548308092277543</id><published>2010-04-22T08:42:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T09:44:31.451-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baby M'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sisters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Baby. (NO I'm not prego)</title><content type='html'>My sister and I had a late blooming friendship that started when I was about 18 and she was 28.  Back then, she was sometimes more like a second mom than a sister, but now that I am older, we are more like equals, although she still has that older sibling wisdom that comes in handy. (Plus she has worked for the children services branch of social work for over a decade, and that comes in handy from time to time as well, with my Maury Povich type baggage laden Husband. Bonus!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BGbAIG1qI/AAAAAAAAAYk/Q32_J_qPeH0/s1600/sis1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BGbAIG1qI/AAAAAAAAAYk/Q32_J_qPeH0/s320/sis1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462943777704826530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Us at my Bachelorette, cheesin' it up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;That is the main reason I am borderline-crazy excited about the birth of her daughter (let's call her Baby M), plus I may not want my own, but babies sort of melt my heart.  The fact that I am officially this little bebe's aunt adds to the excitement.  I married in to 3 nephews and a neice, and although I adore all of them, its slightly different this time, because ITS MY SEEEESTER!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BHV4i4U5I/AAAAAAAAAYs/dgETl6K8JBQ/s1600/sis2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BHV4i4U5I/AAAAAAAAAYs/dgETl6K8JBQ/s320/sis2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462944789281919890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;At her work shower, she was about 6 1/2 months here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Yesterday I went down for a visit.  They have gotten the room all ready for Baby M. and also renovated their bathroom and I needed to see both, along with Sister's growing belly.  I had also been collecting random things since March to give her, since I can't help myself when it comes to baby clothes/accessories.  Magnify that by it being my sister and I'm pretty much constantly buying something for the not-even-born-yet child. There's a good chance she may end up being the only from-birth grandchild for both sets of her grandparents.  (I say from birth, since my mom has already taken to buying Kiddo and Little One gifts whenever appropriate plus random things whenever she feels like it.) Needless to say,  Baby M. will not want for anything, but I know she won't be spoiled rotten either, at least not from my sister and brother-in-law, they are both going to be awesome parents. Me? I'm going to cuddle her, buy her things, even babysit occassionally and when she's older, keep her on weekends and then give her back til next time.  I made one small change to Baby M's room:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BJ5wAvdjI/AAAAAAAAAY0/jDYyROHsyk0/s1600/sis3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BJ5wAvdjI/AAAAAAAAAY0/jDYyROHsyk0/s320/sis3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462947604489795122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;There was a random dress hanging where the best onesie ever now resides, a close up:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BKLl1VPNI/AAAAAAAAAY8/z_Fbg0ZCTPw/s1600/sis4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BKLl1VPNI/AAAAAAAAAY8/z_Fbg0ZCTPw/s320/sis4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462947910995229906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;At least I hope she will.  Only a few more weeks til she's here.  Plus I'll be conveniently in my hometown for my bff's wedding around the time Sister thinks they are going to induce her, if Baby M doesn't decide its time to meet the world before then.  Life is pretty unpredictable, so either way, I'll be meeting my new lil neice real soon.  Who's ridiculously excited about this fact? That would be me :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-916548308092277543?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/916548308092277543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=916548308092277543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/916548308092277543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/916548308092277543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/baby-no-im-not-prego.html' title='Baby. (NO I&apos;m not prego)'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S9BGbAIG1qI/AAAAAAAAAYk/Q32_J_qPeH0/s72-c/sis1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2678496352262388234</id><published>2010-04-20T08:49:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T09:09:16.528-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='busy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleeping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='optimistic'/><title type='text'>What day is it?</title><content type='html'>Life goes on. I keep going.  There are a million and a half things going on for me right now. I've stopped caring when I can't remember what day it is right away in the morning time.  If its still dark out and the alarm is going off, it means get out of bed and exercise. If I wake up on my own to pee, its probably about 7:30 and I forgot to turn on said alarm or its the weekend and its time to go back to sleep. If the sun is shining through my windows, its probably the weekend, which means I need to  get up at some point and exercise before I do anything else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to Chicago for work.  It was fun times. It has also added to my confusion and made it painful to come back to work, but whatever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Operation fit into dress is in full swing.  I got real worried this morning (I'm having a I-feel-like-a-beached-whale-I'm-so-fat day, so that doesn't help) but I'm going to calm myself by calling the alteration place that did my wedding dress and see when I could bring it by, just in case there is something to be done to give me some wiggle room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My niece should be here the day before my bff gets married.  Which means I probably won't be there at the hospital, but I will get to go visit Sunday before going back home.  