<?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-8611416572396926305</id><updated>2011-04-21T22:16:50.357-05:00</updated><category term='toy box'/><category term='Shannon'/><category term='corn'/><category term='sleeping'/><category term='daddy'/><category term='tent'/><category term='Curious George'/><category term='spiders'/><category term='dancing'/><category term='Steve'/><category term='vacations'/><category term='family'/><category term='Memphis'/><category term='Joey Dorsey'/><category term='nap'/><category term='Tigers'/><category term='Emmerson'/><category term='awww'/><category term='hair'/><title type='text'>Rock, Paper, Scissors</title><subtitle type='html'>Handling diaper changes and meals in the fairest way possible</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-4208693957183011329</id><published>2009-03-16T22:46:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T00:01:20.222-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emmerson'/><title type='text'>Two Years Ago Today</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Two years ago today, our beautiful daughter, Emmerson, was born at 10:41 a.m. She was 6 lbs, 14 oz. and 20 inches long.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March 16, 2007&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBGzQpGI/AAAAAAAABig/Ppt6q_Ri_1M/s1600-h/Emmerson+birthday+080.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314000189186417762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBGzQpGI/AAAAAAAABig/Ppt6q_Ri_1M/s320/Emmerson+birthday+080.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never before in our lives could we imagine how much love a mother and father could possibly have for their tiny blessing from God. It's simply unexplainable. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBpZKPhI/AAAAAAAABi4/_2HwVHBEuuc/s1600-h/March+16,+2007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314000198472187410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBpZKPhI/AAAAAAAABi4/_2HwVHBEuuc/s320/March+16,+2007.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBlxcIAI/AAAAAAAABiw/W3eqzJ0XC2k/s1600-h/Emmerson+birthday+092.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314000197500280834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBlxcIAI/AAAAAAAABiw/W3eqzJ0XC2k/s320/Emmerson+birthday+092.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;March 16, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meet our spunky, full of life, cracks-you-up, independent, stubborn, full of personality, strong-willed, intelligent, and beautiful two-year-old.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8h7LwxAfI/AAAAAAAABjA/XitM1ZBkNc8/s1600-h/EmBirthdayParty31409+159.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314003385973801458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8h7LwxAfI/AAAAAAAABjA/XitM1ZBkNc8/s320/EmBirthdayParty31409+159.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though we had a bigger party over the weekend, we celebrated her actual birthday with our family at Chuck E. Cheese tonight. It was her first time to go and she had a blast. There were so many things for her to do and explore that I think she got overwhelmed at first.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8kmkl8R1I/AAAAAAAABjY/5o6dIx08Phs/s1600-h/EmBirthdayParty31409+189.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314006330396919634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8kmkl8R1I/AAAAAAAABjY/5o6dIx08Phs/s320/EmBirthdayParty31409+189.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div align="center"&gt;Here she is doing it her &lt;em&gt;own &lt;/em&gt;way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8kmS7lCcI/AAAAAAAABjQ/GhoM_9x9qiY/s1600-h/EmBirthdayParty31409+173.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314006325655833026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8kmS7lCcI/AAAAAAAABjQ/GhoM_9x9qiY/s320/EmBirthdayParty31409+173.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; She loved the ferris wheel ride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8kmN4a7uI/AAAAAAAABjI/hUh_k9gg_IM/s1600-h/EmBirthdayParty31409+154.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314006324300410594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8kmN4a7uI/AAAAAAAABjI/hUh_k9gg_IM/s320/EmBirthdayParty31409+154.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; "Hello? I'd like to speak to the manager of this place. Some kid keeps bugging me and asking for my tokens."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And finally, for your very own entertainment.... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://smilebox.com/play/4f4449794d7a677a4d673d3d0d0a&amp;amp;blogview=true&amp;amp;campaign=blog_playback_link" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="303" alt="Click to play this Smilebox photobook: Play time" src="http://smilebox.com/snap/4f4449794d7a677a4d673d3d0d0a.jpg" width="386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/?partner=smilebox&amp;amp;campaign=blog_snapshot" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="46" alt="Create your own photobook - Powered by Smilebox" src="http://www.smilebox.com/globalImages/blogInstructions/blogLogoSmileboxSmall.gif" width="386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="middle"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/photobooks" target="_blank"&gt;Make a Smilebox photobook&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, that's right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's never a dull moment in our household. EVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we wouldn't trade it for the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy 2nd Birthday, Emmerson! We love you more than life itself and are so proud to be your Mommy and Daddy! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-4208693957183011329?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/4208693957183011329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=4208693957183011329' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/4208693957183011329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/4208693957183011329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2009/03/two-years-ago-today_16.html' title='Two Years Ago Today'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb8fBGzQpGI/AAAAAAAABig/Ppt6q_Ri_1M/s72-c/Emmerson+birthday+080.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-6360116394979668360</id><published>2009-03-15T19:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T19:15:10.437-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Years Ago Today</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years ago today, I had eaten my last good meal for awhile before my scheduled c-section the following morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb2ZiaJav6I/AAAAAAAABiA/ZywuwIV07Nc/s1600-h/Emmerson+birthday+078.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb2ZiaJav6I/AAAAAAAABiA/ZywuwIV07Nc/s320/Emmerson+birthday+078.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years ago today, I looked as big as the Good Year blimp. Or at least felt like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years ago today, I hadn't yet experienced for myself the unconditional love a mother automatically has for her child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years ago today, our lives hadn't changed forever. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-6360116394979668360?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/6360116394979668360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=6360116394979668360' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/6360116394979668360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/6360116394979668360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2009/03/two-years-ago-today.html' title='Two Years Ago Today'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Sb2ZiaJav6I/AAAAAAAABiA/ZywuwIV07Nc/s72-c/Emmerson+birthday+078.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-4197022575715280120</id><published>2009-03-01T20:56:00.012-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T22:36:36.467-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Little Bit of Everything</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I know, I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My last post was at the end of November, and here it is, the first day of March. I could come up with a million and one excuses as to why I haven't posted in what seems like an eternity, but I'll just stop right there. Sign me up for Slackers Anonymous if you want, but I'm not afraid to admit it right here that I'm a slacker. I'm reminded quite frequently (Mom) that I haven't added anything to my blog in awhile. That I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ALSO know that our almost (in two weeks)two-year old Emmerson has done so many new and hilarious things. That girl never ceases to amaze us at how intelligent she is. It could be just a biased mom opinion, but who cares? Her teachers at school constantly tell us that she is advanced. Well, yeah. It must be in the genes. (I refuse to label WHOSE genes they are, for fear of what either set of grandparents might do or say.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em is SO full of personality, and sometimes she gets a little carried away. Running around in circles screaming is one of her favorite pasttimes. Oh, and jumping. Whether it's on the floor or counting to three before jumping down on the bed, she can definitely keep herself entertained for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;She knows when we are talking about her, retelling something she did to another person, because her head turns toward us, her eyes sparkle, and a huge grin slowly creeps upon her dimpled cheeks as she begins to giggle softly. That just cracks us all up and she laughs hysterically all over again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I don't know if Emmerson listened intently to my English lessons while she was in my belly, but she can definitely spit out a good sentence using the correct grammar. Some of the newest ones have been the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can't reach it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want it." (Tonight was the first time I heard that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not nice." (Do you think she hears that often?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I show daddy/mommy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I go potty!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And her most often used, "What's that name?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emmerson loves to sing. Loves.it. Especially in the car. The other day, Em and I were driving home after I picked her up from school, and we were singing some songs together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How 'bout (pause) Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star?" I asked her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," she quickly responded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How 'booooout, um, (pause) Jesus Loves Me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obviously I couldn't please her and gave up. We sat in silence for about thirty seconds until I heard a little voice pipe up behind me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How 'booooout, ummmm, ABCD?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't help but laugh and somehow got out, "Okay, (laugh), we'll sing ABCD, you silly girl."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That soaking up like a sponge saying really IS true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm always excited to hear what she's going to say next. It's like life's "To Be Continued" episode and you never know when it's going to come on. I treasure these moments because, sadly, time goes by so quickly. I still can't believe she'll be two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I'm going all over creation in this post. Are you going to complain or just read it? Remember, people, I haven't written anything in months. MONTHS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Insert subject change here.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another exciting breakthrough we've had is The Potty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to wait introducing the potty to her because sometimes it's not good to do it too early. A million questions ran through my mind. Seriously. I've reads lots and lot of articles, yet I still don't seem to have it all put together. How do I know if she's ready? What should she be doing to let me know? Should she wear pull ups? Training underwear? Does she need a doll that wets?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. It just goes on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do know that a girl her age at school has already moved up to the next class because she's potty training. Right. No pressure here. I found out last week that two of the kids in Emmerson's class are working on it now. Granted, they are boys, but Emmerson gets jealous when they get to use the potty and she doesn't. Also, a girl in her class at church has gone too. I know you aren't supposed to compare your child to others, but how could I not? It seemed like everyone I knew close to her age was using the potty. I knew it was time to get serious. Her teachers have told me a few times that she'd probably pick it up very easily. We will see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've done lots to prepare. We've bought the pullups, the party horns, the thin girls underwear, the thick training underwear (once I found out that I'm not supposed to start out using the thin ones yet. What? Like I knew?), the potty chair, the doll that wets, stickers, treats. You name it. We've bought it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I hadn't prepared for was the insanity I'd go through trying to get that child to STAY on the potty. She'd say she wanted to try and then I'd put her on and she'd start crying to get off. "Okay, then we'll just put your diaper on, " I told her. "Nooooooooo, doh pootttty!" she'd wail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh. We'd go back and forth and tears would flow. Not mine, but I bet that's what you were thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's not ready. Fine. I GET it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then on Friday night, the day that I found out she had fellow potty-ers in her class, I thought I'd give it another whirl. After her bath, I put Emmerson on the big toilet. I had to hold her up or she would've fallen in. "Try to potty like a big girl" I encouraged her. Then lo and behold, she did it! Steve jumped up and down like a wild buffoon and we screamed and clapped our hands (well I couldn't or she would've gone right in) while praising her. I did feel my eyes well up with tears as I watched her smile with pride. It only took about a minute's time when I realized right then and there that my little girl's not a baby anymore. Such a bittersweet moment that I'll remember forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Wiping away tears). Okay. (Sniff.) Where was I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I tried to sit her again on the potty about half an hour later. Was it just a coincidence or did she really "get" the potty thing? Nope, she was not having any part of it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight we had another breakthrough. I thought I'd try it again after her bath. She chose her smaller potty this time and I bribed her by saying that she could put another sticker on her chart that we made for her if she went potty again. She fell right for it because she really tried hard and it worked!! This time we made sure to snap some pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Satctr_VegI/AAAAAAAABfo/zss-g-Hcgx4/s1600-h/022.