<?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-3072435603015002322</id><updated>2012-02-12T18:43:15.503-07:00</updated><category term='Staring now...'/><title type='text'>Bringing back Boring</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>129</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5798261983806497985</id><published>2012-02-12T17:42:00.007-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-12T18:43:15.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 8: Lyrics of song to represent mood</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Stained&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Fade&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try to breathe&lt;br /&gt;Memories overtaking me&lt;br /&gt;I try to face them but&lt;br /&gt;The thought is too much to conceive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only know that I can change&lt;br /&gt;Everything else just stays the same&lt;br /&gt;So now I step out of the darkness&lt;br /&gt;that my life became 'cause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just needed someone to talk to&lt;br /&gt;You were just to busy with yourself&lt;br /&gt;You were never there for me&lt;br /&gt;To express how I felt&lt;br /&gt;I just stuffed it down&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm older and I feel like&lt;br /&gt;I could let some of this anger fade&lt;br /&gt;But it seems the surface I am scratching&lt;br /&gt;Is the bed that I have made&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So where were you?&lt;br /&gt;When all this I was going through&lt;br /&gt;You never took the time&lt;br /&gt;To ask me just what you could do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only know that I can change&lt;br /&gt;Everything else just stays the same&lt;br /&gt;So now I step out of the darkness&lt;br /&gt;that my life became 'cause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just needed someone to talk to&lt;br /&gt;You were just to busy with yourself&lt;br /&gt;You were never there for me&lt;br /&gt;To express how I felt&lt;br /&gt;I just stuffed it down&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm older and I feel like&lt;br /&gt;I could let some of this anger fade&lt;br /&gt;But it seems the surface I am scratching&lt;br /&gt;Is the bed that I have made&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never meant to fade...&lt;br /&gt;Away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I NEVER MEANT TO FADE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just needed someone to talk to&lt;br /&gt;You were just to busy with yourself&lt;br /&gt;You were never there for me&lt;br /&gt;To express how I felt&lt;br /&gt;I just stuffed it down&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm older and I feel like&lt;br /&gt;I could let some of this anger fade&lt;br /&gt;But it seems the surface I am scratching&lt;br /&gt;Is the bed that I have made&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try to breathe...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stained&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe Jane&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I want you to notice&lt;br /&gt;To notice when I'm not around&lt;br /&gt;I know that your eyes&lt;br /&gt;See straight through me&lt;br /&gt;And speak to me&lt;br /&gt;Without a sound&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanna hold you&lt;br /&gt;Protect you&lt;br /&gt;From all of the things&lt;br /&gt;I've already endured&lt;br /&gt;And I wanna show you&lt;br /&gt;To show you&lt;br /&gt;All the things&lt;br /&gt;That this life has in store for you&lt;br /&gt;I'll always love you&lt;br /&gt;The way that a father&lt;br /&gt;Should love his daughter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I walked out this morning&lt;br /&gt;I cried as I walked to the door&lt;br /&gt;I cried about how long I'd be away from&lt;br /&gt;Cried about leavin' you alone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanna hold you&lt;br /&gt;Protect you&lt;br /&gt;From all of the things&lt;br /&gt;[- From :http://www.elyrics.net/read/s/staind-lyrics/zoe-jane-lyrics.html -]&lt;br /&gt;I've already endured&lt;br /&gt;And I wanna show you&lt;br /&gt;To show you&lt;br /&gt;All the things&lt;br /&gt;That this life has in store for you&lt;br /&gt;And I'll always love you&lt;br /&gt;The way that a father&lt;br /&gt;Should love his daughter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet Zoe Jane&lt;br /&gt;Sweet Zoe Jane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wanted to say this&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I wouldn't know where to begin&lt;br /&gt;To explain to you what I have been through&lt;br /&gt;To explain where your Daddy has been&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wanna hold you&lt;br /&gt;Protect you&lt;br /&gt;From all of the things&lt;br /&gt;I've already endured&lt;br /&gt;And I wanna show you&lt;br /&gt;Show you&lt;br /&gt;All the things&lt;br /&gt;That this life has in store for you&lt;br /&gt;And I'll always love you&lt;br /&gt;The way that a father&lt;br /&gt;Should love his daughter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet Zoe Jane&lt;br /&gt;Sweet Zoe Jane&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5798261983806497985?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5798261983806497985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5798261983806497985' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5798261983806497985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5798261983806497985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-8-lyrics-of-song-to-represent-mood.html' title='Day 8: Lyrics of song to represent mood'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3354714883137740610</id><published>2012-02-10T10:03:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-10T10:10:15.811-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 6: Pet I wish I could have</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cfPTDFA1JbM/TzVPDFJS19I/AAAAAAAAA3Q/UiUaaHGviUM/s1600/dolphin.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 195px; height: 164px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cfPTDFA1JbM/TzVPDFJS19I/AAAAAAAAA3Q/UiUaaHGviUM/s320/dolphin.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707555017101334482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nB-2mtdbJ8Q/TzVPDaKBEDI/AAAAAAAAA3Y/UCHvusZUaJ8/s1600/humpback-whale-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 265px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nB-2mtdbJ8Q/TzVPDaKBEDI/AAAAAAAAA3Y/UCHvusZUaJ8/s320/humpback-whale-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707555022741508146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There really isn't a pet I wish I had. I don't really ever want a pet. I have never really wanted a pet either. I do love Dolphins and Whales. They seem so majestic and magnificent to me. My junior year in high school we were asked to write a research paper ( remember the internet was just coming to be in the schools and most of my friends still did not have the internet) Therefore all articles were from books, articles, or magazines. I chose to write my research paper on Dolphins and Whales. Mrs Mower did not not think I could pull it off but thanks to Zoo Books I did a great job on my research paper! I at one point in my life also wanted to be a marine biologist just so I could work with these wonderful creatures. I however, did not want to leave Utah to go away for college. But now, what was I thinking. Living in San Diego would have been FANTASTIC! If only....Sea World is one of my favorite places on earth. I love to see the wonderful animals. I love the ocean! Also my goal in life is to one: swim with the dolphins, and two: see a humpback whale! I am hoping I will see a whale in Maui soon. The whales are on the coast of Maui this time of year and I can only pray!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3354714883137740610?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3354714883137740610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3354714883137740610' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3354714883137740610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3354714883137740610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-6-pet-i-wish-i-could-have.html' title='Day 6: Pet I wish I could have'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cfPTDFA1JbM/TzVPDFJS19I/AAAAAAAAA3Q/UiUaaHGviUM/s72-c/dolphin.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-181010956855396936</id><published>2012-02-09T16:08:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T16:40:54.241-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 5: Favorite Book</title><content type='html'>I believe on the list of challenges it was really talk about your pets. However, we have never had a pet in the house so I will tell you my favorite books. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. "Fahrenheit 451" Ray Bradbury. I love this book. I taught this book in my 11th grade English classes. The students were not as keen on the book as I was. I love that it is a futuristic novel with out a given date because you can apply it to anytime in the future. Guy is the the main character. He is a fireman who has to burn books for a living. However, he loves to read and is curious about the printed word. Guy ends up stealing book and hiding them. He eventually gets caught and runs. He joins a bunch of literary hobbos who have whole books stuck in their heads.  I love that Bradcury is talking abaut history in this novel in a symbolic way. (Burning of Books= Hitler's Germany, Guy=Guy Fawkes who was trying to burn down Parliment and going against his government)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. "Fire and the Covenant" Gerlad Lund. This book is about the Martin Handcart company. Lund places a fictional family in the company and has the experiences happen to them. The first time I read this book I cried. I have loved this book ever since. The Martin Handcart company is one of my favorite pioneer stories!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. 'Macbeth" Shakespeare. Call me crazy, but Macbeth is one of my favorite plays from Shakespeare. I loved teaching this play to my classes.... they hated it... I tried many way to get excited and enthused about it but no matter what age Shakespeare will never be a high school students favorite author to read or learn about. Macbeth is a play about fate, lies, and deception. ( Real life matters, right?) I love that Lady Macbeth can not seem to get the blood off her hands. Guilt will always get to you! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. "The Beach House" Jude Deveraux. This novel is a simple non thinking read. Three friends meet at the DMV and become friends for life. Later in the their years they go to a beach house. They go to this crazy lady who takes them back in time and they can change their fate/destiny. I loved this novel and read it in one sitting. It is a witty romance novel about making the right choices or wrong and where it will lead you life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. "To Kill a Mockingbird" Harper Lee. This is a wonderful novel told from a childs perspective.  IT is a character building, feel good novel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. "Frankenstein" Mary Shelly. This novel is a true telling of human nature. We let the world around us shape us into what we become. I love that Shelly created a monster from how the society taught the monster to act. When the monster was first created he was gentle and smart ( was reading philospophy, french authors, and psychololgy) He didn't understand the way life could become. By the end of the novel he had been molded into a monster becuase of people's reactions to him. He also believed that he needed a partner to be loved because of the way people would treat him. When Frankenstein would not create a partner for him he killed Frankenstein thus making him the unltimate monster!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really do love to read. I am sure there are plenty more book I could place on here. Reading is a pssion and I love to read and look at the pyschology and context of it. I really love symbolism in book and trying to figure everything out. I am always looking for a good read if you have any suggestions or need suggestions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-181010956855396936?