I am still buying adorable tiny things for her.  I love her already, and I haven't even met her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could not be happier for all these life changing events going on with people I hold so dear.  Summer will be even sweeter this year though, because I'll have some serious down time starting Memorial Day weekend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2678496352262388234?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2678496352262388234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2678496352262388234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2678496352262388234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2678496352262388234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-day-is-it.html' title='What day is it?'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6226072511672426021</id><published>2010-04-13T09:06:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T09:10:09.636-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dearBff'/><title type='text'>Oops!</title><content type='html'>(I just remembered my bff follows me on Twitter, and my blog is linked to that....not sure if she reads this often, but just in case)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Bff-bride-to-be,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please don't worry....I'm making it work!  I just don't want to give you something else to worry about right now, that's the only reason I didn't tell ya :) I'm working my butt off and I'm investing in some awesome spanx and I'll be fabulous (but not more fabulous than you!) come May 15th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love,&lt;br /&gt;Your MOH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6226072511672426021?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6226072511672426021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6226072511672426021' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6226072511672426021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6226072511672426021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/oops.html' title='Oops!'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3063138637787074567</id><published>2010-04-13T08:42:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T09:04:03.654-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fail'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dress'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><title type='text'>Ooooouuuuuchhh.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S8RqO7OyjKI/AAAAAAAAAYU/uhwaO8U1heg/s1600/et7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S8RqO7OyjKI/AAAAAAAAAYU/uhwaO8U1heg/s320/et7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459605452930321570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ET can relate....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I am a glutton for punishment.  My thighs are screaming at me every time I sit, stand and walk right now.  All in the name of friendship....and procrastination too.  You remember all that &lt;a href="http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/motivation.html"&gt;talk of motivation&lt;/a&gt; back in January? Well, it didn't really sink in.  I put on the bridesmaid dress I'm wearing on May 15th this past Saturday and there was absolutely no zipping. It fit better in January. (In my defense, in January I hadn't eaten anything that day and I had on my sleekest panties, when I put it on Saturday, it was about 9pm and I don't even remember what undies I was wearing...so there's that.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I have begun intense workout/lock down on my eating habits because the eye of my mother-in-law (who has made her own clothes for years) says the dress can't be let out.  I'm probably going to take it someplace where they do professional wedding attire alterations just to be sure, but I'm not holding my breath (or I should say, I will be, if it can't be let out. Hah!) or to see if there is anything else to be done to fit my larger-than-they-were-in-September hips, thighs and badonk-a-donk. (I like to make jokes...it makes it less depressing!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not talking to my bff who is the bride for said wedding about this predicament has been very hard, but I haven't.  She is usually my go-to for anxiety comfort, since I've known her so long and she wouldn't lie to me and tell me "everything will be fine" unless it would be but I don't want her to worry about the size of my behind when I am worrying about it enough for both of us (and then some) plus she is the one getting married, and she has a zillion other things to worry about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really, ridiculously sore right now through the thighs because that's how intense the lower body workout part of this video is (a la &lt;a href="http://tabulouslyme.blogspot.com/"&gt;Tabulous&lt;/a&gt;, thanks again chica, and if you want it back ever, lemme know!) but the husband keeps telling me its a good thing, because that means its working.  I am trying to remember that I hobble around like a 75 year old woman with the arthritis, eat nothing but leafy greens, whole wheat everything and drink 5 gallons of water a day.  Oh and almost falling down the back stairs of our apartment (that would have been the 3rd time in 2 years) due to a combo of stiff legs and wearing new shoes.  Luckily I caught myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no one to blame but myself....but I'm not blaming, just finally being hardcore about things.  Since my bod loves those endorphins, I'm in a better mood and pretty optimistic I'll be able to get into it again in time.  I may not get smaller than when I had the dress on in January, but at least then I can stand there in it...and then not sit down all night...sitting is overrated anyways.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3063138637787074567?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3063138637787074567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3063138637787074567' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3063138637787074567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3063138637787074567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/ooooouuuuuchhh.html' title='Ooooouuuuuchhh.