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308438525758503426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Satctr_VegI/AAAAAAAABfo/zss-g-Hcgx4/s320/022.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; This is her reaction when we told her we were proud of her. Just to clear it up for you, she's laughing, not crying, in this picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SatfEkAIdQI/AAAAAAAABgo/S6N0-p30zZA/s1600-h/028.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308441117774607618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SatfEkAIdQI/AAAAAAAABgo/S6N0-p30zZA/s320/028.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; This is her pointing to the proof that she went potty like a big girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SatfE0cKlAI/AAAAAAAABgw/fYEXF7cyj3g/s1600-h/031.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308441122187154434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SatfE0cKlAI/AAAAAAAABgw/fYEXF7cyj3g/s320/031.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; This is the chart I made. I think I'm going to reduce the size some and after she fills up the chart, she can get a small reward. The stickers seem to please her just fine though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;We had a HUGE snowstorm come through and we're out tomorrow (just one of the perks about being a teacher), so we'll try the whole potty thing again tomorrow and she how she deals with it. Pray for me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;No, make that pray for US.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&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/8611416572396926305-4197022575715280120?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/4197022575715280120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=4197022575715280120' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/4197022575715280120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/4197022575715280120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2009/03/little-bit-of-everything.html' title='A Little Bit of Everything'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/Satctr_VegI/AAAAAAAABfo/zss-g-Hcgx4/s72-c/022.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-747610527999250929</id><published>2008-11-30T15:29:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T23:22:08.237-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Big Girl, a Bed, and Bunches of Boo Hoos</title><content type='html'>I know it's been awhile now since I've posted. By the time I get home from school, I have no energy and I still have to take care of Emmerson. Believe me, she definitely keeps us busy. You'll see why soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But first...thought I'd update those of you who read my blog but don't get to see her often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh our sweet Emmerson. She's twenty months and growing by leaps and bound...waaaay too fast, if you ask me. It seems like she adds a few words to her vocabulary every single day and it never ceases to amaze us how incredibly smart she is. I know I sound biased since I'm her mommy, but her daycare teachers and nursery workers have also said the same thing. Those kinds of things just make a mommy proud. Our little "Boo Boo" can say a few simple sentences like "Sit up", "Get down", No, no, Bay-yee (Baylee, our dog)", "I seepy (sleepy)", "Tiss (kiss) boo boo" and her newest from tonight, "I show Daddy" and "I show Mommy." She can identify all of her body parts and even a few animals and their sounds such as dog, cat, horse, sheep, and cow. We are working on her manners and she is getting pretty good at remembering to say please and thank you, which end up sounding like "Pees" and "Day-doo." Emmerson is very independent and loves to read and play by herself. We are SO thankful for that. When I read her favorite book to her, I'll leave out the last word of the sentence and she'll what they are supposed to be. She is truly a little comedian and will do anything for a laugh, even if it means repeating someone else's words. Currently, her favorite things include running, jumping, watching Praise Baby, singing, reading, being with family, playing peek-a-boo, and climbing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Climbing. Like all toddlers love to do, especially her. Apparently, she loves it SO much, that last night, she decided to take it to the next level....FROM HER CRIB.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, you read that right. If you know Emmerson at all, you knew it'd happen one day (and pretty soon, too). She didn't do it just once, mind you. The little escapee got out THREE TIMES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first time it happened, dh was in the living room and I was on the computer. Emmerson was in her crib and supposed to be SLEEPING. All of a sudden, I heard a "THUD" and ran into her room. "OH MY GOOOOOOSH!" was the first thing I said when I saw Emmerson standing on the floor looking at her crib with an expression of, "Holy Cow! Did I just escape?!" I asked her how she got out of there, but she ignored me and decided to lie flat on her stomach with her arms and legs spread out like she was swimming. All I could do was laugh. Dh came in and we just stared at one another, our eyes saying, "The time has finally come."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We wanted to see how the little escapee did it, so dh put her back in her crib and caught this second crib escape on video.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://smilebox.com/play/4e5459344e6a6b344d513d3d0d0a&amp;amp;campaign=blog_playback_link&amp;amp;blogview=true" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="303" alt="Click to play The Escape" src="http://smilebox.com/snap/4e5459344e6a6b344d513d3d0d0a.jpg" width="386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/?partner=smilebox&amp;amp;campaign=blog_snapshot" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="46" alt="Create your own greeting - Powered by Smilebox" src="http://www.smilebox.com/globalImages/blogInstructions/blogLogoSmileboxSmall.gif" width="386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;td align="middle"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/ecards" target="_blank"&gt;Make a Smilebox greeting&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;simple.&gt;Simple. Just like that. We've been calling her Houdini lately. She can get out of ANYthing. Just yesterday, she slid her way out of her stroller. Twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After realizing that she might be climbing out all night, we decided to tie her crib bumpers to the top of the crib rails and head/footboards to ban her from using them to climb out. Through the crack of the door and the lights off, we watched our little monkey swing her long leg over the crib rail and scale down the front of the crib with ease. UNbelievable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What to do now? I regularly read a blog that a mother of quads writes. Once her little toddlers came to the age of crib-climbing, she got advice from other quad mommies to take the cribs out and just use the mattresses and get them used them as beds. Of course, everything not toddler-friendly had to be taken out for safety purposes. And so, even though we don't have quads (whew!), we decided to use this advice, and that is exactly what we did last night. We took out ALL of her baskets of toys and the bookshelf (that isn't bolted to the wall). We had to turn her nightstand around facing the wall so she wouldn't open the door. Her lamp was taken out too and any outlets were safety-plugged. We took her mattress out of her crib and put it in the middle of the floor. No sense in putting her back IN b/c she'd climb out all night and we wouldn't get ANY sleep. All that was left in there was the glider, nightstand, dresser, and crib.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbgTccaaI/AAAAAAAABIA/AKvDggsOs2U/s1600-h/046.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274660199114500514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbgTccaaI/AAAAAAAABIA/AKvDggsOs2U/s320/046.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Her bookcase, baskets, and toys were put out in the hallway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbf8PUJWI/AAAAAAAABH4/Wt9i-HEesw0/s1600-h/043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274660192885417314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbf8PUJWI/AAAAAAAABH4/Wt9i-HEesw0/s320/043.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Our little angel asleep in her new "bed".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbfdkjrgI/AAAAAAAABHw/-WSK7upkOEU/s1600-h/040.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274660184653016578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbfdkjrgI/AAAAAAAABHw/-WSK7upkOEU/s320/040.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; All the extras were thrown into the crib.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbe6rKWzI/AAAAAAAABHo/-BbXf5fEz90/s1600-h/038.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274660175285476146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbe6rKWzI/AAAAAAAABHo/-BbXf5fEz90/s320/038.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her room is starting to look bare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbeN9MD_I/AAAAAAAABHg/UGPuf4vRVVg/s1600-h/037.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274660163281489906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbeN9MD_I/AAAAAAAABHg/UGPuf4vRVVg/s320/037.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It didn't take too long for her to finally go to sleep. Today we took the bed apart and it's going upstairs until it's needed again (not for awhile).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Emmerson isn't the only one going through change. SO AM I!!! I had a huge mommy meltdown last night! Hearing Em run to the door, screaming to get out, just broke my heart. I guess when she does it in the crib, it's not as bad b/c she can't get out. She literally pounded on the door. It's worse now that she can run to the door and I had to shut it for the first time so she couldn't get out. Oh, she finally fell asleep after about thirty minutes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;But it.was.hard. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to bed before dh and once he came to bed, he heard me crying. I vented to him the whole, "She's growing up so fast and is not a baby anymore. " Oh, I'm tearing up right now just typing this. I know with the first, everything is a huge milestone because you've never experienced it before. Don't even get me started on potty-training. Oh, I'll be a complete mess with that too. I was crying about that as well. What I'll miss most is patting her cute little bootie and hearing the little diaper sound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's funny that just the other day, we were like, "What are we going to get Emmerson for Christmas?" Now we know. A bed. We're going to go ahead and get a twin bed and get guard rails so we won't have to worry w/ spending money on a toddler one. Gosh, she's gonna look so tiny in that bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Putting her down for a nap today was a mess...more so for me. I told her to lay down on her bed (mattress w/ sheets and blankets...it's not like a prison cell....lol) and she wouldn't. I thought I'd try the hard way and took all of her stuffed animals and her lovey (she calls it Bun-Bun), thinking that she'd lie down right away if I did. Nope. It took about an hour and a half for her to finally get to bed, but she did and slept for about two and a half hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought tonight was going to be another hard night. Earlier we had moved her mattress where the crib used to be and made up her "bed." Once we started winding down for bed, we read a book in the rocker together and then all three of us said our prayers. I had a nice, snuggly blanket tucked underneath her bed and showed her wear to lie down on her pillow. She's only known the comforts of her crib. We did our hugs and kisses and then I quickly ran out of the room with an "I love you" on the way out. She ran to the door, screaming, but calmed down in a matter of minutes. We peeked in a little later and guess where she was...in her bed, under the blanket, head on the pillow, with a book on her chest. That's how I always fell asleep too...when I had been studying, at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNhdN8niDI/AAAAAAAABII/1ZhiAHmhuhE/s1600-h/008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274666743168993330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNhdN8niDI/AAAAAAAABII/1ZhiAHmhuhE/s320/008.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Awwwwww, right? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;The room is actually dark. I just had the flash on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I gently took the book away and pulled the blanket up to her neck and tiptoed back out, closing the door behind me. Mission accomplished!! Let's hope this keeps up! Guess we'll need to tire her out every night before bedtime. hehe We decided that we're going to continue letting her get used to her own area and let her sleep on the mattress while we look for a twin-sized bed in the meantime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please pray for me, as it is harder on me than Emmerson, because I'm having to face the fact that she is growing up and not a little baby anymore. Transitions and new milestones are NOT easy for first-time moms, at least not for this one. I've been encouraged by a few to remember to take plenty of pictures and video and cherish the memories we have with her because they really grow up way too fast. It's a bittersweet feeling. When they're a baby, you want them to hurry and get a little bigger so they can do some things on their own. Once that time comes, you hate that they don't need you anymore. I'm looking forward to seeing what God has in store for her, but at the same time, I just want her to stay a little girl forever because I'll know I'll miss those baby "firsts." Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does all this emotional babbling mean it's time for another one?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&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/8611416572396926305-747610527999250929?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/747610527999250929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=747610527999250929' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/747610527999250929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/747610527999250929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/11/big-girl-bed-and-bunches-of-boo-hoos.html' title='A Big Girl, a Bed, and Bunches of Boo Hoos'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/STNbgTccaaI/AAAAAAAABIA/AKvDggsOs2U/s72-c/046.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8420803567952801299</id><published>2008-11-05T22:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T22:43:37.361-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SRJ1966C-jI/AAAAAAAABHQ/3pkohN7m0bs/s1600-h/178.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SRJ1966C-jI/AAAAAAAABHQ/3pkohN7m0bs/s400/178.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8420803567952801299?