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/181010956855396936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=181010956855396936' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/181010956855396936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/181010956855396936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-5-favorite-book.html' title='Day 5: Favorite Book'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1788179205268070047</id><published>2012-02-07T10:43:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-08T07:35:23.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 3: Idea of a perfect first date.</title><content type='html'>Laughing...Right now my idea of an ideal date is anything without the kids. I would say free babysitting with a dinner and movie. That is my ideal. We rarely go out on dates because it is such a struggle to find a babysitter. I hate to find a babysitter for something fun when I have to find a  babysitter to babysit while I go to work. I guess this is just life. I am looking forward to Maui and will count that as the IDEAL date!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have all been on first dates but I do not believe there is a really good first date... EVER! I was the queen of first dates before Spence. I would go out on blind dates of anyone that would set me up. I went on more than enough to know that not one of them where the ideal first date. I met Spence on a blind date. A co-worker of mine was always talking about Spencer, ( She worked two jobs as well). She had set him up on a date with one of  "fluffY" co-workers. After their date she did not have anything nice to say about Spencer. I still do not know what made me say... " I thought you were going to set me up with him, what the hell?" Anyway that one sentence prompted her to set me up with Spence. He called me to set up a date. I agreed to go out with him on Saturday night., ( November 5, he called Friday day to ask me out). I did not look at my Victoria's Secret work schedule when I set up the date so  needless to say I worked the night of our purposed date. Great, I thought to myself. I realized I didn't work that Friday night. I called him to see if he would like to go out Friday night instead of Saturday. He claimed he already had plans and he would work around my work schedule for Saturday ( I later found out he was on a date with another girl he had been seeing) . I got off work at 9 on Saturday. He said he would come and get me from work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to wear my black suit from Vickie's on our date.  I looked great in my pink button up shirt with my black suit. He picked me up at the mall and we loaded up in very high, very lifted Dodge truck. We went to Chili's to eat. I really don't remember what either of us ordered but I kept eating off of his plate. Who said you couldn't be yourself on a first date? He never said anything about me eating off his plate then...but now I never hear the end of it! After we finished eating it was about 10:30. There really isn't much you can do in Provo at this time. He suggested we go up to Sundance and go to the Owl Bar. I was game. So we drove up the canyon. We sat by the fireplace... where he was burning up. He ordered a drink, I had water. We talked and chatted and finally decided to leave. As we were headed down the canyon he said to me, " Why the hell did we go to a bar if you weren't going to drink?" I thought what a dick!  I simplely answered I don't drink. " You could have told me that before we drove up there." " What else were we going to do?" He didnt' reply and i felt good for holding my own even though deep down I still thought he was a bit of a dick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He dropped me off at my car and I followed him to Payson. We went to Blockbuster to get a movie but it was closed. I really thought we were going to end the night here in the Blockbuster parking lot. However, he said come up to my house and we will pick a movie there and watch it. We went to his house. ( in all reality I believe I was still along for the date because a: he was hot, b: what else was there to do, c: he had a house, d: I REALLY liked his truck. ( He still claims that it was his truck that won me over but I just think it was how hot he is and the fact that he had a house!) We went to his house and I picked the movie " Mystic River". I do not remember much of the movie because we talked through most of it. I drove him nuts asking him what was going to happen next and who was going to die. He hated that I kept asking questions and kept telling me to shut up and watch the movie. Anyway the night ended with me making the first move...I guess I was just horny because lets face it he wasn't a real charmer. Anyway I finally left with him walking me to my car and kissing me good night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called the next day to go to RC Willey to buy speakers for his car. We ahve been inseperable ever since!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1788179205268070047?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1788179205268070047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1788179205268070047' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1788179205268070047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1788179205268070047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-3-idea-of-perfect-first-date.html' title='Day 3: Idea of a perfect first date.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2258158157531089953</id><published>2012-02-06T10:32:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-08T07:36:43.101-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 4: My best friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aLUi91bVxac/TzAPwMjRqqI/AAAAAAAAA24/Dv6yRqKM0So/s1600/DSC03000.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aLUi91bVxac/TzAPwMjRqqI/AAAAAAAAA24/Dv6yRqKM0So/s320/DSC03000.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706078048555739810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--zUT84jZ8FY/TzAPwvV-0sI/AAAAAAAAA3E/DMLaupZ9hn0/s1600/020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--zUT84jZ8FY/TzAPwvV-0sI/AAAAAAAAA3E/DMLaupZ9hn0/s320/020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706078057895219906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets face it, I love having friends and doing things with my girlfriends. I however do not know what I would do with out my best friend. He is amazing and is considerate and loving. He is always there for me. He has put up with me for seven years with all of my many faults. I can't believe he has put up with me for that long. I love him dearly and except for road trips that involve maps or turbo tax we get a long great. We rarely fight or yell at each other. It does happen but rarely. When we do things together we always have fun. We have enjoyed hiking with each other the past couple of years. I am excited to spend a week in Maui with my best friend. Thanks for all you do!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My girls, Zoe and Peyton, would be next choice. They make me laugh daily but are both thoughtful. Zoe is always thinking of me and how I am feeling or thinking. She always wants to have a girls day. I will take that any day. We have fun daily and I love my girls immensely. I do not know what I would do with out them!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-2258158157531089953?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2258158157531089953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2258158157531089953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2258158157531089953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2258158157531089953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-4-my-best-friends.html' title='Day 4: My best friends'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aLUi91bVxac/TzAPwMjRqqI/AAAAAAAAA24/Dv6yRqKM0So/s72-c/DSC03000.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4718080093478058623</id><published>2012-02-06T10:24:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-06T10:28:36.305-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 2: Favorite Movie</title><content type='html'>I do not have just one favorite movie but multiple. In no particular order:&lt;br /&gt;Bridget Jones Diary&lt;br /&gt;Shag&lt;br /&gt;Charade&lt;br /&gt;Sound of Music&lt;br /&gt;My Fair Lady&lt;br /&gt;Thoroughly Modern Milly&lt;br /&gt;Summer Stock&lt;br /&gt;Burlesque&lt;br /&gt;White Christmas&lt;br /&gt;Christmas in Connecticut ( The original) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does anyone else notice a pattern? Most of them are old or musicals. I love my musicals! Thanks Grandma Phyllis for the deep appreciation of musicals!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4718080093478058623?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4718080093478058623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4718080093478058623' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4718080093478058623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4718080093478058623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-2-favorite-movie.html' title='Day 2: Favorite Movie'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-410463228039546847</id><published>2012-02-05T13:16:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-05T13:48:43.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day One: Favorite Song</title><content type='html'>I have pondered this questions since my cousin Emilee Pehrson's first post. What is a song that I can honestly declare as my favorite? I can honestly say I have a favorite CD but it does not hold my favorite song on that CD. ( My favorite CD is Sarah Mclachlan's , Surfacing) Right now I am completely diggin Hugh Laurie's CD Talk and anything from the 80's. ( Does that show my age?)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;However, if these songs come on the radio or my IPOD I am blasting the songs singing at the top of my lungs. Some have memories attached but some are just good songs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. "More Than Words" Extreme. My freshman year of college I went on a blind date. His name was Damon Adelane. Anyway he had a fun night planned out but for some reason his dad talked him into going to the ward talent show and play his guitar and sing. I had never really been into guy s that could play guitar or sing ( because the guys I liked here PURE country.) Anyway we made our appearance at the talent show and he played "More than Words". I love this song, however Damon could sing and play! I think of him when I hear this song even if I only went on one other date with the guy. ( No future, I did not think he was hot, but man he could play!) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. "Stacy's Mom" Fountains of Wayne. Who doesn't want to be a MILF. However, I always think of my good friend Amy with this song. She was a teacher with me and she was at a FBLA/DECA conference. The young teenage boys kept telling people she was a MILF. She had NO clue what this meant and asked me about it later. She was completely embarrassed because she thought it was a wonderful compliment and agreed with one of the students. I love her dearly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. "Teenage Dirtbag" Wheatus. I just love this song. However, it will always remind me of my dreaded time it dark room for my photography class. The only time I would ever hear this song was while I was in the dark room developing my photographs.  I hate the TA more than you can imagine  but for some reason we both liked this song and he would blast it during my 2 hour lab!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. "Mmmm Bop" Hansen. I know you are asking yourself REALLY? However I love to dance like a crazy fool to this song. IT also has a great story... in high school I had a good friend Kevyn. We went on a date to Provo. This song had just come out (remember tapes that only had one or two songs on both sides...yeah that was the one) We blasted MMM bop the whole way to Provo and back. This song ALWAYS makes me think of him. On our way home it was raining so we pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car and danced. I love this kid and miss him terribly. However, I still blast it and dance like a fool. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. " Zoe Jane" Stained. This is the song we named Zoe after. Yes, she was named after a song, and yes Spence picked out her name. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. " Wanna Be" Spice Girls. This song has way too many memeories attached to it. IN college my roomates ( Jen and Lani)  and I made a up a lip sync and danced to this song for a going away, getting married, suprise for Bree. We had a blast doing so and performing it for her was great fun. Also in my first year or teaching, Ashlee and I made up a lip sync and dance and performed at the crazy teacher pep- rally. The students raised money and if they got to a certain level then the teachers had to do an activity. The students raised all the money and so Ash and I made a mockery of lip syncing. IF u-tube would have been around at the time I can promise you we would have a billion hits. It was hiliarious! I still crank it up, dance, and lip sync to this song!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. "Bless the Broken Road" Rascal Flatts. Last and certain not least. This is "our" song. This CD had jsut came out when I started to date Spence. We listened to it all the time. After beging together for sometime we realized that this song fit us perfectly! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bless the Broken Road" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I set out on a narrow way, many years ago&lt;br /&gt;Hoping I would find true love along the broken road&lt;br /&gt;But I got lost a time or two&lt;br /&gt;Wiped my brow and kept pushing through&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That every long lost dream led me to where you are&lt;br /&gt;Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars&lt;br /&gt;Pointing me on my way, into your loving arms&lt;br /&gt;This much I know is true&lt;br /&gt;That God blessed the broken road&lt;br /&gt;That led me straight to you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about the years I spent just passing through&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you&lt;br /&gt;But you just smile and take my hand&lt;br /&gt;You've been there, you understand&lt;br /&gt;It's all part of a grander plan, that is coming true&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every long lost dream led me to where you are&lt;br /&gt;Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars&lt;br /&gt;Pointing me on my way into your loving arms&lt;br /&gt;This much I know is true&lt;br /&gt;That God blessed the broken road&lt;br /&gt;That led me straight to you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm just rollin' home, into my lovers arms&lt;br /&gt;This much I know is true&lt;br /&gt;That God blessed the broken road&lt;br /&gt;That led me straight to you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That God blessed the broken road&lt;br /&gt;That led me straight to you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are just a few with the stories to follow. I am positive I have more than can imagine. I am also positive that I have a song related to anyone and everyone I have ever come in contact with. The stories just make it more rea. Music is a HUGE part of my life. I have music on all the time at my house. WE have dance parties frequently, singing loudly, and activing like fools. My girls love it and it makes me how I am!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-410463228039546847?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/410463228039546847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=410463228039546847' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/410463228039546847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/410463228039546847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-one-favorite-song.html' title='Day One: Favorite Song'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1288477761760727160</id><published>2012-02-05T13:13:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-02-05T18:02:09.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Day Challege</title><content type='html'>I am going to start the 30 day blogging challenge. My cousin started to do it and then her best friend from high school and since I read both their blogs it has intrigued me to start the challenge. I may or may not write about the given topic (as Annie Parker also stated) because I think some the topics are lame. I just need to start blogging and or writing again and I believe this is a great way to get me going. So here is the list of the 30 day Challenge: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 1 - Your Favorite Song&lt;br /&gt;Day 2 - Your Favorite Movie&lt;br /&gt;Day 3 - Your idea of the perfect first date&lt;br /&gt;Day 4 - Your favorite photograph of your best friend(s)&lt;br /&gt;Day 5 - Talk about your pets&lt;br /&gt;Day 6 - A photo of an animal you'd love to keep as a pet&lt;br /&gt;Day 7 - Your dream wedding&lt;br /&gt;Day 8 - A song to match your mood&lt;br /&gt;Day 9 - A photo of the item you last purchased&lt;br /&gt;Day 10 - A photo of your favorite place to eat&lt;br /&gt;Day 11 - What's in your make-up bag/purse&lt;br /&gt;Day 12 - Your current relationship status &lt;br /&gt;Day 13 - A few of your favorite quotes, mottos, or versus&lt;br /&gt;Day 14 - TV show (or shows) you're currently addicted to&lt;br /&gt;Day 15 - Something you don't leave the house without&lt;br /&gt;Day 16 - Describe a passion you have&lt;br /&gt;Day 17 - How you hope your future will be like&lt;br /&gt;Day 18 - Five things that irritate you&lt;br /&gt;Day 19 - Your reflection in the mirror&lt;br /&gt;Day 20 - The meaning behind your blog name&lt;br /&gt;Day 21 - A photo of something that makes you happy&lt;br /&gt;Day 22 - A letter to someone who has hurt or OR made you happy recently&lt;br /&gt;Day 23 - 15 Facts about you&lt;br /&gt;Day 24 - A photo of something that means a lot to you&lt;br /&gt;Day 25 - 5 of your favorite movies/books&lt;br /&gt;Day 26 - A photo of somewhere you want to go&lt;br /&gt;Day 27 - What kind of person attracts you?&lt;br /&gt;Day 28 - In this past month, what have you learned?&lt;br /&gt;Day 29 - Something you could never get tired of doing&lt;br /&gt;Day 30 - A photo of yourself plus 3 good things that have happened within the last 30 days&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1288477761760727160?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1288477761760727160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1288477761760727160' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1288477761760727160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1288477761760727160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/02/30-day-challege.html' title='30 Day Challege'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6213230556702883417</id><published>2012-01-26T09:51:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T19:50:18.688-07:00</updated><title type='text'>blogging</title><content type='html'>I can't believe it has been over two months since I have blogged. I wish I could say that I was SOOOO busy that I haven't had time. However, that is not the case, I feel like I just don't have any thing to say. I do not post all my pictures of "our happening" because I make a scrap book for the girls ( via the internet... greatest thing ever). I put all pictures in there with short quotes or stories of our happenings. My blogging is so more of a journal entry of sorts to print out and make books for my girls so they do know how special they are to me, what my thoughts and feelings on life are as I saunter throughout life. I recently read my cousins blog and she is doing the "30 day blogging Challenge". If anything it sounds easy enough and I like the idea because someone is giving me a topic ( this is where my English comes into play... assign me a topic let me complain about the topic, and sure enough I will spit a bunch of bull crap out that sounds proficient and sound... even if I have no clue what i just wrote.) I do enjoy writing and for those who know me well, they know I have taken a couple stabs at writing a novel. However, this will never happen. I have tried... I once had one about 25 pages single spaced. Oh my, I know, however I didn't know how to develop my plot into something bigger to create a book. Kudos to those that write for a living... you imaginations and creativity are greater than mine. So for those of you who do read my blog I am going to ask that you give me  a writing topic and I will write. If you give me 30 topics I could write about them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One great thing about writing is you succumb to your own thoughts, you realize more about yourself and those around you and you also realize feelings you didn't know existed do actually exist. I love that emotions and feelings come into writing. I love to read a good book and feel those aspects of the writing come out. Also in blogging you get to know someone you have lost contact with over the years, or you get to learn something about someone you have known and loved for years. So because I am horrible at coming up with my own writing topic you name them, I write them, and I will then post something on Facebook so you know I wrote on your topic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our 2011 was great but no real complaints or exciting news came forth. We went to LegoLand,San Diego, I went to the Bon Jovi concert. I started working as a substitute for Nebo District and as a front desk clerk for Quality Inn( in Payson.)Zoe had her first cavity, learned how to write, ride her bike, caught her first fish, and became a Sunbean.  We had our first camping trip up Fairview Canyon. Spence and I ran a couple of 5k's, he biked all summer, took a biking and hiking trip to Moab. WE went hiking a ton and loved every minute of it.  Our 2012 is looking to be a slow start but hopefully will get more exciting...We leave for Maui in February, we are going to the Neil Diamond Concert in July, I am going to Wicked in July ( Capitol Theater in SLC) Zoe will start Kindergarten, turn 5, and become more grown up daily. Peyton will continue to be stubborn and grow into your stubbornness and hopeful clothes. ( She is a ectomorph and will have a small frame for most of her life)Peyton became potty-trained! We plan ( notice it says plan because who knows if it will happen) to go to Moab and go hiking. We plan to take the kids to Disneyland for their first time! We met with  realitor to sell our house and move. However, upon further prayer and thought we decided that we might as well just stay here. Our house is our home and we do love it and have made it our own! I guess we are here to stay for a couple more years anyway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can't wait to hear what you would love for me to write about!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-6213230556702883417?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6213230556702883417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6213230556702883417' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6213230556702883417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6213230556702883417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2012/01/blogging.html' title='blogging'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1545224934174832704</id><published>2011-11-15T14:31:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-15T14:49:05.001-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Interview</title><content type='html'>I sat down and had a nice chat with Miss Zoe Ann Stevenson. She was cool and confident as she sat on the bed and swinging her legs back and forth. I laughed at her responses to the questions and realized that someday she will be a Miraculous young woman. She had the attitude of faint interest yet she was willing to answer all questions. I must say the interview went over well and I was impressed with the knowledge she beholds. &lt;br /&gt;I have not altered any of the answers given to me as a reporter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. What is your full name?  My real name is Zoe Ann Stevenson but my other real name is Zoe Ann Stevenson Hot Jeans Girl Detective Spy Doctor Popstar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. How old are you? Four&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. What is your favorite color? Pink and Purple and all other colors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be all kind of teachers. I even want to be  a doctor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. What is your favorite toy? Umm.. all of them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. What is your favorite candy? My favorite candy is Tootsie Rolls ( that is my girl for sure.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. What does your daddy do for work? He looks at their insides. He also gives them shots. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. What does your mommy do for work? She lets people go swimming. She also lets them stay at her work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Where do you want your mom to take you when you grow up? Disneyland&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. What is your favorite place on earth? LegoLand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. What is your favorite sport? Baseball because that is what her mom plays. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. what is your favorite food? Mac n' cheese a roni, Chicken noodle soup, and ham for breakfast. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Where is place you have never been but want to go? I have  never been to any of the places. I haven't been to Legoland forever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. What is your favorite place? Dance class and preschool, soccer games, and swimming lessons. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Where do you want to go to College? Payson College&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. What is your favorite game? Memory and Tinkerbell Checkers and cards. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. What is your favorite book? The Dinosaur Encyclopedia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. What is your favorite movie? Mulan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. What is your favorite t.v. show? Phineas and Ferb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Who is your favorite Disney Princess? I like all of them. Even Ariel and Mulan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. What is your favorite animal? All of them even lions and tigers. Those two are the scariest on earth and boys seem to really like them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22.What is your favorite snack? String cheese&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. What color are your eyes? Blue. How did you know that? I look at your eyes and your blue eyes remind me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. What is your favorite word? Baby. Why? Because baby means you have a little sister. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. What is your favorite activity to do with mom? Chores. What type of chores? Helping clean the wood and the furniture. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finish up the interview with her standing on a dictionary. She tells me that the book makes her stand taller so she can see the letters I am typing. when I told her the interview was over she told me she needed to think.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1545224934174832704?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1545224934174832704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1545224934174832704' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1545224934174832704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1545224934174832704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/11/interview.html' title='Interview'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-963360511928841614</id><published>2011-11-12T19:36:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-12T20:05:01.172-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thankful Sarcasm</title><content type='html'>These days everyone is making a list of everything they are thankful for. I am truly thankful for most things and it is going to be the same things you are thankful for as well. I decided I would twist the thankfulness into sarcasm. ( Because lets face it if there is one thing that I am good at it would be sarcasm.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I am thankful for spandex.&lt;br /&gt;2. I am thankful for the Duggars. I believe they set the best example. They can't afford the children they have so a: they borrow from their oldest children to help pay for their siblings, and b: continue to have more children of which they can not pay for. &lt;br /&gt;3. I am thankful for President Obama&lt;br /&gt;4. I am thankful for people who tell you they will do something and never get around to doing it. &lt;br /&gt;5. I am thankful for all those wonderful moms out there who hold up my grocery shopping line because they are crazy with price matching and coupons. These are the ladies who leave the store with the store owing them money.&lt;br /&gt;6. I am thankful for all the beautiful orange cones ( barrels really) that litter the State of Utah! Who could ask for something more beautiful. &lt;br /&gt;7. I am thankful for people who talk behind you back and make you look better than you ever thought possible. &lt;br /&gt;8. I am thankful for those people who wear rose colored glasses. Once you tell them what really is going on in the black and white world they hate you for life. &lt;br /&gt;9. I am thankful for people in are praised in the community but in reality they are liars, thieves, and adulterous. &lt;br /&gt;10. I am thankful for people who work the system and eat better than I do, have more money to spend on food all because they are on food stamps. &lt;br /&gt;11. I am thankful for gentleman who wear short shorts while running/jogging. &lt;br /&gt;12. I am thankful for stretch marks. &lt;br /&gt;13. I am thankful for my period. I love bloating up like a puffer fish, retaining enough water to make me float, and  breaking out with zits that make my face look like a pizza!&lt;br /&gt;14. I am thankful for the Victoria Secret models. They make me feel beautiful and sexy.&lt;br /&gt;15. I am thankful for flu shots. I love feeling like I just got punched in the arm from "The Rock". &lt;br /&gt;16. I am thankful for the drug given to Michael Jackson to cause his death. He really was beginning to look like the evil guy- with the red skin- in "Captain America" but with white skin. ( Okay, this one may not be sarcasm... or is it?) &lt;br /&gt;17. I am thankful for my electric toothbrush that beeps and sings at one in the morning every dang night. ( I have no clue how to alleviate this problem.) &lt;br /&gt;18. I am thankful for all of the Twilight movies. &lt;br /&gt;19. I am thankful for Thanksgiving! It is my favorite holiday in the world. &lt;br /&gt;20. I am thankful for high heels. &lt;br /&gt;21. I am thankful for the Kardashians. They have made my life and world a better place. They have made me realize how wonderful staging a wedding can be and how wonderful it is be a princess for the hell of it. &lt;br /&gt;22. I am thankful for the Payson Sewage plant. ( If you live in Payson you understand my love!) &lt;br /&gt;23. I am thankful that Payson is scattered with Mexican, Chinese and Pizza Places to eat and nothing else. &lt;br /&gt;24. I am thankful for my OCD. Life would not be life if everything didn't have to be in its place correctly. ( How sad is it when your 4 year old is getting more and more OCD like her mom... I have hangers in specific spots of the closet. When they are empty they go on left side of the closet. I left one and the right side one day and Zoe said mom you need to move the hanger... OUCH!) &lt;br /&gt;25. I am thankful for people who test while driving. They make me feel safe. &lt;br /&gt;26. I am thankful that I always think of zingers and comebacks after the fact. &lt;br /&gt;27. I am thankful for bikinis and those who should not wear them. ( ie. ME) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-963360511928841614?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/963360511928841614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=963360511928841614' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/963360511928841614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/963360511928841614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/11/thankful-sarcasm.html' title='Thankful Sarcasm'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-142220766890521278</id><published>2011-10-12T15:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T15:23:12.855-06:00</updated><title type='text'>There is a Season...</title><content type='html'>We have all heard the phrase there is a time and season for everything. People walk into your lives when you need them and quickly go while others stay awhile leaving us with great memories and love in our hearts. People change us and make us who we are. You may have not thought about a person forever whether is was high school, college, Fish Lake,  or a summer Europe but these are the people that shaped me. They made me who I am. I made mistakes, I learned from there and then made them again. However, there are many people who I do not talk to on a daily basis that have helped me and created the Teresa I am now. I never realize how much these people really shape me until something happens or until I humble myself and realize they are why I am ME today. I have a great friend from high school. I never see him and rarely talk to him. In fact, we only communicate through email or facebook anymore. He still makes me laugh and cry all at the same time. We can send each other a simple sentence of , "How are you?" and then paragraph of our lives begin the next email. It is like we never left off. He is a friend that when I needed someone the most he helped me pick up the pieces and arrange myself into a working puzzle. I  use him as an example but there are many in my life that this applies to. I love that my old roommates and I can get together and laugh and talk about the past, the present, and the future. We are still the same people... more mature and more life experience behind us. I will be the first to admit that I do not think about my old friends or roommates on a daily basis but I begin to think about them when something happens that effects my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I often wonder where I would be without them. I can tell them over and over how much they mean to me or meant but that doesn't really matter. There are people I haven't talked to in years and if something happened to them I would be a mess. I would be wondering why? Remembering the memories and thinking of the all the good things we shared together, times had, and how they molded me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been thinking of things lately and am struggling with many. I guess this is the hand I am dealing with right now! Too bad it isn't a winning one!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-142220766890521278?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/142220766890521278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=142220766890521278' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/142220766890521278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/142220766890521278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/10/there-is-season.html' title='There is a Season...'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8251967115478590365</id><published>2011-10-06T11:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-10-06T11:54:22.796-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Teachers</title><content type='html'>Being a teacher I have heard the excuses... I need a drink, I need to go to the bathroom, I started my period, my is calling me on my cellphone, etc. The thing you have to learn, early on, is deciphering the real excuses from the lies. " Hey, Miss. Irons can I get a drink." was commonly heard in my classroom. However, I had to know when it meant a drink from the drinking fountain down the hall, or the pop machine. Example: I had a row of boy students ( third period, right after lunch) and they would take turns asking to get a drink. The first time I was fine with it until they came back loaded down with pop. He began to pass the pop down the row to his mates. ( The first couple of times this happened I was furious.) Each day a different student would ask. By about the third day, I started asking my class if anyone else needed a pop. (Thanks Blaine Montague, Mark Murdoch, Chase Fahnert, and Corbin Carter for the great memories.) Even better story... " Hey, Irons can I  go get something to eat." Once again I was thinking the candy machine down the hall but forty minutes later and me marking him down for a sluff he came in with a box of crackers. I looked at him full of disgust and yelled at him for lying to me. Why did he not just tell me he was going down to the newly opened Walmart to get crackers. (His response: you wouldn't let me go. Really?) I was upset that he lied to me more than I was about the fact he left school grounds to go to Walmart. ( Thank you Kasey Jewett for I shall always remember this story.