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S8RqO7OyjKI/AAAAAAAAAYU/uhwaO8U1heg/s72-c/et7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4129804688604316649</id><published>2010-04-12T08:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T09:05:33.951-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='postsecret'/><title type='text'>Hijacked Secret.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S8MZuXPAAKI/AAAAAAAAAYM/tKfhS-kCgqo/s1600/asimlivingit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S8MZuXPAAKI/AAAAAAAAAYM/tKfhS-kCgqo/s320/asimlivingit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459235457604780194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I think this is a truth everyone can relate to.  I am going to try and remember this more often in the coming weeks, even with all my social and work busy-ness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4129804688604316649?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4129804688604316649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4129804688604316649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4129804688604316649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4129804688604316649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/hijacked-secret.html' title='Hijacked Secret.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S8MZuXPAAKI/AAAAAAAAAYM/tKfhS-kCgqo/s72-c/asimlivingit.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-2193001991713612825</id><published>2010-04-09T13:50:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T13:56:03.510-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='angry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><title type='text'>@!#*</title><content type='html'>It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't treated like I don't have 15 other things to do right now; if they considered what else I have to do right now before demanding I do something that can really wait until later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't act like I am an idiot because I am woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wouldn't be so bad if this whole place wasn't a clusterfuck of an institution, where NOTHING is does in a timely manner or in the most efficient way possible and where EVERYTHING is a jumbled mess and people don't even perform their jobs consistently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it is bad because of these things.....and I really don't know how much more I can't take of it. &lt;br /&gt;This place is making me crazy and unhappy and I just want to say fuck it and leave right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I won't. I'm too responsible to do such a thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-2193001991713612825?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2193001991713612825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=2193001991713612825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2193001991713612825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/2193001991713612825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post.html' title='@!#*'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-991094179471161018</id><published>2010-04-02T11:00:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-02T11:02:35.244-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='QuoteoftheWeek'/><title type='text'>Quote of the week.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7YGq7trWpI/AAAAAAAAAYE/-uJrPI3j95w/s1600/garth.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7YGq7trWpI/AAAAAAAAAYE/-uJrPI3j95w/s320/garth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455555333259483794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm much too young to feel this damn old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Oh Garth, you always had a way with words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-991094179471161018?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/991094179471161018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=991094179471161018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/991094179471161018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/991094179471161018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/quote-of-week.html' title='Quote of the week.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7YGq7trWpI/AAAAAAAAAYE/-uJrPI3j95w/s72-c/garth.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-7692484001906684261</id><published>2010-04-01T09:58:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T10:22:42.202-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bills'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='IKEA'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment makeover'/><title type='text'>Inner Conflict.</title><content type='html'>I finally did it.  I reorganized our bills/mail/nonsense "landing strip" area last night.  It was not as fun as I thought it would be, nor does it look as awesome as I imagined.  Either way, it is much more streamlined and tidy, which I hope will help quell my inner demons since its the first place I see when I get home and the last place I see before leaving.  (I remembered to take before and after pictures for once, but haven't gotten them on a computer yet....maybe tomorrow?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some reason, I just can't let clutter be.  I have a theory on this: when my brain is a cluttered mess, I can't stand my physical surroundings to be the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got up off the couch to go to bed at 10 last night. I actually got into bed at 10:25, after I cleaned up the kitchen, fed the cat, picked out what I'm wearing right now, brushed my teeth and huffed and puffed about how messy the bedroom has become.  It's a reoccurring trend.  Our clothes storage consists of one four drawer dresser and a normal size closet with an extremely warped single pole (which causes everything to slide towards the middle) and piles of insanity underneath.  I think I might have to visit IKEA soon and buy this guy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7SodrpYzjI/AAAAAAAAAX0/7Kh_jKP7pK0/s1600/Malm+dresser.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7SodrpYzjI/AAAAAAAAAX0/7Kh_jKP7pK0/s320/Malm+dresser.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455170276538502706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it would be as step in the right direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, there is a house in the town where Kiddo lives (right around the block from her house, to be exact) that keeps dropping in price.  