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8420803567952801299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8420803567952801299' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8420803567952801299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8420803567952801299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/11/wordless-wednesday.html' title='Wordless Wednesday'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SRJ1966C-jI/AAAAAAAABHQ/3pkohN7m0bs/s72-c/178.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8115036464430961290</id><published>2008-09-15T22:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T22:55:03.905-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Time Out A.K.A. "The Corner"</title><content type='html'>Fearless got in trouble tonight for purposely dumping her milk on the living room floor. AS IF our carpet isn't dirty enough (and we're most likely going to get hardwood flooring soon...thanks Emmerson and Baylee), Miss Em decided to add yet another milk stain to the floor. She thinks it's a game since it comes out of certain sippy cups so quickly and easily. Time to put those away in the back of the cupboard, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's been told numerous times that this isn't allowed and has been disciplined for it. Usually she doesn't cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight we tried a different approach. Daddy made her sit in the chair for one minute and face &lt;em&gt;THE CORNER&lt;/em&gt;. She hated it. And she cried her head off. Hysterically. You would've thought she'd been there forEVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't help it. I HAD to take a few pictures. Why? One, because I had to have proof that something actually WORKED with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tMvRa4DI/AAAAAAAAA-4/AT8wXVzfCZs/s1600-h/046.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246461787781128242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tMvRa4DI/AAAAAAAAA-4/AT8wXVzfCZs/s320/046.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tNFQvSeI/AAAAAAAAA_I/_Ugp1STkJ6Q/s1600-h/052.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246461793683851746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tNFQvSeI/AAAAAAAAA_I/_Ugp1STkJ6Q/s320/052.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tM4zTppI/AAAAAAAAA_A/tJvukFwxWxY/s1600-h/047.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246461790339180178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tM4zTppI/AAAAAAAAA_A/tJvukFwxWxY/s320/047.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And two, it reminded me too much of the countless times that I spent in the corner at her age...at least from what I've seen in pictures, specifically this one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tNbU6DNI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/QKpBXRaersU/s1600-h/image.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246461799606914258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tNbU6DNI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/QKpBXRaersU/s320/image.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like mother, like daughter. Notice any resemblance?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8115036464430961290?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8115036464430961290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8115036464430961290' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8115036464430961290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8115036464430961290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/09/time-out-aka-corner.html' title='Time Out A.K.A. &quot;The Corner&quot;'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SM8tMvRa4DI/AAAAAAAAA-4/AT8wXVzfCZs/s72-c/046.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8896502797025501662</id><published>2008-09-15T21:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T21:36:05.504-05:00</updated><title type='text'>At the Fair</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;A couple of weeks ago, we went to the fair. It was Emmeron's first fair experience ever. (Little did we know that this also was the night before everyone but Emmerson got sick with the dreadful stomach virus. ) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;We all had a good time and Emmerson even got to ride a few rides. I'm sure she wasn't tall enough for most of them, but they let her on anyway, as long as one of us rode with her.  We stuffed our faces with Pronto Pups, corn on the cob, Diet Coke, a bottle of water, and a funnel cake. Steve also had some kind of sandwich, but I forget what it's called. All of that probably added up to $27,362.57. Okay, maybe not quite that much, but you get the point; when you go to the fair, you're GONNA spend some serious dough. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;We enjoyed ourselves at the petting zoo. Emmerson? Not so much. I'm surprised that "Fearless" didn't want to be near the goats. That's a first.  We rode a few rides with Emmerson and we each had some tickets left over to go on a ride by ourselves. We both realized that riding by yourself at the fair is just not as much fun. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;By the time 8:30 rolled around, we knew it was time to scoot ourselves out of there because the little one was getting tired.  She laughed and smiled all the way to the exit.  I think her first fair experience turned out to be a great one!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0" bgcolor="#ffffff"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://smilebox.com/play/4e4459304f5451794f413d3d0d0a&amp;campaign=blog_playback_link&amp;blogview=true" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img width="386" height="303" alt="Click to play Delta Fair" src="http://smilebox.com/snap/4e4459304f5451794f413d3d0d0a.jpg" style="border: medium none ;"/&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/?partner=smilebox&amp;campaign=blog_snapshot" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img width="386" height="46" alt="Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox" src="http://www.smilebox.com/globalImages/blogInstructions/blogLogoSmileboxSmall.gif" style="border: medium none ;"/&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/slideshows" target="_blank"&gt;Make a Smilebox slideshow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8896502797025501662?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8896502797025501662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8896502797025501662' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8896502797025501662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8896502797025501662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/09/at-fair.html' title='At the Fair'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-7325931610463834848</id><published>2008-08-25T22:37:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T22:59:10.173-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"Fearless" Curious George Strikes Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;By now, you probably have a good idea of how adventurous Emmerson is. Do you remember &lt;a href="http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/wordless-wednesdaysort-of.html"&gt;this post&lt;/a&gt;? Since then, we have added to her list of nicknames-Fearless. She is hardly afraid of anything, which also includes spankings from her mom and dad. That is one strong-willed child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This video clip was taken last Saturday morning. Let me set the scene for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emmerson likes to roll her high chair into the living room. She can do it even if the wheels are locked. She had just done this and I didn't think anything of it because she does it all the time for her own amusement. I was sitting in one of our cozy living room chairs and was reading a magazine or looking at something else. I can't remember. The next thing I knew, I looked up and saw Emmerson sitting ON TOP OF the tray of her high chair. "OH MY GOODNESS!!!" was the first thing that came out of my mouth. I immediately jumped up because I thought she would fall at any minute. She didn't. I put her safely back on the floor and wouldn't you know it, two seconds hadn't even passed before the little booger started trying it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this time I grabbed the camera. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;embed name="FLVPlayer" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_view_player?p=" width="408" height="382" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" wmode="transparent" salign="LT" flashvars="&amp;amp;p=6801fa536144b758849cb2&amp;amp;skin_id=701&amp;amp;host=http://www.onetruemedia.com"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt; &lt;div style="PADDING-BOTTOM: 15px; MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px/20px verdana,arial,sans-serif; WIDTH: 408px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link?p=6801fa536144b758849cb2&amp;amp;skin_id=701&amp;amp;source=emplay" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link_image/6801fa536144b758849cb2/701.gif" width="408" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/landing?&amp;amp;utm_source=emplay&amp;amp;utm_medium=txt3" target="_blank"&gt;Make video montages at &lt;span style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline"&gt;www.OneTrueMedia.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;That girl...she amazes me. Fearless, I tell you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-7325931610463834848?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/7325931610463834848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=7325931610463834848' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/7325931610463834848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/7325931610463834848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/08/fearless-curious-george-strikes-again.html' title='&quot;Fearless&quot; Curious George Strikes Again'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8208992987435959916</id><published>2008-08-25T21:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T22:19:22.674-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Baaaaaack!</title><content type='html'>That's right. I'm alive!! (Thanks to all THREE of you that have noticed I've been gone.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been awakened from the dead....sort of. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a zombie-like state once I get home from school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had forgotten how long it takes me to get into a routine after being out all summer. No wonder my fifth graders can't remember what a VERB is in the second week of school. No wonder they forgot that you just can't get up out of your seat whenever you feel like it. No wonder they forgot that they have to say "Yes, ma'am" and "No, ma'am", even if most of them have been required to say it at school from kindergarten up to the present. No wonder they've forgotten that you just can't YELL OUT the answers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what do you do when you forget about those things?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to relearn them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's what we've been practicing since school started two and a half weeks ago...routines and procedures. Of course, we've thrown in lessons and homework and things of that nature. I started that on the third day of school. I, myself, am finding it difficult getting back into grading papers and sorting paperwork and the like. Sigh. Such is the life of a teacher. Our work is never done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got two pretty good classes this year. I can tell that they'll be a lot easier than the ones I had last year. Let's just say that at the awards ceremony at the end of the year, last year's group was described by the P.E. teacher as the "most spirited" group they'd had since they've been at the school (five years). I'd have to agree. I remember when they started out as second graders. They were definitely "The Unshushables."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I've had trouble getting back into a routine, I haven't had much time to blog. That would definitely explain why my last post was on August 12th. Sorry. NO TIME!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also haven't really had much exciting news to share or write about. I guess I need to work on gathering up some stories for future posts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do have one video that is uploading this very moment and will be soon be ready to share. You're gonna love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Shannon&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8208992987435959916?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8208992987435959916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8208992987435959916' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8208992987435959916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8208992987435959916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/08/im-baaaaaack.html' title='I&apos;m Baaaaaack!'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-4271113048449257521</id><published>2008-08-12T17:45:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T17:58:45.087-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Got Some Catching Up To Do...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;....but I'm afraid I won't have a ton of time to do it right now. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yes, friends, school is back in session. And I'm plain.&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;WORN.OUT&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; (That's for extra emphasis, but it's really not even big enough for how tired I am.) &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;My days have been filled with ENDLESS amounts of paper work, taking up money and forms, and trying to get my kids used to school and classroom procedures. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I know there's more that I can name, but really, my brain is so worn out right now that I can't think, and also because...there's no time. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Why? I have Back to School Night tonight at 6:30. That's &lt;strike&gt;40&lt;/strike&gt; 32 minutes from now. And I'm on the computer. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So maybe one of these days I can actually sit down and write a good post...when I'm not laying out on the couch after a LONG day of work (which isn't often). &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Sorry I don't have time to make it funny tonight. &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Maybe next time.&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/8611416572396926305-4271113048449257521?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/4271113048449257521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=4271113048449257521' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/4271113048449257521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/4271113048449257521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/08/ive-got-some-catching-up-to-do.html' title='I&apos;ve Got Some Catching Up To Do...'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-2181925940656008004</id><published>2008-07-31T20:20:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T21:24:28.693-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, It's Off to Work I Go</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;And don't think I'm singing this tune merrily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Today is the last day of summer vacation. I have to go to bed in an hour, so I can get up early tomorrow for school. Guess which dwarf that makes me&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I'll give you a hint. It's not Doc, Sneezy, Bashful, Happy, Dopey, or Sleepy (although I probably WILL be Sleepy tomorrow). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;The only one left is this guy:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SJJv14PUt6I/AAAAAAAAA-I/vhy9G__yhYU/s1600-h/grumpy.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229365088750974882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SJJv14PUt6I/AAAAAAAAA-I/vhy9G__yhYU/s320/grumpy.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;Don't get me wrong. I LOVE teaching and I LOVE kids.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm just not ready to start back so &lt;em&gt;soon&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;On a side note, I was looking at a clip on YouTube of that song from Snow White because I wasn't sure whether to spell it "Heigh" or "Hi" and I NEVER knew that they said, "It's home from work we go." I always thought it was, "It's off to work we go." Hmmm. I've sung it wrong this WHOLE time, like, for 20+ years?! Well...guess that explains the blog title.&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/8611416572396926305-2181925940656008004?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/2181925940656008004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=2181925940656008004' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2181925940656008004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2181925940656008004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/heigh-ho-heigh-ho-its-off-to-work-i-go.html' title='Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, It&apos;s Off to Work I Go'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SJJv14PUt6I/AAAAAAAAA-I/vhy9G__yhYU/s72-c/grumpy.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-1444566759168271697</id><published>2008-07-30T16:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T17:00:51.637-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SJDkh3iiQOI/AAAAAAAAA94/DHEDhdHidlI/s1600-h/Lt.+Emmerson.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228930437872763106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SJDkh3iiQOI/AAAAAAAAA94/DHEDhdHidlI/s400/Lt.+Emmerson.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-1444566759168271697?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/1444566759168271697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=1444566759168271697' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/1444566759168271697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/1444566759168271697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/wordless-wednesday_30.html' title='Wordless Wednesday'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SJDkh3iiQOI/AAAAAAAAA94/DHEDhdHidlI/s72-c/Lt.+Emmerson.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-2154865653199849487</id><published>2008-07-25T11:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-25T11:00:00.864-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dancing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emmerson'/><title type='text'>The Dancing Queen</title><content type='html'>This is one of the video clips of Emmerson dancing it up during the water show at the Opryland Hotel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;embed name="FLVPlayer" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_view_player?p=" width="408" height="382" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" wmode="transparent" salign="LT" flashvars="&amp;amp;p=6801fa536144b758849cb2&amp;amp;skin_id=701&amp;amp;host=http://www.onetruemedia.com"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt; &lt;div style="PADDING-BOTTOM: 15px; MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px/20px verdana,arial,sans-serif; WIDTH: 408px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link?p=6801fa536144b758849cb2&amp;amp;skin_id=701&amp;amp;source=emplay" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link_image/6801fa536144b758849cb2/701.gif" width="408" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/landing?&amp;amp;utm_source=emplay&amp;amp;utm_medium=txt2" target="_blank"&gt;Photo and video editing at &lt;span style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline"&gt;www.OneTrueMedia.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&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/8611416572396926305-2154865653199849487?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/2154865653199849487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=2154865653199849487' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2154865653199849487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2154865653199849487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/dancing-queen.html' title='The Dancing Queen'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-1055091641494658528</id><published>2008-07-24T22:54:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-25T02:12:29.612-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joey Dorsey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memphis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tigers'/><title type='text'>Hey, Tiger Fans: We Met Joey Dorsey!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Well, that was the &lt;strong&gt;PLAN&lt;/strong&gt; for tonight anyways. Too bad it fell through. And that &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; stinks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what REALLY happened:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FYI: We are Tiger fans! This year was the first time we had season basketball tickets and went to almost all the home games. I wore Memphis shirts to school on just about every game day that I could (and even wore one the day after the &lt;a href="http://www.cstv.com/sports/m-baskbl/stories/032808aaa.html"&gt;Vols lost to Louisville&lt;/a&gt; in the Sweet Sixteen match up). We even bought CSTV (and canceled after b-ball season) just so we could see the games that weren't shown on the other available channels. THAT'S how dedicated we are to this team.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I have Joey Dorsey as a friend on my Myspace (not that he ever sends me a comment or anything, but shh...that's not the point!). ANYway, he wrote on his status thing earlier this week that he was going to be signing autographs at Circuit City in Collierville today (Thursday) from 5:30-7:30 p.m. It was for their Grand Opening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Steve and I emailed back and forth today and I asked him if he wanted to go. "Sure, we'll go." Great! We wouldn't be able to leave, though, until he got home from work, which would be shortly after five sometime. He also wanted me add that he canceled a (potential) golf game for this afternoon so we could go to this signing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We both had Tiger shirts on, Emmerson was wearing a cute blue and white striped dress, and we had things for Joey to sign. And we remembered to bring the camera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So by the time we got everyone and everything loaded in the car, it was about 5:15. I'm glad I brought the snacks because Em was being crabby. I couldn't blame her. It was dinner time for her and we were quite hungry ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward an hour...because that's how long we had to drive to GET to Collierville.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We pulled into the Circuit City parking lot and noticed that it was pretty packed. A long line of people formed down the sidewalk and wrapped around the corner. "Goo! Look at that line, Shannon!" was all Steve could say. But we expected that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;What we did NOT expect is what is to follow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After finding a close parking space, we decided that I'd wait in line while Steve and Em drove to one of the deli shops at the mall to bring us back something to eat. I grabbed my camera and purse and made my way to the never-ending line. &lt;em&gt;That's&lt;/em&gt; when the not-so-muscular security guard stopped me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you coming for the signing?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, they told me to tell everyone else coming that the line stops at those people over there because he has to leave by 7:30."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Are you KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?&lt;/em&gt; is what I said...but only in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Instead, I probably had a disgusted look on my face. And rightly so! Because you know why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;WE HAD JUST DRIVEN AN HOUR TO SEE THIS GUY&lt;/strong&gt;!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"Okay," was all that fell out of my mouth. I had more to say, oh did I, but nothing that I was brave enough to voice. I noticed people staring at me as I turned to walk away. They were probably thinking, "&lt;del&gt;Aww, she can't get Joey's autograph? I should really give her my spot.&lt;/del&gt; Whew! I'm glad it's her and not us!"&lt;br /&gt;No more? You're telling me that I came all this way and &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;no more&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; can get in line?! I wonder if that's how Mary and Joseph felt when everyone kept telling them, "Sorry, there's no more room." (Yeah, I know I wasn't about to deliver a baby, but still....I want you to understand how I FELT.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hey, advertisers! &lt;em&gt;I've&lt;/em&gt; got a brilliant idea. Do you think &lt;strong&gt;next&lt;/strong&gt; time in your radio ad you could possibly say, 'Be sure to get there early enough, like before sunrise, even if you have to drive from Timbuktu, or you just MIGHT be turned away by wimpy Circuit City security guards.'? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But I digress.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So I called Steve and broke the news. "Hey, they said no more people can get in line, so come and get me."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;As I watched the car turn back around, others who had received the same disheartening news headed back to their cars with heads hanging down, shoulders slumped&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Once I got in the car, Steve even tried one.more.time and drove up the guard and said, "We just drove an hour to get here. Can't we just get in line?" And then the guard proceeded to tell him the exact same thing he told me.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It was no good&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Disappointed and disgusted, we drove away and went to Red Robin to eat dinner. It turns out that a group of girls who had just left from the signing sat down at the table next to ours. No fair. They must've gotten there early...or earliER than we did. Obviously.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Dinner was okay. We were both pretty bummed that Emmerson wasn't going to have a picture with Joey. He probably could've held her in just one of his hands. It would've looked pretty funny, actually. Funny, but cute. While we ate, the Red Robin (mascot?) was walking around the restaurant waving to folks and such. Emmerson waved to "it" and that's about it. As soon as it came near her, she would wrinkle up her face and almost produce some tears. She seemed brave, though, and kept waving, so Steve took her over to the Robin to see if she'd give it a hug. Nope. She clung to her daddy for dear life and turned her head. "It must be because it looks too much like a Jayhawk," he laughed to the Tiger fans sitting next to us. He got a good chuckle out of them too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Pssst...In case you non-NCAA basketball fans don't "get it," he was referring to the Kansas Jayhawks. The ones who &lt;a href="http://gotigersgo.cstv.com/sports/m-baskbl/recaps/040808aaa.html"&gt;beat us&lt;/a&gt; in the national championship game this year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;We finished dinner and left around 7:15. We decided to go back to Circuit City to see if the line had died down at all. I sent Steve in with the camera and told him to call me if we could come in. He never called.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It turns out that all they did was move the super long line INside because it had started raining. The line stretched to the back of the store. No chance of an autograph tonight. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But here's where a little ray of sunshine dances into the story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;One of the security guards standing near Joey just so happened to be one of the guards Steve worked with when he was with First Tennessee. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Steeeeeeeeeeeve! What's going on, man?" he said as he slapped his hand into a handshake. "Just brought the family up here to get a picture and autograph, but the line was too long." "Well, come on up here with me!"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And Steve walked right up to the front&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;He was about five feet from Joey when he took these pictures. Sure, that little boy doesn't look a THING like Emmerson, but that's okay. Better than nothing, I suppose.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIljz0ZiZSI/AAAAAAAAA9I/pIpEAaOpPx4/s1600-h/006.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226818584430404898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIljz0ZiZSI/AAAAAAAAA9I/pIpEAaOpPx4/s320/006.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIlj0CtrMiI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/fK1ZIYVgTxA/s1600-h/005.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226818588272964130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIlj0CtrMiI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/fK1ZIYVgTxA/s320/005.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIlj0IGNUDI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/O0f3xh-bkO0/s1600-h/004.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226818589718040626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIlj0IGNUDI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/O0f3xh-bkO0/s320/004.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Once we got home, I called my parents and told them our sad, sad story (sniff). Mom told me it would've been easier to have gotten a picture of him off the computer. Gee, thanks for the sympathetic words, Mom. But it's not really the same thing. And I don't know to Photoshop Emmerson into pictures. Dad was a little more understanding. He said I should've gone into the store, held out Emmerson in front of him, and said sadly, "Joey, that mean security guard said we couldn't get in line. Can you puh-lease take a picture with her?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And in our what-we-should-have-done story....that Joey Dorsey...he &lt;em&gt;would&lt;/em&gt; have.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-1055091641494658528?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/1055091641494658528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=1055091641494658528' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/1055091641494658528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/1055091641494658528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/hey-tiger-fans-we-met-joey-dorsey.html' title='Hey, Tiger Fans: We Met Joey Dorsey!!'