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite- can I go to the bathroom. The instant these students are out the door their phone is in their hands and they are texting or calling the person who contacted them. They ask to go to the bathroom because they know I will take their phones away if I see the. I love these students because they think they are tricky!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Students who ask to go to the bathroom during a test are the ones to watch! You really need to know if it is a serious bathroom dilemma or if they are going to their locker to look at their notes ( to cheat) or to text someone who will know the answer to the question on the test. You need to learn the truths from the lies to make it in the teaching world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I believe I heard the best excuse as a substitute. "Teacher, I need to go to the bathroom to get a feminine product." As a female teacher, I understand this statement. However, I want to know why you friend asked to go with you? Is she going to apply this product personally? I have never heard of someone needed their hand being held while " doing their business". The problem wasn't eve the product was in her friends locker- they really just wanted to get out of class to answer their phone. ( Remember teachers have eyes and ears everywhere... we are always on to you) I would love to know what would really happen if both went as well as to what the excuse would be if the teacher would have been male. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Students will push you to all limits. When I taught my students were allowed to have a drink in the classroom as long as it had a screw on cap. What happens when they bring in a two-liter bottle of Mt. Dew to drink. " But, Irons it has a screw cap." (Thanks Joe Elmer for pushing me on that one- you made me eat my words). You learn to phrase everything exactly. You can not have gray areas... everything needs to be in black and white or you have set yourself up for failure. However, when failure does occur- because it will- laugh! You may have a degree to teach these kids but they have the ingenuity and genius to find the holes and teach you. Laughter in these situations are the best medicine and the only way to survive. They make for great stories for many years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a different note, I recently lost a former student. I never thought this would affect me but it has. This particular student was in my Creative Writing class my first year teaching. He was a senior and I only had him for half a semester but that short time I learned so much from him. He was kind, loving, generous and had a great love for life. We laughed about how crazy life was and had become but he always found the good in the everything. This made my teaching job easier and more fun as I learned to love this Creative Writing class. This class was more of a family than a class. Some of the students wrote their deepest darkest secrets and with passion. I learned about my students on a more personal level through their writing of short stories, poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe walked in the first day of class with his hair in a pony tail down to his back, a long chain attached to his wallet, a heavy metal band t-shirt ( uncertain what one) and a Mt. Dew. I remember thinking to myself that this kid was going to be a punk, I groaned to myself. However, this was not the case. He was genuine, honest, kind, and a great student. Joe could write! He wrote with emotion, poignancy, depth, truth,from the heart and with and ingenuity. The semester ended and he graduated. I would see him on occasion over the years ( He lived one neighborhood over so I would see him drive by or out mowing his lawn. I also would see him at Walmart. He would come through my line and we small talk) Needless to say Walmart was the last time I saw him personally- face to face. ( Besides when you see a teacher outside of school do you think it is weird? I believe more than half of my students think it is weird and then to be on a personal level... more weird) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe wrecked on his bullet bike about a block from my house. The news traveled like a wild fire. My ward was talking about it at church the day it happened. My friend (who lived three houses from Joe) asked me if I had heard. No one really knew who was involved but when I found out I fell apart. I had to call Spence at work and I was sobbing. It has been said that the teacher influences and changes the students life but I will be honest when I say I had more than one student change and affect my life. These students brought laughter, tears, joys, sadness, meaning, disgust, stories, and friendships into my life. My students at Payson High made me a better person. I became more understanding to life. I realized that these young students had hardships I never experienced or could fathom. They taught me patience. They taught me how to hold my temper. ( I was the adult... not really. I tried but I was still very young to be warping their minds.) I was taught laughter. I laughed daily at my students ( not in a mean make fun of students way) The laughter seemed to help the hard times. They also taught me faith and humility. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My students were my life and I would have given them the tools they needed to succeed. They never failed me but I failed them miserably. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am thankful for the three years I taught at Payson and the students I had the opportunity to get to know. They changed my life for the better and I am fulfilled with many happy memories and great times. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is short and I have always known this but lately it has really been hitting home. I never got the chance to tell Joe how much he helped me and how he changed me so I would like them to know just how much they mean/meant to me as I was teaching them. They all taught me and made me a better person and I am grateful that I got to know each and everyone of them! ( Even Hayden Goudy... that is a story in and of itself!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8251967115478590365?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8251967115478590365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8251967115478590365' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8251967115478590365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8251967115478590365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/10/teachers.html' title='Teachers'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7157554532835077598</id><published>2011-10-05T17:59:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-10-05T18:04:01.763-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am the spotlight person in our ward. I let September get away from me and never got ahold of anyone in my ward to spotlight. Between dance, soccer, work, preschool, being a wife,and mother I was out of time. I hurried and wrote one up on me... Not the greatest spotlight but one that was hurried and basically just facts not really a paragraph about myself. This was my spotlight...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25 facts about Teresa Marie Irons Stevenson&lt;br /&gt;1. She was born in LDS hospital, in Salt Lake City. Her mom wanted to get  pregnant again and went to see a fertility specialist. He told her she was pregnant so she continued to go to him throughout her pregnancy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Her great-grandfather was buried on the day she was born. She remembers him perfectly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. She was raised in Moroni, Utah. (Two hours from SLC). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. She has a scar on her forehead. After countless people asking what happened, she finally just told them aliens sucked out her brains and continues to do so. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. She has a bachelor’s degree in English with an emphasis in Education. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. She attended Dixie, Snow, University of Utah, and Southern Utah University before receiving her BA. ( she has also taken classes at BYU and was accepted to UVU to start a new degree).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  She has one sister and one brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  She is married to a twin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  She moved to Payson to teach school at Payson high school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  She met her husband on a blind date. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.  She has been a dance teacher, cheer coach, and softball coach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.  She has two girls Zoe, 4, and Peyton,2. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.  She has been sky diving twice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14.  She sleeps upside down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.  Her favorite job ever was: (A): Being a service girl for Norbest (she de-beaked, de-toed, and de-snooted baby turkeys.) (B): a Bra Specialist at Victoria’s Secret. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16.  Her favorite thing to do is read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.  Her favorite book is Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18.  Her Favorite hymn is, “I Stand All Amazed.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19.  She has been to Europe twice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20.  Her favorite places on earth are Venice, Italy and Southern Utah. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21.  Her favorite color is yellow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22.  She hates red roses. Her husband always gets in trouble by the florist because he refuses to buy red roses. Cala Lilies and yellow roses  are her flowers of choice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.  She was married in the Manti Temple&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.  She has OCD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25.  Her hobbies include: reading, running, cooking, baking, dancing, softball, extreme sports, and hanging out with friends and family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7157554532835077598?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7157554532835077598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7157554532835077598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7157554532835077598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7157554532835077598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-am-spotlight-person-in-our-ward.html' title=''/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1844502562639379548</id><published>2011-09-22T12:24:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T12:56:44.297-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny sayings</title><content type='html'>I need to keep up more with what my children do and say that make me laugh on a daily basis. I know a that I am lacking in what they do that I love so here is a shot at it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My tampons were on the bathroom floor. Zoe looked at them and said , “ Mom are these to make your bum feel better?” I replied no Zoe they are for my nose. “ Okay, Mom.” ( June 8, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spence was cleaning out his drawer yesterday. " Look mom, tickets. Can we go on the rides?" UMMM... how do you tell your two year old those aren't tickets and she is NOT old enough to be riding THAT ride. ( March 25, 2010) ( she found our condoms) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight while looking at old pictures of Spencer Zoe said, " Mom, who is that weird girl in this picture." I look at the picture and it was Spencer with his long hair. I laughed greatly!! ( March 23, 2010)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;" Mom I only say thank you words." This being said after her second tasting of hot sauce. Dang I must swear a lot. ( March 16, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe got her first taste of hot sauce. She called her grandpa a dumbass. Later last night she told me she didn't think it was fair that mom and dad could say naughty words and not get in trouble. So if Zoe catches us saying bad words she decided our punishment would be hot sauce and getting sent to our rooms. (March 15, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I got in a fight with her two year old over pajamas. Come to find out the PJ's I put on her are her work clothes and she can't wear them to bed. Needless to say she won because I was laughing. (February 26, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eleventeen.  ( April 6, 2010)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer: Stop, stepping on my crouch. Zoe: I will just dance on it.  (April 6, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe: Dad, who is this man that grandma Phyllis is with? ( Holding up the May 2010 Ensign with Pres. Monson and his wife) Spence: That is not grandma Phyllis. Zoe: Yes it is. She continues to tell everyone about grandma Phyllis being on a magazine with some man. ( May 12, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mothers Day- We went to Home Depot and Spence bought some hooks to hand his rakes and such on in the garage. I was giving him a hard time because we spend money on him. Me: Gosh, Spence we spent a bunch of money on you but nothing on me and it is My day. Spence: I bought you breakfast, cleaned your garage, mowed your lawn, bought you a faceless thingy, what more do you want. Zoe from the back seat: Say a movie. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to work one day and one of my co-workers told me I looked like Jody Foster. I was relating this story to my family. Zoe began to tell her father that he looked like Justin Beiber. ( I laughed... how does she know who Justin Beiber is?) We proceeded to tell Zoe that Justin and Selena Gomez ( or Goma in our house) dated. ( Zoe loves Selena Goma)She asked if she sang, " I love you like a love song baby" to Justin! (September 2011)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe just gave us new names... Spencer's is the P.O.S. Man.Zoe's name was hot jeans girl. I was hot jean mom!( August 2011)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was driving in Provo. The car in front of me got into the turning lane but it was taking him FOREVER! I yelled, " Move, DICK!" Zoe then asked me how I knew his name. I laughed and just said I did. She then proceeded to tell me that I was no longer able to talk to "Dick" because he just gets me upset. So the next time I saw him I was to ignore him. (August 2011)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe was asked today where she got her blond hair... her reply Jesus! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer walked in on  Zoe singing Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd. Her favorite part, "Hey, Teacher leave those kids alone." (September 2011)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the ones I can remember right now. I need to keep a better record!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1844502562639379548?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1844502562639379548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1844502562639379548' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1844502562639379548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1844502562639379548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/09/funny-sayings.html' title='Funny sayings'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3453979734851491075</id><published>2011-09-22T08:07:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T08:50:55.404-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Money Matters</title><content type='html'>This may or may not be a venting post...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand that times are tough. I am the first one to understand this. Try having your husbands pay check get cut by $400 dollars a month when you have lived with that extra bonus for six years. Things are different around here. We find a way to make it work. I understand that the economy is horrible but I am sick to death of people complaining they can't find work. I want to ask them if they have even tried. Around Payson alone, I have noticed help wanted signs on a daily basis. Payson is currently opening up three new businesses( Maurices... just opened, Papa John's, and Maddi Moo's Ice Cream) I am not saying they are ideal jobs but a job none the less. A pay check to help those who need the help. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sick to death of hearing everyone's money woes. " I don't have any money to go grocery shopping. I didn't have the money to enroll my kids in school this year, I can't afford the children I have now why would I want more. I have a garden because we barely have the money to buy food. ( yet you are on on WIC and have food stamps.) You get more money for food than I have in my budget to buy food with out the help of the government" I know we are all having hard times... DO NOT GET ME WRONG! What I hate is hearing these SAME people complain and then I watch them come home with a new car, a flat screen T.V., they have fake nails, they brag about their new lap top on Facebook, they have smart phones, they go on lavish trips to Hawaii or Vegas. they buy a baby grand piano. All I really want to say is shut your pie hole! Some of us have prehistoric Televisions. ( mine are so old that to watch a DVD you have to unplug cable and hook up the player... it is too old to have both plugged in at the same time.) I have a television that Spence had when he was still in high school... 15 years ago! We will not be buying a new television until both are gone completely. ( yes, we have two but one I brought to the marriage and the other Spence brought to the marriage. One of them has it's moments where it is all rainbow in color...yet, we still watch it.) I have a piano that was the one and the same I played on when I was living at home. ( My sister has one, Ty's wife has one, I get ours). I have a prehistoric computer that works so why trade up. ( My computer is at least 7 years in the making. It is all completely different parts from different computers to make it work.) I have a garden because nothing tastes better than garden veggies and I really do love to bottle. ( This year alone: pickles, salsa, spaghetti sauce, peaches, pears, and I am hoping to do carrots. Hopefully beans next year they are my favorite.) I don't understand how you can complain about not finding a job. There is work out there. Yes, you may have to go below your standards ( Mine would be McDonalds) but if you are working and bringing in money to make your life better isn't the point. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hated working at Walmart and seeing people come through my line when they were on food stamps. They ate better than I did! When it came to Halloween they would by the good candy and drop  $50 dollars on candy alone with out blinking an eye. You better believe I was paying for that! Most ( by all means not all) who had food stamps had fake nails, their hair colored, and I had one who wore Juicy Corture and had a Channel bag. ( I asked if it was fake and she said no it was real... who is to say). She was on food stamps... how do I know:  when it came to paper products she would put them back if it was too much money. ( Food stamps do not pay for any paper products: toilet paper, paper towels, notebooks) Are you serious? You can't afford to pay for those but your finger nails are just recently filled! After she paid, I had one customer go off on me and how his damn paycheck paid for lushes like her. I guess I wasn't the only one feeling the pain. Also they have changed the food stamp program. It is now a debit card. ( they are trying to make it look like a normal debit card so others at the store won't know you are on food stamps and don't get so embarrassed.) However depending on their situation they actually can use it like a debit card and get money? What the hell? They can get money to buy beer and cigarettes. ( I believe it is supposed to be money to pay bills but how many really use it for that)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a friend who was on food stamps and she received $1500 for food and $800 in cash for other expenses: A MONTH!. That is more than than I spend in six months on food. Lets just say when she went grocery shopping they went grocery shopping. She had food in her carts I could only dream about!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are all feeling the pinch and we are all having our own financial difficulties in one way or another. I just feel like maybe we need to find other subjects to talk about because this one is really getting me pissed off! Shut the hell up! ( me included)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3453979734851491075?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3453979734851491075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3453979734851491075' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3453979734851491075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3453979734851491075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/09/money-matters.html' title='Money Matters'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4746412247883245592</id><published>2011-08-25T07:43:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-08-25T08:09:37.206-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Fishing Trip</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Zoe's first really fishing trip was epic. It was one for the white trash nation to remember. We started up by getting drinks at the gas station. At the check out counter there were Zots. I have not had a Zot for years so I made sure we stocked up. After we made our purchases we headed up the Canyon. Ty was sitting the the middle of the two girls. I pulled out the Zots and gave one to everyone. Peyton was doing just fine until the Zot started to fizz in her mouth. ( remember Zots have a powder in them than when they hit your saliva it starts to fizz in your mouth.) Peyton did not like this she started to open her mouth and all the fizz started to come out of her mouth... she was literally foaming at the mouth. She swallowed and within seconds she threw up all over everything. Now you need to know that Ty does NOT do well with bodily function. I thought he was going to lose it as well. Ty turned green and had to look the other way. As soon as we could find a pull out we pulled over. I was laughing and cleaning up Peyton. Her shirt was covered so I took it off. ( Start to the great adventure.) We finally get to the lake and get everything read to go for fishing. We cast Zoe's line and Ty and I walked back to the tale to get our drinks; Spence was left the little ones. Next thing I know I am being told to hurry. Zoe had already caught a fish. While Spence was helping Zoe reel in her line Peyton fell into the lake. Peyton ended up in her diaper and shoes. She was a classic example of white trash.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GIFzjUa26eY/TlZU7tTHu-I/AAAAAAAAA2A/OJfsRgDDfrs/s1600/first%2Bfish.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 98px; height: 130px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GIFzjUa26eY/TlZU7tTHu-I/AAAAAAAAA2A/OJfsRgDDfrs/s200/first%2Bfish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644792567704304610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f4ZX7Sqrmt4/TlZU7aLH_NI/AAAAAAAAA14/iIQc3DyCmms/s1600/zoefishing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 98px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f4ZX7Sqrmt4/TlZU7aLH_NI/AAAAAAAAA14/iIQc3DyCmms/s200/zoefishing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644792562570493138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tMgHdqyi628/TlZU7_9PEiI/AAAAAAAAA2I/Pq4cM2VNuYM/s1600/diaper.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 98px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tMgHdqyi628/TlZU7_9PEiI/AAAAAAAAA2I/Pq4cM2VNuYM/s200/diaper.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644792572712784418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We continued to fish. Ty cast his line and reeled in his first fish only to find that his hook and hooked a a hook already in the fishes mouth. Needless to say that fish didn't make it. We continued to try to help Zoe but lets face it Spence and I are horrible fisherman. I tried to cast the line a couple of times only to have the line go about two feet in front of me. One time the bauble (is that how you spell it) came back and hit me in the face. After that happened I was done trying to help. Needless to say Spence didn't do any better. He had a couple fall short and then he broke the line. Ty was the only one that really knew what he was doing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We looked at Peyton and she had about 10 flies on her but. We decided this was a sure sign that she needed to be changed. We also decided it was time to go home. The only problem was that I had only one diaper and I had put it on P after she had fallen in the lake. We took her diaper off and she ended up even more white trash. I tied a blanket around her bottom for the ride home. Needless to say this was the most excited fishing trip I have ever been on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9WLJZZnOKUU/TlZXjdCyy9I/AAAAAAAAA2g/BmIUIigWnyY/s1600/DSC04033.