It's a fixer, but it has its high points: two car garage, big deck and yard, 1.5 bathrooms and decent sized rooms so we are considering it.  I think it has potential (unless there is something crazy bad wrong with the foundation, roof and/or any mention of the word "mold" and its a no go) Although neither of us is ecstatic to move to this town we decided it won't be forever. Plus it is so close to Kiddo and 30 minutes closer to Little One. We are going to get pre-approved through our Credit Union and then call the Realtor for a possible showing Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7SrY9HJG5I/AAAAAAAAAX8/jrJhEcCvKRE/s1600/boyce.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7SrY9HJG5I/AAAAAAAAAX8/jrJhEcCvKRE/s320/boyce.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455173493862243218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Possible future casa de Melberry?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Stay tuned for more on this...among other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&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/6827462165441446335-7692484001906684261?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7692484001906684261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=7692484001906684261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7692484001906684261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/7692484001906684261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/inner-conflict.html' title='Inner Conflict.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S7SodrpYzjI/AAAAAAAAAX0/7Kh_jKP7pK0/s72-c/Malm+dresser.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-6696881901558455232</id><published>2010-03-24T10:17:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-24T11:16:21.939-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jobs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment makeover'/><title type='text'>Pause.</title><content type='html'>Apartment Makeover has come to a standstill for various reasons:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I'm busy....like, reeeeeally busy for the next two months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We are (like always) tight on money which isn't anything new, but its way easier to plan and execute when money is not a part of the equation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I can't seem to decide what to do first...I keep jumping from room to room in my head and since I can't choose where to start, I choose to not start anything. (Lame I know)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I want to do the (awful) task of re-organizing our filing system for bills/mail before I do anything else, but I can't seem to force myself into doing so.  This, in turn, effects our "land strip" area which would make me SO happy to clear out the clutter from.  It is the first place I see when I get home and the last place I look when I leave..but still hasn't happened.  Le sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I've been feeling pretty.......overwhelmed by my own life choices lately*.  Which is awful timing, since I'm so busy with two amazing and happy milestones of two amazing ladies in my life.  This past weekend has proved I can at least push all my BS to the side when it counts the most since both showers were a hit (I had bridal on Saturday for bff and baby on Sunday for my best (only) sister.  I am so ridiculously happy for both of them....I can't wait for wedding day for bff and birth day for sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't decide what is the best option to fix my job/career/go back to school dilemma, so much like choosing a starting point for redecorating the apartment, I choose to do nothing**.  Which doesn't help me at all.  Meanwhile, I'm stuck in this absolutely crap (besides the pay) job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been channeling this mantra lately, along with plotting to buy a large print of it as soon as possible:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6oiJ5TJAfI/AAAAAAAAAXs/YM0GVEryiJ8/s1600/calm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6oiJ5TJAfI/AAAAAAAAAXs/YM0GVEryiJ8/s320/calm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452207852280676850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Cause, really, what else am I supposed to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Strictly job/career related.  My Husband is the one thing I know I chose correctly in life.&lt;br /&gt;**Besides frantically search, on an almost daily basis, for another job I'm qualified for which pays about the same as what I'm making now.  I've discovered I'm overpaid for my qualifications, or at least that's how it looks to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-6696881901558455232?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6696881901558455232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=6696881901558455232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6696881901558455232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/6696881901558455232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/pause.html' title='Pause.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6oiJ5TJAfI/AAAAAAAAAXs/YM0GVEryiJ8/s72-c/calm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3339322826336160206</id><published>2010-03-22T11:07:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T11:27:41.276-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dreams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='KittyCat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tired'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='married'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='busy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleeping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><title type='text'>Ghosts.</title><content type='html'>I've only had one real heartbreak in my life. Then I dated a bunch of losers for short time spans, then I quit dating all together, then I met my husband. It's pretty cut and dry when it comes to my relationship past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always take pride in how relatively good our relationship has been and continues to be.  No, it isn't perfect, but we really try to keep it on the good side of things.  We haven't had a huge fight since we got married and to date we've only had a handful of serious arguments.  