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIljz0ZiZSI/AAAAAAAAA9I/pIpEAaOpPx4/s72-c/006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-3928875692549049660</id><published>2008-07-23T06:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-23T08:46:28.215-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='awww'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleeping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emmerson'/><title type='text'>(Almost) Wordless Wednesday</title><content type='html'>I took these yesterday while Emmerson was napping. I had gone in to check on her and this is exactly how I found her. These pictures definitely go under the "Awwwww" category.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIZKmOW2-rI/AAAAAAAAA84/VPZfAmApvbQ/s1600-h/Sweet+dreams.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225946438159497906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIZKmOW2-rI/AAAAAAAAA84/VPZfAmApvbQ/s400/Sweet+dreams.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIZKmMRxdzI/AAAAAAAAA9A/nUcdr6xV-u0/s1600-h/Sweet+dreams2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225946437601294130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIZKmMRxdzI/AAAAAAAAA9A/nUcdr6xV-u0/s400/Sweet+dreams2.jpg" 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/8611416572396926305-3928875692549049660?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/3928875692549049660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=3928875692549049660' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/3928875692549049660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/3928875692549049660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/almost-wordless-wednesday.html' title='(Almost) Wordless Wednesday'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIZKmOW2-rI/AAAAAAAAA84/VPZfAmApvbQ/s72-c/Sweet+dreams.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-5768616074485113793</id><published>2008-07-22T06:00:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T16:06:52.996-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>To Nashville and Back...and Everything In-Between</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;Summer has almost come to an end. It has flown by so quickly! Where did the time go? There are only eight more days of sweet, sweet summer left and it deeply saddens me. Do you know what that means?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had to fit in just &lt;strong&gt;one&lt;/strong&gt; more little vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had already been to Destin last month, so another big trip was out of the question. We like to take little weekend trips to Nashville every once in awhile because it's far enough to get to spend the night in a nice hotel, but close enough to home where the drive does not take a billion hours (like it seemed for Destin).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Friday evening, soon after Steve got home from work, we packed the car up and left. Emmerson slept maybe an hour of the drive, while I stayed awake and kept Steve company. Oh, and it helped to listen to our Christmas cds too. (Yes, we basically listen to Christmas music all year round. We're dorky like that.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to the hotel around 10 that evening. The place was &lt;strong&gt;crowded&lt;/strong&gt;. Steve had to park in the way back...that would be the back lot. There was a big Premier bus parked in front of the hotel and about a million cars everywhere else. Do you know why? It's because of "the curse."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the curse? Well, without going into TOO much detail, let me just say that weddings and reunions (whether it be family or the 52nd Annual Class of 1956 High School Reunion with matching orange and blue t-shirts) always seem to follow us to the same exact hotel where we are staying. As a matter of fact, during our drive, we had &lt;strong&gt;just been&lt;/strong&gt; talking about how many reunions and big events we'd encountered since we'd been married. I think this makes six. At least. But who's counting?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So back to checking-in...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked in and the first thing out of Steve's mouth in a sing-song voice was, "Matching teeee-shiiiiiirts!" Imagine that. I couldn't hold back the laughter and shook my head. UN-believable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got our room keys and went up to the fourth floor like they told us. We had to request a room change because the room &lt;del&gt;SCREAMED&lt;/del&gt; coughed (get it?) of cigarette smoke. There was no way we would've been able to stay in there for two nights, let alone one. Steve was awarded the duty of going back down to handle it. He calmly told the lady of our situation. Rolling her eyes and letting out a huge sigh of disgust, the front desk lady said, "All of the rooms are non-smoking." "Well, someone &lt;strong&gt;definitely&lt;/strong&gt; was smoking in &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; one,"Steve assured her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A new room assignment and about &lt;del&gt;ten&lt;/del&gt; twenty minutes later, Steve slowly walked off the elevator to the fourth floor where Emmerson and I had been waiting...and waiting....and waiting. Let me tell you, it's hard to keep an antsy toddler entertained, especially when it's way past her bedtime and her mama is tired. Do you know why we had to wait so long? While we we were waiting (again) on the elevator to go up to the 8th floor to our new room, Steve informed me that there were two girls, a middle school age and her seven-year old sidekick, riding up and down the elevator and pushing all of the buttons. I told him, "Wait 'til they get up here. Is that them?" In my best teacher voice, I politely but firmly said, "Hey, can y'all please quit pushing all the buttons? A lot of us have been waiting for awhile." They smiled nervously and nodded. I had embarrassed them. They knew it and I knew it. When we got to our floor, I looked down at the elevator. The girls weren't on it anymore. Hmm. Wonder why? *Shrug*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had requested a baby crib and they had one, free of charge, waiting outside of the door to our room. We looked at it and laughed. It didn't come with all the bells and whistles of a new crib (which wasn't to be expected), but we knew it would manage for a couple of nights. It was also better than hauling the pack-n-play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVUiCQsgxI/AAAAAAAAA3c/ohF-mV_gxQw/s1600-h/crib.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225675886332510994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVUiCQsgxI/AAAAAAAAA3c/ohF-mV_gxQw/s320/crib.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once inside, I called my parents and told them we had arrived safely, while Emmerson explored her new surroundings. We got everything situated and got ready for bed. It was 10:40 by this time. Dad texted me and asked if Em was sleeping. "Not yet," I typed back and sent him this picture:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225675885760721202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVUiAIXsTI/AAAAAAAAA3k/BQVcqDUJ7uo/s320/Nashville.jpg" border="0" /&gt; "Mommy!! I'm tired and this isn't my comfortable bed at home! Can't I sleep with you?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's fast forward a little...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;We all FINALLY got to sleep and woke up the next morning early for breakfast since we knew it'd be crowded. One thing we LOVE about our favorite hotel is the free breakfast. It's not your typical doughnut and coffee type thing. We're talking omlets, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage, fruit, and biscuits and gravy. Is your mouth watering yet? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;After breakfast, the plan was to go shopping at Opry Mills and then come back to the hotel and rest, and then go to dinner and walk around the Opryland Hotel. I'll just tell you right now that we didn't go back to the hotel to rest because we spent all of our time at the mall.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;I found a lot of great end-of-summer deals for Emmerson and a few things for myself. Steve was the great husband he always is and strolled Emmerson around while he &lt;del&gt;patiently waited for me&lt;/del&gt; listened to his iPod that he brought with him. That's what he does to keep himself entertained when he goes shopping with me. He was even able to finish listening to the Harry Potter book. Emmerson totally missed her normal nap time since we got a late start to our day. Thankfully, she finally wore herself out and slept for about an hour and a half in the mall. Whew! Thank goodness for reclining strollers. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Around dinner time, we decided to just head directly to the Opryland Hotel. No time for rest. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVeFl8M9lI/AAAAAAAAA3s/b_Mo1C-OGjk/s1600-h/001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225686392810305106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVeFl8M9lI/AAAAAAAAA3s/b_Mo1C-OGjk/s320/001.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVeFl8M9lI/AAAAAAAAA3s/b_Mo1C-OGjk/s1600-h/001.JPG"&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Little Miss Independent. If one of us wasn't holding her hand, she'd run off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;It was getting close to dinnertime, but we first wanted to take Em on the little boat ride they have in there. We &lt;del&gt;spent too much &lt;/del&gt;purchased &lt;del&gt;on &lt;/del&gt;our tickets and waited about five minutes before boarding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVeF1tx5wI/AAAAAAAAA30/vRQ95cMfEnc/s1600-h/003-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225686397044778754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVeF1tx5wI/AAAAAAAAA30/vRQ95cMfEnc/s320/003-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"I've got a Golden Ticket! It's all MINE and you can't have it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;We didn't buy the overpriced photo of the three of us. I took our own pictures instead.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnKC8ki-I/AAAAAAAAA4E/gE_mkyRr-qE/s1600-h/006-2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225696364920605666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnKC8ki-I/AAAAAAAAA4E/gE_mkyRr-qE/s320/006-2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; "Gosh, Mom, haven't you taken enough pictures of me yet?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnKSpOmEI/AAAAAAAAA4M/NBt6soNNwWo/s1600-h/008-2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225696369134442562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnKSpOmEI/AAAAAAAAA4M/NBt6soNNwWo/s320/008-2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnKi0hVHI/AAAAAAAAA4U/lPi9o71tdTA/s1600-h/009-2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225696373476775026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnKi0hVHI/AAAAAAAAA4U/lPi9o71tdTA/s320/009-2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The Lochness Monster&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnK854htI/AAAAAAAAA4c/yI4SkywGeAY/s1600-h/013-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225696380478588626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVnK854htI/AAAAAAAAA4c/yI4SkywGeAY/s320/013-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsZ72Iz4I/AAAAAAAAA48/c4EGg9k_QJ4/s1600-h/010-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225702135450619778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsZ72Iz4I/AAAAAAAAA48/c4EGg9k_QJ4/s320/010-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsaBtShwI/AAAAAAAAA5E/aJ1ap0vQxuM/s1600-h/014-2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225702137024120578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsaBtShwI/AAAAAAAAA5E/aJ1ap0vQxuM/s320/014-2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsatTA4wI/AAAAAAAAA5M/4JsUoQe1VEc/s1600-h/015-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225702148725072642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsatTA4wI/AAAAAAAAA5M/4JsUoQe1VEc/s320/015-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsbKBwRII/AAAAAAAAA5U/3Dpqyejd0jw/s1600-h/017-2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225702156437308546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsbKBwRII/AAAAAAAAA5U/3Dpqyejd0jw/s320/017-2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsbSepWYI/AAAAAAAAA5c/TqR2p8Gag-g/s1600-h/020-2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225702158705973634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVsbSepWYI/AAAAAAAAA5c/TqR2p8Gag-g/s320/020-2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After the relaxing ride, we found a place to eat and sit to watch the water light show that would start at 8 pm. Daddy went and got the food, while Emmerson entertained the family sitting at the table next to us by laughing at the teenage boy who was making funny faces at her. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;The water show was very beautiful. It's set to fast-paced music and it was very funny to watch the little kiddos around dance crazy-like. Of course, Emmerson loved it and was a dancing queen from the beginning to the end of the show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took a few more pictures and let Emmerson walk around the garden path for a little bit without anyone holding her hand. She LOVED that and thought it was awesome that SHE got to make the ultimate decisions on which way to go. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;I think the best part of the Opryland Hotel experience for Emmerson &lt;em&gt;and&lt;/em&gt; for us...HANDS DOWN...was her toddling through the main lobby, crawling up the stairs, and running like a prison escapee in one of the big (and empty) carpeted ballrooms. Squealing and hearing her voice echo was so amusing to her. We definitely enjoyed that part the best because it was one of those happy moments that you etch in your memory and never, ever want to forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;So....let's review the things we did there at the ol' Opryland Hotel that we've been to a countless number of times and what they were worth....&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Parking= $16.00 + tax&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Tickets for boat ride= $20.00&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVvO4s7mrI/AAAAAAAAA5k/34ObyvQrRs0/s1600-h/002-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225705244163021490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: left" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVvO4s7mrI/AAAAAAAAA5k/34ObyvQrRs0/s320/002-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greasy not-good-for-your-health cheeseburger and fries=$15.00&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Light show= free with admission (so $17.42)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWK2kq52mI/AAAAAAAAA6A/WLP3H8JeaH8/s1600-h/035.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225735612794526306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: left" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWK2kq52mI/AAAAAAAAA6A/WLP3H8JeaH8/s320/035.