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9WLJZZnOKUU/TlZXjdCyy9I/AAAAAAAAA2g/BmIUIigWnyY/s320/DSC04033.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644795449558879186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4746412247883245592?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4746412247883245592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4746412247883245592' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4746412247883245592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4746412247883245592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/08/fishing-trip.html' title='Fishing Trip'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GIFzjUa26eY/TlZU7tTHu-I/AAAAAAAAA2A/OJfsRgDDfrs/s72-c/first%2Bfish.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4577332381006357569</id><published>2011-08-11T15:20:00.008-06:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T15:44:16.485-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Firsts</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mtPC8Cfq0C4/TkRNEUDS9aI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/57OWwKrtGeM/s1600/DSC04009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mtPC8Cfq0C4/TkRNEUDS9aI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/57OWwKrtGeM/s200/DSC04009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639717369872053666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XGwScSYaiBM/TkRNE-slspI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/u7rJZHAH3a0/s1600/DSC04004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XGwScSYaiBM/TkRNE-slspI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/u7rJZHAH3a0/s200/DSC04004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639717381319537298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Q5tCc8NtSc/TkRMVSqGmMI/AAAAAAAAA0o/ugT29BtQcJU/s1600/DSC04001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Q5tCc8NtSc/TkRMVSqGmMI/AAAAAAAAA0o/ugT29BtQcJU/s200/DSC04001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639716562044098754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fqqmkySMKjE/TkRMD4xHaBI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/G3qTxJTJXC0/s1600/DSC04016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fqqmkySMKjE/TkRMD4xHaBI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/G3qTxJTJXC0/s200/DSC04016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639716263036413970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9P4JQSgUMeM/TkRL30VUT2I/AAAAAAAAA0A/FMiTIOqx0fY/s1600/DSC04018.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9P4JQSgUMeM/TkRL30VUT2I/AAAAAAAAA0A/FMiTIOqx0fY/s200/DSC04018.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639716055687647074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5a9vgsTvrWY/TkRL3dB5f-I/AAAAAAAAAz4/Nb0dO6aOG38/s1600/DSC04002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5a9vgsTvrWY/TkRL3dB5f-I/AAAAAAAAAz4/Nb0dO6aOG38/s200/DSC04002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639716049432182754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bKrxBHxkBE0/TkRL4HVbcPI/AAAAAAAAA0I/RKvs6la_JzQ/s1600/DSC04017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bKrxBHxkBE0/TkRL4HVbcPI/AAAAAAAAA0I/RKvs6la_JzQ/s200/DSC04017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639716060788388082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uCI3o8_OtDw/TkRLcdxjDFI/AAAAAAAAAzg/CvJjGvr311I/s1600/DSC04006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uCI3o8_OtDw/TkRLcdxjDFI/AAAAAAAAAzg/CvJjGvr311I/s200/DSC04006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639715585775570002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-slSC3MgXUHo/TkRLcM74OBI/AAAAAAAAAzY/MN_2RpZpo54/s1600/DSC04021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-slSC3MgXUHo/TkRLcM74OBI/AAAAAAAAAzY/MN_2RpZpo54/s200/DSC04021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639715581255497746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o_YZPXfNvhI/TkRLb6wVgVI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/_s-AYA1Bzc8/s1600/DSC04003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o_YZPXfNvhI/TkRLb6wVgVI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/_s-AYA1Bzc8/s200/DSC04003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639715576375247186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVPbig3LPOk/TkRLdA1Wf6I/AAAAAAAAAzw/v2TZka3lGxg/s1600/DSC04008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVPbig3LPOk/TkRLdA1Wf6I/AAAAAAAAAzw/v2TZka3lGxg/s200/DSC04008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639715595186765730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have found it hard to find time together as a family. I am always trying to find ways to keep us close as a family yet still have fun. We decided to go camping this week. We went up Fairview Canyon by Huntington Reservoir. The girls had fun. We asked Ty and Kara to go with us. Ty is the outdoors man so it was great to have him along. He cooked us dinner and breakfast. He also keep me girls entertained with his sling shot, fishing, and stories of monkeys in the woods. Zoe had a blast following Ty around. Peyton just had fun following big sister around. They both did exceptionally well when it came to sleeping in the tent in about 40 degrees. They were great and we hope to do it again!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4577332381006357569?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4577332381006357569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4577332381006357569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4577332381006357569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4577332381006357569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/08/firsts.html' title='Firsts'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mtPC8Cfq0C4/TkRNEUDS9aI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/57OWwKrtGeM/s72-c/DSC04009.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-536134149748704221</id><published>2011-07-11T16:44:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T17:00:52.691-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zoe turns 4!</title><content type='html'>Zoe turned four on July 9. She had a great party. We did a slip n' slide. You have to schedule the slide months in advance so lets face it I really did it for me. I promised people not to put pictures on Facebook but I am putting them on my blog. ( I promise no of them are bad.) Thanks for the great memories. I believe the adults had more fun than the children! The priceless moment was seeing Grandma Irons ( My mom) going down the slide. Needless to say we did get pictures but I am afraid if I posted those I would be disowned and all inheritance would not come to me upon death! Laughing...&lt;br /&gt;Riley Cook&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwErx6lPOj8/Tht-JrPkP1I/AAAAAAAAAw4/24sS1_5IAdw/s1600/DSC03855.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwErx6lPOj8/Tht-JrPkP1I/AAAAAAAAAw4/24sS1_5IAdw/s200/DSC03855.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230864021503826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Alexander girls. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_q-Us8dXiDw/Tht-KIw2LFI/AAAAAAAAAxA/_w0EoPmIjJ0/s1600/DSC03852.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_q-Us8dXiDw/Tht-KIw2LFI/AAAAAAAAAxA/_w0EoPmIjJ0/s200/DSC03852.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230871945718866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Family&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0dcAl3DlSTs/Tht96deV8nI/AAAAAAAAAwo/RMafNEEKjXs/s1600/DSC03849.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0dcAl3DlSTs/Tht96deV8nI/AAAAAAAAAwo/RMafNEEKjXs/s200/DSC03849.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230602627347058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RcCnzHeY6pQ/Tht96LUl9lI/AAAAAAAAAwg/-_Pt6T51vGs/s1600/DSC03870.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RcCnzHeY6pQ/Tht96LUl9lI/AAAAAAAAAwg/-_Pt6T51vGs/s200/DSC03870.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230597754615378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabby and Mariah with my girls. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-TaMoExXk/Tht95jaFqCI/AAAAAAAAAwY/Q2sFFlZPxfg/s1600/DSC03872.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-TaMoExXk/Tht95jaFqCI/AAAAAAAAAwY/Q2sFFlZPxfg/s200/DSC03872.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230587040245794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hrUOGJ4ZfoE/Tht95a57hSI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/XgBOuG7vaqc/s1600/DSC03873.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hrUOGJ4ZfoE/Tht95a57hSI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/XgBOuG7vaqc/s200/DSC03873.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230584757880098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Staci and Tana Stephensen. Nichole, Sylivia, and Will Sunderland. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TUTOIUukx5k/Tht96pvO3KI/AAAAAAAAAww/qyDIwL-3Kxo/s1600/DSC03853.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TUTOIUukx5k/Tht96pvO3KI/AAAAAAAAAww/qyDIwL-3Kxo/s200/DSC03853.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230605919411362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring and Jeremy Sorenson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hO6iXz6a194/Tht9kBBL6CI/AAAAAAAAAwA/MnoR68o8MhY/s1600/DSC03836.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hO6iXz6a194/Tht9kBBL6CI/AAAAAAAAAwA/MnoR68o8MhY/s200/DSC03836.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230217031739426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Max and Curtis Stevens&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1LedPkTLcw/Tht9jz7p51I/AAAAAAAAAv4/peelm6ePQOk/s1600/DSC03842.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1LedPkTLcw/Tht9jz7p51I/AAAAAAAAAv4/peelm6ePQOk/s200/DSC03842.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230213518878546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spence and Peyton&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aZP8Za9gGaY/Tht9jYIr6BI/AAAAAAAAAvw/TqJghpGj9Sk/s1600/DSC03831.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aZP8Za9gGaY/Tht9jYIr6BI/AAAAAAAAAvw/TqJghpGj9Sk/s200/DSC03831.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230206057342994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u65ztm-vcOM/Tht9jO_2JOI/AAAAAAAAAvo/qqeTIrjpejE/s1600/DSC03832.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u65ztm-vcOM/Tht9jO_2JOI/AAAAAAAAAvo/qqeTIrjpejE/s200/DSC03832.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230203604346082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Addison Dobsky&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KU_kfazGVSk/Tht9kfpoSII/AAAAAAAAAwI/bI7zxMNP9UI/s1600/DSC03837.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KU_kfazGVSk/Tht9kfpoSII/AAAAAAAAAwI/bI7zxMNP9UI/s200/DSC03837.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628230225254434946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-536134149748704221?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/536134149748704221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=536134149748704221' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/536134149748704221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/536134149748704221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/07/zoe-turns-4.html' title='Zoe turns 4!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwErx6lPOj8/Tht-JrPkP1I/AAAAAAAAAw4/24sS1_5IAdw/s72-c/DSC03855.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5758523524741386761</id><published>2011-07-11T16:31:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T16:44:15.887-06:00</updated><title type='text'>July 4th</title><content type='html'>July is a busy month in our house. We love to party when it comes to July. We are never home and we are always doing something. Here are photos of our Fourth of July. It was a great year. We went to Moroni ( as always). This year Spence and I ran the Turkey Trot ( a 5k). Spence was very proud of his shirt. We stayed side by side so our time was 32 minutes. This is 30 seconds better than the 5K we ran in April. ( We did no training and only walked for 10 seconds) We did pretty good for not training. Zoe ran in the relay race and won her age group. ( for the second year in a row) She received a two dollar bill as her prize. We finished the day off with a great BBQ at my moms, a beautiful ride up to Huntington Lake, and fire works. We love the 4th in Moroni!