We get along well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since things have been serious, I have had the same quasi-reoccurring dream.  It is never the exact same situation, it usually varies as to what is going on with our lives at that given time, but it always ends with Husband telling me he's not happy and this is not working and he's leaving.  It is always completely from left field and there is no discussion about things.  Sometimes I realize it's a dream and sometimes I don't.  Either way, it always leaves me with a very bad taste in my mouth when I wake up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is exactly how my one heartbreak went, many years ago, when I was a mere 19 years old. It sucked, but I recovered.  I never really thought it scarred me all that much because with time I gained wisdom and often joke about how I don't even know what I was thinking dating him in the first place, let alone getting so in over my head about him.  I guess I should give the break up more credit, since it's still haunting me, periodocially through really vivid, awful my-husband-is-leaving-me-for-no-reason dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a very, very busy weekend, with my bff's Bridal Shower on Saturday and my sister's Baby Shower on Sunday.  I found out this morning I slept walked last night, which I've only done once or twice in my whole life, I was very tired to say the least.  When I woke up, I decided it was a good idea to sleep a bit longer and come into work around 10 or 11. It's Spring Break and my head boss is out for the week, so not a big deal.  Husband left about 8:30, coming in and saying goodbye with a kiss and then I snuggled up with the kitty and went back to sleep.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up at 9, I was crying hysterically and truly thought my husband had moved out, since you know, he wasn't in bed with me which he usually is when I go to work on time, which I had completely forgotten I called in late to work.  It was awful.  The dream was so vivid, and it took  place in our apartment, with him talking about things that have been going on in our lives as the reasons he had already found an apartment to rent in the town where he works and his parents and sister were there to help him move....it was bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I can't get it out of my head...thus the annoying re-telling that just occurred.  My silver lining is I got to listen to the BBC Newshour on NPR on the way into work....oh and its really quiet around here as well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3339322826336160206?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3339322826336160206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3339322826336160206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3339322826336160206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3339322826336160206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/ghosts.html' title='Ghosts.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-1656197014687075176</id><published>2010-03-19T09:48:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T09:50:59.616-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='video'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Songs I love.</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-jnh1Nx7m6s&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-jnh1Nx7m6s&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-1656197014687075176?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1656197014687075176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=1656197014687075176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1656197014687075176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/1656197014687075176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/songs-i-love.html' title='Songs I love.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-574601537307327855</id><published>2010-03-18T10:14:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T15:13:28.995-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Step-parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Letter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriedlife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='worry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little One'/><title type='text'>Letter.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6CD_YChI/AAAAAAAAAXM/ouvEb0_byO0/s1600-h/DSCI0050.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6CD_YChI/AAAAAAAAAXM/ouvEb0_byO0/s320/DSCI0050.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450052674921171474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Little One,&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You are not so little anymore.  You'll be four years old on July 5!  You will always be the younger daughter; the second daughter, but you will always be your father's daughter.  Today your paternal grandma (your daddy's mommy) who hasn't seen you in almost 3 years either, is meeting you and your mother for lunch.  I hope you like her and I hope your grandma can talk some sense into your mother.  We want to see you so badly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6DyAjaQI/AAAAAAAAAXk/NDniYl4nhKE/s1600-h/DSCI0053.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6DyAjaQI/AAAAAAAAAXk/NDniYl4nhKE/s320/DSCI0053.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450052704454011138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your daddy wants to be in your life even though the circumstances and events over the short time you've been on this planet have kept him from doing that.  I want you to know he is a good person, and he tried to do what was right, even though some people made that very difficult for him. I want to be your step-mommy, too.  I remember the first night your daddy had you over night.  I don't think I'd ever been around a baby that small in my life and I remember thinking, "wow you are so tiny and pink."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6DWRkzKI/AAAAAAAAAXc/tK2sWnCV8-k/s1600-h/DSCI0052.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6DWRkzKI/AAAAAAAAAXc/tK2sWnCV8-k/s320/DSCI0052.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450052697009212578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember the last time I saw you.  We were at your paternal grandparents house, with your older half sister (aka Kiddo) and her cousin.  You were a bit fussy after eating and wouldn't go down for a nap.  