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Watching Emmerson run around freely=Priceless &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I wish I could get the video to load.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Once we were ALL worn out, we headed back to the hotel and went straight to bed. No, not really. SOMEbody thought it was still play time. And I'll give you a hint. It wasn't me. Or Steve.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQCU2eT8I/AAAAAAAAA6I/LEHa-uhLD9E/s1600-h/054.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225741312264654786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQCU2eT8I/AAAAAAAAA6I/LEHa-uhLD9E/s320/054.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Future Gamer of America&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQCs2J8sI/AAAAAAAAA6Q/rOweDHQ6yhw/s1600-h/058.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225741318705771202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQCs2J8sI/AAAAAAAAA6Q/rOweDHQ6yhw/s320/058.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; "Ahhh! You found me, Mommy!"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQC7qnIAI/AAAAAAAAA6Y/Zh1n4y19znQ/s1600-h/063.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225741322683883522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQC7qnIAI/AAAAAAAAA6Y/Zh1n4y19znQ/s320/063.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I love to read books....upside down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQDGEe0CI/AAAAAAAAA6g/v5TX7b8VviY/s1600-h/059.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225741325476745250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQDGEe0CI/AAAAAAAAA6g/v5TX7b8VviY/s320/059.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;She finally was so worn out that she was literally crawling into her bed.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQDlX8TCI/AAAAAAAAA6o/Lf4d-vhjr6w/s1600-h/067.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225741333879868450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIWQDlX8TCI/AAAAAAAAA6o/Lf4d-vhjr6w/s320/067.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, not really. She just likes to climb on things. That silly little monkey.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It didn't take too long before Em was out. We slept in later the next morning, but we still didn't miss out on our wonderful breakfast. We got everything loaded into the car and headed to a different mall in Franklin. I &lt;del&gt;was good&lt;/del&gt; had spent almost all that I wanted to on Emmerson the day before, and I only bought her a cute pair of denim shorts that were on sale. Oh, and I couldn't resist the cute variety of hair bows being sold at a booth near the food court and snatched up twelve of those little suckers. They are totally worth the money and I even got a few to match outfits for the upcoming Tiger football season.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;By 1 pm, it was lunch time. Late breakfast...remember? We went over to eat at TGI FRidays. Emmerson had cheese pizza and mandarin oranges (this is important for later). We enjoyed our meal, but we were all so very tired. Steve needed a pick-me-up to endure the treacherous drive home, so we were going to stop at Starbucks after filling up the car with gas one more time before heading home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Emmerson was drinking her lemonade from her cup. Sometimes she drinks a little too fast and gets choked up a little. She did this a few times and I thought nothing of it. Then her coughs became deeper and stronger until it sounded more like dry heaving. &lt;em&gt;Oh no, this is it&lt;/em&gt;! I thought. Somewhere between driving from the gas station to Starbucks, her lunch revisisted her....WHOLE. A big sea of mess covered her and her seat. I had to keep from gagging too. I told Steve to hurry up so I could get her cleaned up. He floored it and whipped into the parking lot, leaving me alone to clean up the grossness while he went in to get his drink and napkins..and some water. &lt;em&gt;Gee, thanks a lot&lt;/em&gt;, I thought. By the time he walked back out, I was already done cleaning up E and had started on the seat. Thank goodness I had packed an extra package of wipes. Do you also know that Clorox travel wipes and travel-sized Lysol &lt;strong&gt;do&lt;/strong&gt; come in handy in extreme emergencies? What life savers. The seat was cleaned up as best as possible. I had to have the windows rolled down to let some air in...or is it out? Anyway, regardless, Steve claimed he never could smell the stuff and said I have an extra sensitive smeller. I had to hold my breath to keep from doing the same thing. Emmerson was fine, by the way. I think she just ate too quickly and had more than her bitty tummy could handle. She slept for a good two hours. And just so you know, Steve scrubbed the seat and washed it with soap and water once we got home. Now it's Tide Fresh clean. Luckily for you, I didn't take a picture of that awful event. I wouldn't want to look at it and I'm sure you probably wouldn't either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because of our wonderful GPS system, we were able to shave off about half an hour off our drive home. It gives you the quickest route to anywhere, even it means taking you down the back country roads that don't seem to have much civilization. Steve started singing the Dueling Banjos song when we would see some not-so-normal things along the way. Thankfully, we arrived home safely late Sunday afternoon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;So.....we had an almost uneventful trip. Not too bad. We had loads of fun and made some more special memories on our vacay, even if it includes the dreaded curse and puking. That's what they're all about, right? The memories, I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to see what our next vacation brings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-5768616074485113793?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/5768616074485113793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=5768616074485113793' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5768616074485113793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5768616074485113793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/to-nashville-and-backand-everything-in.html' title='To Nashville and Back...and Everything In-Between'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIVUiCQsgxI/AAAAAAAAA3c/ohF-mV_gxQw/s72-c/crib.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-5167437592532073062</id><published>2008-07-18T14:13:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T15:11:20.209-05:00</updated><title type='text'>PaPoo + Babysitting = Priceless Picture</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;My dad, who is also known as PaPoo, came over this morning to babysit Emmerson while I went and ran errands this afternoon. He always enjoys the time he gets to spend with her...as long as he doesn't have to change any stinky diapers!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;As I headed out the door, I casually told him, "Oh, Emmerson's diaper needs to be changed." &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;"Noooo! You do it before you go," begged PaPoo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;"Nope! I gotta go!" I said as I was already halfway out the door by then.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Once I came home, I asked dad if he changed Emmerson. "Yep, but it was only a pee diaper." I'm sure he was relieved by that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Jump ahead a few hours to about one o'clock this afternoon....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Emmerson had finished lunch, so the plan was bath and then nap. She's always so, so excited about bath time. I have to watch her or she'll step right into the tub...clothes and all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Now something you may not know about our daughter...she does &lt;strong&gt;not&lt;/strong&gt; like to be still or held down. So making her be still while taking her clothes and diaper off is not the least bit enjoyable....especially if she knows a bath is waiting for her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Imagine, if you will, what my reaction was when I unbuttoned her &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;onesie and saw this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIDvUieJtlI/AAAAAAAAA2s/DUQS6llwCg4/s1600-h/026-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224438703879468626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIDvUieJtlI/AAAAAAAAA2s/DUQS6llwCg4/s320/026-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Yup, you guessed it. Immediate laughter. Oh, and of course I just HAD to grab my camera. Why? If you can't tell, her diaper is on BACKWARDS!!! She was so upset about it that she threw a fit and cried hysterically. No. Not really. She just didn't want to be still for the picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Wait! That's not all! Let me give you the view from the &lt;strong&gt;other&lt;/strong&gt; side.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIDyUzcIXGI/AAAAAAAAA28/UZVICoJx_-0/s1600-h/028.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224442006969277538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIDyUzcIXGI/AAAAAAAAA28/UZVICoJx_-0/s320/028.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;At least she won't be able to take it off herself. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Sorry Dad. I totally couldn't pass that one up. Sure, we've all done silly things like that at least once in our lives. First time parents? Probably. Older sibling? Maybe. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;But Dad...REALLY? Didn't you change enough of OUR diapers when we were little to know which is the front and which is the back? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;I guess now you know what &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; means. YOU get to be the diaper changer EVERY time you're with Emmerson. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;This is proof that you need the practice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&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/8611416572396926305-5167437592532073062?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/5167437592532073062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=5167437592532073062' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5167437592532073062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5167437592532073062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/papoo-babysitting-priceless-picture.html' title='PaPoo + Babysitting = Priceless Picture'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SIDvUieJtlI/AAAAAAAAA2s/DUQS6llwCg4/s72-c/026-1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-5929902513454783186</id><published>2008-07-17T17:50:00.013-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T18:19:55.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Not the Only One After All!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Well, well, well. It seems like I'm not the only crazy one in the world who gives feelings to inanimate objects. If you are clueless to what I'm talking about, you might want to start &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/hey-whats-so-quirky.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;here &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;first. (It's #10 on the list)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just so happened to be reading on the Post Secret site just now and stumbled upon &lt;strong&gt;this&lt;/strong&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH_TFT1S5MI/AAAAAAAAA2M/KoDUEIJn0AU/s1600-h/57.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224126180949681346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH_TFT1S5MI/AAAAAAAAA2M/KoDUEIJn0AU/s320/57.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#000000;"&gt;And then two people replied to that secret:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_a7jkcMVp5Vg/SHl39Gj0YtI/AAAAAAAAFdU/7HOFHiIo7wQ/s1600-h/57.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;-----Email Message-----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sent: Sunday, July 13, 2008 11:10 AM&lt;br /&gt;I'm the kind of person who can't separate a bunch of bananas in the store because they'll miss each other. I have to buy the whole bunch, or none at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;-----Email Messge-----&lt;br /&gt;Sent: Sunday, July 13, 2008 12:41 AM&lt;br /&gt;i buy the saddest "charlie brown" christmas tree i can find every year because i feel sorry for it, knowing no one else would ever choose it.i love that part of me. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So there. I'm not the only one who does it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;And for the record, my sister and I were talking about this very same thing today and she said she does that too. When she said that, I raised both arms in the air above my head and cried, "YEEEESSSSSSSSS!!! I'm not crazy after all!!!" Of course, I did this while sitting in a quiet little coffee shop. Any one sitting near us who might've heard me probably thought otherwise at that moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-5929902513454783186?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/5929902513454783186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=5929902513454783186' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5929902513454783186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5929902513454783186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-not-only-one-after-all.html' title='I&apos;m Not the Only One After All!'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH_TFT1S5MI/AAAAAAAAA2M/KoDUEIJn0AU/s72-c/57.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-1479921363365543404</id><published>2008-07-16T14:02:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T14:15:19.312-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH5IsF0YGCI/AAAAAAAAA14/9EhgstJTpN4/s1600-h/Kisses+for+mommy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223692540109658146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH5IsF0YGCI/AAAAAAAAA14/9EhgstJTpN4/s400/Kisses+for+mommy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH5HRYr1oNI/AAAAAAAAA1w/eMX2ZtmoyvE/s1600-h/DSC04276.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&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/8611416572396926305-1479921363365543404?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/1479921363365543404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=1479921363365543404' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/1479921363365543404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/1479921363365543404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/wordless-wednesday.html' title='Wordless Wednesday'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SH5IsF0YGCI/AAAAAAAAA14/9EhgstJTpN4/s72-c/Kisses+for+mommy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-7552103056996493292</id><published>2008-07-14T15:59:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T14:43:44.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Her Shoes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;Emmerson &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;LOVES&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;shoes. She inherited that from me, obviously. For some reason, she takes hers off constantly. We've cut down on the shoe battles in the car by just BRINGING them with us and then put them on her once we park the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While she doesn't keep hers on, she gets a major thrill of walking around in "grown-up" shoes. I remember that same excitement of wearing my mom's shoes when I was a little girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is some video of her from one day last week, clunking around in my brown wedges.