So I held you until you fell asleep.  I didn't know that was the last time I would see you, and I think about that day often while I wonder how you have changed and grown since then.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6Coydl2I/AAAAAAAAAXU/a0NaP1wrbNs/s1600-h/DSCI0051.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/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6Coydl2I/AAAAAAAAAXU/a0NaP1wrbNs/s320/DSCI0051.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450052684799121250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We can't change the past and we'll never get back the 2 1/2 years we've missed, but hopefully in the near, near future we can start over and be a part of your life (and you a part of ours) in a more permanent sort of way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lots of Love,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your Step-Mommy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6I6YyyjKXI/AAAAAAAAAW8/aS94bBabQDg/s1600-h/nevi95smile.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6I6YyyjKXI/AAAAAAAAAW8/aS94bBabQDg/s1600-h/nevi95smile.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6I6YyyjKXI/AAAAAAAAAW8/aS94bBabQDg/s320/nevi95smile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449982696696785266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:small;"&gt;Little One, date unknown, but more current than any photo we have.  Sent from her mom, to Husband's mom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-574601537307327855?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/574601537307327855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=574601537307327855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/574601537307327855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/574601537307327855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/letter.html' title='Letter.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S6J6CD_YChI/AAAAAAAAAXM/ouvEb0_byO0/s72-c/DSCI0050.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-4078867926812826925</id><published>2010-03-15T09:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T09:42:51.847-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weddingplanning'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shower'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Target'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='busy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment makeover'/><title type='text'>Crazy-busy.</title><content type='html'>This past weekend I didn't get much apartment makeover type things accomplished because I was doing 10 million other things and driving all over the greater Miami Valley.  Between Saturday and Sunday I did the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-gave a test for my work at our branch campus&lt;br /&gt;-helped a friend move&lt;br /&gt;-got a hair cut&lt;br /&gt;-helped the same friend get settled since I have mad organizational skills and get some weird joy out of turning chaos into order.&lt;br /&gt;- showered 2x on Sunday (really, I don't know how this fit in w/the time change and all)&lt;br /&gt;-drove to hometown and:&lt;br /&gt;-finished planning my best friend's Bridal Shower (which is THIS Saturday) and the Bachelorette in May&lt;br /&gt;-Went to Target&lt;br /&gt;-Visited my preggers sister at my mom's house, twice (once before Target trip, once after wedding-stuff planning)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend has convinced me while I love driving a compact car the next time its car purchasing time, I would like something a bit more roomy.  Claustrophobia can set in when you spend 50% of your weekend driving around in crappy weather.   I would looooooooove the newly redesigned Honda Insight, but lets not get our hopes up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm hoping to maybe at least get our bills organized into the expandable file I bought almost two weeks ago sometime this week.  Other than that, I'm on Bridal/Baby Shower stand by, with both happening on Saturday and Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When did I get a life?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-4078867926812826925?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4078867926812826925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=4078867926812826925' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4078867926812826925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/4078867926812826925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/crazy-busy.html' title='Crazy-busy.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827462165441446335.post-3062728718964527765</id><published>2010-03-08T10:34:00.011-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T12:19:35.492-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='KittyCat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='re-do'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kiddo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='apartment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='organization'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interior design'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='IKEA'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='houses'/><title type='text'>Home.</title><content type='html'>The apartment we currently call home is approximately 1200 Sq. ft. of living space consisting of two bedrooms, one bath with an open floor plan living/kitchen/dining area.  Until last week, it was thought of by me as a temporary space we are on the verge of outgrowing.  Due to various reasons, including fiscal and personal, we are not ready to buy a house so I'm on a mission to transform the home of all our crap into a home that is truly ours.  My husband and I decided we don't like moving much, so until we can buy a house, we are staying put.  Might as well get comfy, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if you know me, you know I am slightly handicapped in the arena of designing anything. Clothes, home decor, arts and crafts, etc...but I am trying to make a true effort to change this.  But I need help. That's where the interweb comes in.  It is chock-full 'o goodies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the inspiration to begin this transformation of our rental into our home comes from reading about a friend's own decorating adventures over at&lt;a href="http://turnrightatlakemichigan.blogspot.com/"&gt; Turn Right at Lake Michigan.  &lt;/a&gt;While they are renovating their first home (something I don't even want to think about undertaking...they have bigger balls than I) there are many interior design topics that come up, and that's what I'm going for.  If home ren-o is your thang or if you just like witty banter, check it out (yes, I just said thang, it wasn't a typo).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://apartmenttherapy.com/"&gt;Apartment Therapy&lt;/a&gt; has proven to be an amazing source for inspiration so far as well.  Here's a snapshot of what I likey from them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the bedroom:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Uc6x56KuI/AAAAAAAAAV8/1PQEejWtOfk/s1600-h/bedroom2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Uc6x56KuI/AAAAAAAAAV8/1PQEejWtOfk/s320/bedroom2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291120528698082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Uc6riEknI/AAAAAAAAAV0/fVS4Dcc8jjI/s1600-h/bedroom1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Uc6riEknI/AAAAAAAAAV0/fVS4Dcc8jjI/s320/bedroom1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291118818103922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I have a weak spot for trees/nature worked into design and I love the wall mounted dressing area for its space saving abilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the living room:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdOCxnvKI/AAAAAAAAAWc/ZkwBHRLdHYo/s1600-h/livingroom5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdOCxnvKI/AAAAAAAAAWc/ZkwBHRLdHYo/s320/livingroom5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291451474853026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdN41tcuI/AAAAAAAAAWU/k1XzgiVCsCI/s1600-h/livingroom4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdN41tcuI/AAAAAAAAAWU/k1XzgiVCsCI/s320/livingroom4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291448807650018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdNVer-LI/AAAAAAAAAWM/V3cnvE7ZZA4/s1600-h/livingroom3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdNVer-LI/AAAAAAAAAWM/V3cnvE7ZZA4/s320/livingroom3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291439315843250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdM7pKc-I/AAAAAAAAAWE/wDijtGp_lKQ/s1600-h/livingroom1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UdM7pKc-I/AAAAAAAAAWE/wDijtGp_lKQ/s320/livingroom1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291432380462050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find myself loving clusters of things hung on walls.  It reminds me of collages I used to make as a kid and since we have high ceilings in the living room, why not?  I also am digging the t.v. stands that double as shelving/storage.  And I will have a sectional couch like the one above even if we have to eat ramen noodles all summer long.  It would be perfect for our living room, and since the couch seen here is awful, our first large purchase will be a sectional:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UfxW5FElI/AAAAAAAAAWs/Sxd90JWf_1w/s1600-h/IMG00100.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UfxW5FElI/AAAAAAAAAWs/Sxd90JWf_1w/s320/IMG00100.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446294257193521746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Kiddo doesn't judge us for our post-fire donated couch and although its functional and pretty comfortable, its very ugly.&lt;/span&gt; (ps-she read that chapter book in two sittings!  She's a genius I swear and please ignore my hubby's scruffy do...he even admitted yesterday he's overdue for a cut)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For Ms. Kitty:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Udhwn0R_I/AAAAAAAAAWk/s9Kb3HcxApg/s1600-h/bathroom1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Udhwn0R_I/AAAAAAAAAWk/s9Kb3HcxApg/s320/bathroom1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446291790199277554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Even though I don't know where we would fit this, I thought it was so smart...it's an IKEA hack, consisting of a $60 cabinet and a $13 kitty door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, all these (and more!) can be found at the amazing &lt;a href="http://apartmenttherapy.com/"&gt;Apartment Therapy&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to try to use updating this blog as motivation to keep re-working our space at home.  I will admit I forgot to take before pictures when re-organizing the space right inside what we use as the main entrance, but here is the after, with a fabulous shoe rack I got on clearance at Target for $6.50: (I apologize for the crappy blackberry photo as well)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UhhKSptxI/AAAAAAAAAW0/RDth3FzetVQ/s1600-h/IMG00118.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5UhhKSptxI/AAAAAAAAAW0/RDth3FzetVQ/s320/IMG00118.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446296177956468498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wall crap needs a do over as well, but for now at least my shoes aren't the focal point of the space.  Maybe by next time I'll have the table removed from what is now a reading nook near the deck doors to nowhere (that's a whole other post) and I'll share that space, or just some pictures of the apartment the weekend we moved in...since not much has  changed since then...but that is about to...well, change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Til next time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6827462165441446335-3062728718964527765?l=bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3062728718964527765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6827462165441446335&amp;postID=3062728718964527765' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3062728718964527765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6827462165441446335/posts/default/3062728718964527765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bassackwardsblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/home.html' title='Home.'/><author><name>Mrs. Melberry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016196445046472900</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/-MeYQNbj3rQ4/TdpfOWUQl-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/9yrLIDr6oDU/s220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qw8IRBWpQM4/S5Uc6x56KuI/AAAAAAAAAV8/1PQEejWtOfk/s72-c/bedroom2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