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those are some mighty big shoes to fill, little one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://smilebox.com/play/4e4441304d7a59784f513d3d0d0a&amp;amp;campaign=blog_playback_link&amp;amp;blogview=true" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="303" alt="Click to play In Her Shoes" src="http://smilebox.com/snap/4e4441304d7a59784f513d3d0d0a.jpg" width="386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/?partner=smilebox&amp;amp;campaign=blog_snapshot" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="46" alt="Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox" src="http://www.smilebox.com/globalImages/blogInstructions/blogLogoSmileboxSmall.gif" width="386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="middle"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/slideshows" target="_blank"&gt;Make a Smilebox slideshow&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SHu-Sb7RiSI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/hnPDrFodDPE/s1600-h/007.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-7552103056996493292?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/7552103056996493292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=7552103056996493292' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/7552103056996493292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/7552103056996493292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/in-her-shoes.html' title='In Her Shoes'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8138383681113263305</id><published>2008-07-09T22:32:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T23:50:48.857-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Steve'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Shannon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spiders'/><title type='text'>"Not Necessary!"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;That's what I told my husband after he &lt;del&gt;killed&lt;/del&gt; horrifically murdered a huge spider that was on our back porch. WITH HIS GOLF CLUB, I might add!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;"Look at the size of this spider! It's huge! I'm going to KILL it!" Steve exclaimed (probably with an evil grin on his face too) as he stepped inside to grab his trusty nine iron. "You don't want this thing going after your daughter, do you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew it wouldn't. I begged him not to do it. He looked like he was about to smack it clear into the back fence of our yard. It was no use. I thought I'd show him how frustrated I was as I slammed the door and hit one of the window panels of our back door, hard enough to make the glass vibrate. In my head, the glass shattered to a million pieces and I was glad that it did. Maybe, just MAYbe, he'd get the hint and wouldn't kill it. But back to reality, he was ready to commit one of the worst acts of murder you've ever seen (in my opinion), so I quickly walked away from the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I. was. mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;If you can't figure out by now why this would disturb me so much, then you need to read #9 from Monday's post. And even if &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; didn't kill it, HE did. It certainly wasn't bothering anyone at all. Probably just doing its job of gathering food for its offspring. Not that I'd want it &lt;em&gt;or&lt;/em&gt; the young'ns in my house, but still. That's not the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;When Steve came back in, I &lt;del&gt;yelled&lt;/del&gt; said firmly, "Killing that spider was NOT necessary, especially if it was not hurting anyone!" "It could've hurt Emmerson," he argued. "No, it wouldn't have!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;I just don't get it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;He *knows* how I feel about killing things like spiders and bugs. That's one of the quirky things about me that came with the package when he married me. I was like that even BEFORE I got married. Just ask my family. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;He *knows* that whenever a bug or spider is in the house, I won't tell him because I know he'll kill it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;*He knows* that I am pro-life with bugs and spiders and will even "perform a rescue" by scooping it on a piece of paper and then shove it out the door, usually in a grassy area. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;He.knows. And I reminded him. Again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;So of course, when he came to see me in the office to say his goodnights, he gently whispered, "I love you." I kind of mumbled in agreement. You know, when you're mad at someone, and you don't even want to say anything at ALL, but you'd feel really badly if you didn't? "Mmmm hmmm," was the only reply I offered him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;"Aren't you gonna say 'I love you' back?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Rolling eyes.&lt;/em&gt; Fiiiiiiiine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;"I love you, but I don't like you right now."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;He chuckled because he'd heard that response before a time or two. Knowing that that was &lt;strong&gt;definitely&lt;/strong&gt; the end of his wife's conversation with him tonight, he turned and slowly walked away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;~Shannon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***FYI***- &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;I didn't shed any tears over the killing of the spider (I'm not THAT crazy), but I still wasn't happy about it. You may feel differently about bugs and spiders and want to stomp on them as soon as you see them. I'm just expressing the way that I feel, so please don't laugh at me. It's the truth. Also, I feel a lot better now. Thank goodness for blogs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8138383681113263305?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8138383681113263305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8138383681113263305' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8138383681113263305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8138383681113263305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/not-necessary.html' title='&quot;Not Necessary!&quot;'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-962946537924641297</id><published>2008-07-09T14:03:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T17:05:45.629-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toy box'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Curious George'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emmerson'/><title type='text'>Watch out!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Emmerson is one adventurous and nosy little girl. I think she gets it from her daddy. Or from my mother. We're going to start calling her....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SHUTKgiWSsI/AAAAAAAAAzg/jibpJPX85JM/s1600-h/curious%2520george.jpeg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221100414259579586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SHUTKgiWSsI/AAAAAAAAAzg/jibpJPX85JM/s400/curious%2520george.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because she is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We bought a storage chest that doubles as a toy box for her. This was so that, when closed, it still makes our living room look like a "grown-up" room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is something she just started two days ago. She's into EVERYthing...and I mean&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; into&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I had the camera near and was able to capture some funny pictures and video.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://smilebox.com/play/4d7a6b334f44497a4f513d3d0d0a&amp;amp;campaign=blog_playback_link&amp;amp;blogview=true" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; WIDTH: 392px; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; HEIGHT: 330px" height="330" alt="Click to play Toy Box" src="http://smilebox.com/snap/4d7a6b334f44497a4f513d3d0d0a.jpg" width="420" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/?partner=smilebox&amp;amp;campaign=blog_snapshot" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" height="46" alt="Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox" src="http://www.smilebox.com/globalImages/blogInstructions/blogLogoSmilebox.gif" width="420" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="middle"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.smilebox.com/slideshows" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Make a Smilebox slideshow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I hope you enjoyed it. I know I did.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;~Shannon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-962946537924641297?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/962946537924641297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=962946537924641297' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/962946537924641297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/962946537924641297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/wordless-wednesdaysort-of.html' title='Watch out!'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SHUTKgiWSsI/AAAAAAAAAzg/jibpJPX85JM/s72-c/curious%2520george.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-2708726003724029513</id><published>2008-07-07T21:32:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T14:12:49.186-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey! What's So Quirky?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;My friend, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://thegoldensblog.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;Tina&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;, posted a blog recently about what makes her quirky. She was supposed to have written it sooner than later, and she eventually got around to doing it. She wanted her readers to either post about it or leave a comment. Since I haven't written anything since, oh, last Wednesday, I thought it'd be time to get my rear in gear and let you in on some of my weird doings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here ya go...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) I cannot STAND it when new toilet paper is placed on the roll under and not over. It just doesn't make sense to have to reach UNDER the roll to pull out a few squares (okay, many) of TP. That's like doing extra work. It's soooooo much easier to roll and tear from the top....in my opinion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) My room at school is kept a lot neater than my house. Probably because more people than just me see my room than the latter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) I am a hobby doer wannabe. I start too many "things" (i.e. scrapbooking, working out, organizing, framing pictures etc.), but can't be consistent with it and then whatever I have started goes kaput. Right, Tina and Cindy? Ha! I have a plethora of pictures of Emmerson and haven't put them in frames yet. There are so many good ones and I can't believe they aren't being displayed. *Sigh.* I just hope I can keep up with this blog thing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Once summer starts (and even at the end of May), I'm all about some flip-flops. I am rarely seen in anything besides them, unless I'm at church. In that case, I'm wearing sandals that have the thingy in between the toes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) I teach fifth grade language arts, which includes Spelling, English, and Reading. I don't really like to read books that much. I go in spurts where I'll find something that peaks my interest, but usually it's only Parenting Magazine and Us Weekly. My almost 16 month old daughter has more books in her own bookshelf than I do in my whole house. What a shame. I know. She loves books. I read to her everyday in hopes that she will always love to read and not follow in my footsteps in that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) I research everything on Google and self-diagnose myself and my family's illnesses. I tend to be a little &lt;del&gt;neurotic&lt;/del&gt; overly concerned in some cases. Other times, I have found that doing my research has been very beneficial to me. It has its pluses and minuses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) I love love LOVE finding grammatical errors in our town's local newspaper. Not only that, but EVERYWHERE! Business signs are the best. Example: Sofa's Today This was a sign my sister and I saw and had a discussion about it. Nerds. Yeah. I know. I said, "Do they mean 'The sofa IS today' or do they mean 'the today belonging to the sofa'?" Oh, it was a magnificent conversation for the English nerds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) When I go clothes shopping, I most always have to try the item on. In the fitting room, I go through a little routine. Stand up. Sit down. Twirl around so I can see the back. Go out to the three-way mirror and do the same thing (minus the twirling). Ask my husband or whoever is shopping with me, "Do you like this?" And sometimes...SOMEtimes ask the fitting room attendent her opinion of the said item. Sometimes I walk in with ten things to try on and come out with none. It doesn't make my sister or husband very happy because they feel like I wasted precious time. Needless to say, not many people can hang with me when I go shopping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) I don't like to kill bugs, spiders, insects, or any animal. I always think, "But that is someone's baby, mother, father, sister, brother, or some other relative." The way I see it, if they are not bothering me or about to harm me or one of my family members, then leave them alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the last quirky thing about me (not limited to just ten)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;10) I give feelings to inanimate objects. Yup, it's true. Like if I throw away a bag of popcorn, either ALL of the popped popcorn has to be put in the bowl or at least two have to stay in the bag just so one won't be lonely. When I was little, my pets in my pet net HAD to be covered up at night or they would be cold. If I slept with one stuffed animal one night, another one got its turn the next night. They rotated. I blame it on &lt;em&gt;The Velveteen Rabbit&lt;/em&gt; or some other child story I read where the animals and other toys came to life while the children were sleeping. &lt;em&gt;Toy Story&lt;/em&gt; can be given blame as well, although I think all of that began much earlier before that movie was even made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that you're thinking, "That girl needs to be in a straight jacket," what's so quirky about you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/del&gt;&lt;del&gt;&lt;/del&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-2708726003724029513?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/2708726003724029513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=2708726003724029513' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2708726003724029513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2708726003724029513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/hey-whats-so-quirky.html' title='Hey! What&apos;s So Quirky?'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-2733500516580599152</id><published>2008-07-02T23:35:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T00:37:40.199-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nap'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hair'/><title type='text'>Now THAT'S some crazy hair!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sometimes, after you wake up from a good sleep/nap, you find your hair has done some crazy stuff. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. You've tossed and turned and have no ponytail holder in to keep your hair somewhat manageable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you wake up to find that your hair is such a mess and wouldn't DARE be caught in public in the state that it's in. In fact, it is SO crazy that it MIGHT even look like a certain celebrity's mugshot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no, it wasn't &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; hair. It was little Miss Fussy Pants's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had come back from the pool just hours before and I put her back in bed to finish her nap. After a good two hours of sleep, Em woke up crying. I giggled and said, "Nice hair" as I picked her up out of her crib.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxbSGta6aI/AAAAAAAAAyY/TKiTuDS7HeM/s1600-h/007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218646434812455330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxbSGta6aI/AAAAAAAAAyY/TKiTuDS7HeM/s320/007.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxbSt0eg9I/AAAAAAAAAyg/hVXtgvKz14k/s1600-h/009-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218646445311034322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxbSt0eg9I/AAAAAAAAAyg/hVXtgvKz14k/s320/009-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I immediately thought of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://crime.about.com/od/famousdiduno/ig/celebrity_mugshots/noltenick.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;this guy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; and his infamous mug shot.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxdXephSLI/AAAAAAAAAyw/K7f14gyKr4Q/s1600-h/noltemug.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218648726161148082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxdXephSLI/AAAAAAAAAyw/K7f14gyKr4Q/s400/noltemug.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Notice any resemblance? Well, she does have bangs. AND she is MUCH prettier...even if her hair is a little wacko.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;**I promise I gave her a bath and combed it before going out to dinner tonight. Please. Like I would embarrass &lt;del&gt;myself&lt;/del&gt; her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-2733500516580599152?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/2733500516580599152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=2733500516580599152' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2733500516580599152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/2733500516580599152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/07/now-thats-some-crazy-hair.html' title='Now THAT&apos;S some crazy hair!'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGxbSGta6aI/AAAAAAAAAyY/TKiTuDS7HeM/s72-c/007.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8107890461120253200</id><published>2008-06-28T22:22:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-28T23:58:58.600-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='daddy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tent'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emmerson'/><title type='text'>Just a Big Kid at Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I had orchestra practice today for our Fourth of July program that we are doing at our church tomorrow night. I was &lt;em&gt;only&lt;/em&gt; gone three and a half hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what I came home to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcBUbtJu0I/AAAAAAAAAxY/LPdk1CygtaE/s1600-h/054.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217140143878159170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="248" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcBUbtJu0I/AAAAAAAAAxY/LPdk1CygtaE/s320/054.JPG" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcCkUV14xI/AAAAAAAAAxg/oYkVBJD-YVY/s1600-h/053.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217141516290876178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcCkUV14xI/AAAAAAAAAxg/oYkVBJD-YVY/s320/053.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;A grin slowly appeared on my face as images of my own childhood played in my head.&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;My sister and I used to do the &lt;strong&gt;same thing&lt;/strong&gt;....except with bed sheets instead of blankets. &lt;em&gt;Awww&lt;/em&gt;, y&lt;em&gt;ou made a tent for Emmerson?! How sweet is that!!&lt;/em&gt; I thought. Obviously he had built many of those when he was younger. Except I bet you a million dollars that he pretended he was in an airplane cockpit. Whatever it was, he probably had just as much fun (or more) as we making tents and wanted to introduce her to letting her imagination run wild. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;You see, Saturday mornings have become a traditonal "Daddy/Daughter Day" in our house. Steve takes Emmerson to one of our local eateries for breakfast while I get to sleep in a little. It gives me time to myself and also for them to have special bonding time with each other. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;LOVE&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; that they do that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Their plan today was to go eat breakfast and then go back to the house, play, and hang out until I got home and Emmerson woke up from her nap. I called Steve on on my way home and asked him what they did while I was gone. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Oh, we went and had breakfast. Then we came home, played a little bit, and watched Sesame Street. We played outside and then ate lunch. Played some more. And now she's taking her nap."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;He left out the part about making a tent. I guess he wanted to see what I'd think of it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I went into the bedroom where he was folding laundry. "You made a tent?" I said laughing. "Yep, and she loved it. We watched a little Sesame Street in there...until her ADD kicked in five seconds later. She would crawl up on the ottoman and then fall down into the pillows." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I went and checked the camera. I hoped he took pictures. He did. And he got video too! What a genius!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcJ-Y2wOVI/AAAAAAAAAxo/VSL_RKQePBQ/s1600-h/051.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217149660760652114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcJ-Y2wOVI/AAAAAAAAAxo/VSL_RKQePBQ/s320/051.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad they got to spend time together. From the looks of it, it seems they had loads of fun today playing in the tent. Man! Why didn't &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; think of that?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I guess he's the bigger kid at heart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8107890461120253200?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8107890461120253200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8107890461120253200' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8107890461120253200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8107890461120253200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/06/just-big-kid-at-heart.html' title='Just a Big Kid at Heart'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGcBUbtJu0I/AAAAAAAAAxY/LPdk1CygtaE/s72-c/054.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-5094995149876797663</id><published>2008-06-28T21:28:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-28T22:22:14.240-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emmerson'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='corn'/><title type='text'>I Like It, I Love It</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;...I want some more of it. Corn, that is. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Our 15 month old daughter, Emmerson, absolutely LOVES vegetables. Green beans, peas, carrots...you name it and she probably likes it. But her MOST favorite veggie is corn. And it's best if it's "on the cob." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The first time she had corn on the cob was when she shared it with her daddy. I had a picture of that, but I think I deleted it because it was fuzzy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The next time was a night or two later and I had reheated a leftover piece for myself. Emmerson was eating her own dinner and then saw mine. I actually had two, what would I call them? Cobs? That just sounds weird. ANYway, I ate mine and left some pieces on there like I always do. It gets in my teeth and I get all weird about it, okay? So I gave her what was left of mine and she STILL wanted more. I reluctantly handed over the other cob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tore it up. Really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here is the proof.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217129836121767346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="273" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGb38cUhPbI/AAAAAAAAAxA/k6L7zJ7yZ3o/s320/DSC04349.JPG" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGb477_WfMI/AAAAAAAAAxI/q6W1XRmMV7k/s1600-h/DSC04352.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217130926954675394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGb477_WfMI/AAAAAAAAAxI/q6W1XRmMV7k/s320/DSC04352.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Gnawed down to its "innards." The girl can go to town on some corn on the cob. I told you she loves her vegetables. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;We ate at Chili's last night for dinner. We decided to order cheese quesadillas (case-a-dillas, as Steve likes to tell the waiter. It was &lt;em&gt;only&lt;/em&gt; funny the first &lt;del&gt;two times&lt;/del&gt; time.) and corn on the cob, even though she had it just the night before. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now if you've ever been to this restaurant and have had the corn, you KNOW how big it is. Now imagine a toddler eating it. Correctly. We only had to show her one time that her hands were supposed to go on the sticks to hold it and she did it right every other time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGb8IF0wqUI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/-kmYOQ2AduE/s1600-h/0627081913.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217134434287921474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGb8IF0wqUI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/-kmYOQ2AduE/s320/0627081913.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So do you think we were surprised that Emmerson ate almost every piece of corn off that one cob? Nope. Not.One.Bit. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-5094995149876797663?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/5094995149876797663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=5094995149876797663' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5094995149876797663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/5094995149876797663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-like-it-i-love-it.html' title='I Like It, I Love It'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGb38cUhPbI/AAAAAAAAAxA/k6L7zJ7yZ3o/s72-c/DSC04349.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-562338245794136343</id><published>2008-06-26T10:15:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T10:30:13.980-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's About Time!</title><content type='html'>Well, it's official. I've entered the addicting world of blogging. I think I truly am the last one in America that doesn't have a blog. Wait. Scratch that. The other two families left would be my parents and my in-laws. But they can READ blogs. Does that count?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, here's how it all began.I was talking online to my friend, Cindy, the other night and she said, "You should get a blog." and I said, "Why?" and she replied, "So we can read it every day." Good enough reason, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the next night, my family came over for dinner and I told my sister (who already has a blog), "I think I'm going to start a blog." She looked at me and replied (paraphrasing here), "What are you going to write about? 'Today on Lifetime, I watched True Life: The Claire Smith Story'." I stared at her for a second, rolled my eyes, and said matter-of-factly, "It's &lt;em&gt;'Moment of Truth&lt;/em&gt;.'" We both laughed because we both know I watch way too many Lifetime movies to actually know that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;del&gt;told&lt;/del&gt; asked her tonight when I called to come up with a good title for my blog, something catchy. She came up with Childress Chuckles or Childress Chuckleads as an alternative. As you can see, I've changed the blog title, but kept the web address. Thanks, sis! She wrote the first post. So in response to that one...ummm. Sorry. But I do want to thank you for getting it started for me! I just hope this is not one of those "start but don't finish" projects I always get myself into. I just have to learn more things about it. One &lt;em&gt;night&lt;/em&gt; at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-562338245794136343?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/562338245794136343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=562338245794136343' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/562338245794136343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/562338245794136343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/06/its-about-time.html' title='It&apos;s About Time!'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611416572396926305.post-8467661233014285624</id><published>2008-06-25T10:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T10:20:16.657-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Post One</title><content type='html'>My amazing sister made this blog for me. I should pay her for her time. Probably $500 would do it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8611416572396926305-8467661233014285624?l=thechuckleheads.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/feeds/8467661233014285624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8611416572396926305&amp;postID=8467661233014285624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8467661233014285624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8611416572396926305/posts/default/8467661233014285624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thechuckleheads.blogspot.com/2008/06/post-one.html' title='Post One'/><author><name>Shannon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12602245807231791246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_RfQxYIzGXZA/SGP-Tnj2lLI/AAAAAAAAAws/_EeGigQE5gA/S220/Shannon.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