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p1KtaeZ6qh0/Tht8ehy68qI/AAAAAAAAAvY/LgmXh1AGnhY/s1600/DSC03823.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p1KtaeZ6qh0/Tht8ehy68qI/AAAAAAAAAvY/LgmXh1AGnhY/s200/DSC03823.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628229023239434914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8JcKXQSj-Io/Tht8ecQuJyI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/5AGg5IXPyXk/s1600/DSC03822.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8JcKXQSj-Io/Tht8ecQuJyI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/5AGg5IXPyXk/s200/DSC03822.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628229021753812770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0B0rjt8-DsA/Tht8d1D_i9I/AAAAAAAAAvI/y7HIV9MH1vs/s1600/DSC03818.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0B0rjt8-DsA/Tht8d1D_i9I/AAAAAAAAAvI/y7HIV9MH1vs/s200/DSC03818.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628229011231443922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Bp_VQV0vUw/Tht8dc9cU4I/AAAAAAAAAvA/uu9FVn180eo/s1600/DSC03817.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Bp_VQV0vUw/Tht8dc9cU4I/AAAAAAAAAvA/uu9FVn180eo/s200/DSC03817.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628229004761518978" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F_CPdPDlHB4/Tht8e6nUZmI/AAAAAAAAAvg/1a0vNqMRULA/s1600/DSC03825.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F_CPdPDlHB4/Tht8e6nUZmI/AAAAAAAAAvg/1a0vNqMRULA/s200/DSC03825.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628229029901657698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5758523524741386761?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5758523524741386761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5758523524741386761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5758523524741386761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5758523524741386761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/07/july-4th.html' title='July 4th'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p1KtaeZ6qh0/Tht8ehy68qI/AAAAAAAAAvY/LgmXh1AGnhY/s72-c/DSC03823.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2226295023488024137</id><published>2011-06-30T14:29:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T14:30:37.337-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Peyton's words</title><content type='html'>Words that my 19 month old is saying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mouth, sister, Cabo, out, down, shoes, book, baby, door, open, up , toes, why, Charlie, Ty, Kara, Caro ( Carol), stinky, toot, see you, string cheese, snack, hey buddy, kitty, ear, nose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-2226295023488024137?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2226295023488024137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2226295023488024137' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2226295023488024137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2226295023488024137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/06/peytons-words.html' title='Peyton&apos;s words'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2307449071070977655</id><published>2011-06-26T21:15:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-06-26T21:54:57.018-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Motherhood</title><content type='html'>I don't know hat I was thinking motherhood was going to be. I wasn't assuming heavenly bliss. I had watched my friends, previous roommates, and my sister raise their children and I knew without a doubt my life wouldn't be all about me. I also knew that chaos could happen at anytime. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did think that naps would be longer, children would go to bed without a fuss, that I would never tire of a nursery rhyme or a child's story book, car trips would be games, talking, and sleep. I believed I would be able to go to the park and talk with my friends ( while sitting in a chair) and my children would play content and happily. I never believed my children would look like an orphan- they would always be kind, well mannered, clean, dressed perfectly in the cutest clothes money could buy ( without stains mind you). Please and thank you would were offered daily. I believed my children would sit quietly in any public setting. Needless to say this is not even close to what happens. More and more I am kicking or hiding books so I don't have to read them one more time. I hate going to the park. More and more days my children look like orphans all the while screaming, " I hate you!" while I am yelling back the Please and Thank yous for hating me. Stomping, slamming doors, and jumping on the couch instead of sitting prim and proper are the norm at my home. There is never really a quiet time.  I wish someone would have explained to be better what motherhood was all about. Well, hear are my thoughts to all you upcoming mothers. ( Zoe and Peyton this includes you!) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt; How to grease a Pig:&lt;/span&gt; I promise after eating anything, taking a bath or putting lotion on them you will be chasing after them only to lose them to what their delicate skin is covered in. It is a losing battle when laughter ensues from the child while you get upset and annoyed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;How to do anything in eight seconds:&lt;/span&gt; Getting your child dressed, undressed, or changing diapers is a disaster waiting to happen. I compare it to steer wrestling. You need to sit on them hold their arms or legs and you need to do it in the least amount of time possible. ( I know you are thinking sitting on my child... it doesn't hurt them  it helps the squirming part). When you finally finish ( or have given up in some instances) you throw your arms up in victory!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;How to brush an Alligator's teeth:  &lt;/span&gt; Once your child receives teeth you are doomed. They believe their chompers are fun; therefore, they bit anything placed in their mouth. Trying to fish anything out of their mouth you will be bitten. When you brush their teeth chomping down hard will ensue! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Sleeping while awake:&lt;/span&gt;  you can survive and function with no sleep or with as little sleep as possible. You will learn to sleep while you are actually still awake. ( Words can't explain this phenomenon but it does and can happen daily.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Being Prepared:  &lt;/span&gt; You may think you are prepared for every situation. You may pack for an army but you will without a doubt always forget something: a bottle, paci, blanket, stuffed animal, diapers, wipes, formula... my case panties for a week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;6. Never being clean: &lt;/span&gt; No matter where or when you are about to leave the house you will find spit up or a child who has just wiped their dirty hands all over your clothes. It never fails- be prepared. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;7. Balanced diet: &lt;/span&gt; No matter how hard you try to give your child a well balanced diet they will eat what they want: flies, bugs, grass, dirt, and anything with sugar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;8. Peace: &lt;/span&gt; Face it peace and quite doesn't happen. However the peace I am really talking about is the peace of going to the bathroom in silence.  You can shut the door but screaming, " Mom, are you peeing or pooping? " will be yelled from the other side. My favorite is, " Mom, can you see my hands?" As Zoe sticks her fingers under the door. I also do not get a quiet shower or bath. Without fail I get in either and I have a child screaming and crying. No relaxing shower or bath and if they do happen savor every minute of them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. You are ancient to your child no matter your age. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. No matter how great of a mom you are you will spend at least half of your waking hours feeling guilty about something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. You will wish you hadn't spend so much time being critical of your prebaby body when your boobs were still located in the Northern Hemisphere and you didn't wet yourself every time you laughed or sneezed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. You will be a mother to more than just your children: &lt;/span&gt; In my case I am a mother to all the stuffed animals and dolls. Meaning my car is full- every seat belt is being used. I have to kiss and tuck in everyone- not just my two girls. Also be prepared to feed the dolls and stuffed animals. Hell, I have even made a birthday cake and thrown a party for said animals and dolls. I also get yelled at if I am not quiet during nap time! Dolls and stuffed animals may not be everyone's thing... in later years I am sure it will be boyfriends, best friends, and the neighbors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. At some point in your life you will fee like a jersey cow. You will undoubtedly feel like Betsy the Milking Cow! If you want a milk shake... well, you know what to do!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;14. Getting ready: &lt;/span&gt;I always thought my make up would be on and I would be dressed daily. Not the case! Some days I am lucky to comb my hair, let alone get dressed out of my sweats. Who really cares what I look like or wear I am only going to get dirty or go to the park to play. You begin to rationalize why you don't get ready. It isn't not because you are lazy it is because sometimes it is just easier to stay looking a mess. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Exercise: &lt;/span&gt;Going to the gym daily has always been a part of my life. Ummm, until I had kids. I assumed I would still be going to the gym or getting up early to run. Nope! I need all the sleep I can get so getting up early is out of the question. Gym time doesn't happen because someone has to be taken somewhere during " day care hours". Also night time is out of the question, I am just too tired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. When you are having the worst day of your life a hug and a simple " I love you Mom" changes your whole day and the tears change to loving and grateful tears.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-2307449071070977655?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2307449071070977655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2307449071070977655' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2307449071070977655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2307449071070977655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/06/motherhood.html' title='Motherhood'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1310004896467220333</id><published>2011-06-26T21:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-06-26T21:15:36.331-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ghost Stories</title><content type='html'>* When my husband was building his house him and his sister were standing in the kitchen. They watched someone ( basically a dark shadow) run across the carport. They went to see who it was. Our house was one of the first ones being built so there was no where to hide: no trees, no big structures anything like that. Spence went one way and Corrie went the other. They never found anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Windows and doors sporadically shut. ( I know this can be caused by a draft: windows or doors open) that is never the case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* When Spence and I were dating we had just finished watching a movie. We had turned everything off and started to make out. While we were making out the sound system started doing a sound check. I stopped kissing Spence and told him to knock it off. ( I thought he was trying to freak me out- or maybe we were laying on the remote.) He said to me," Teresa, you know where my hands are and all the remotes are on the table." Sure enough as I looked at the coffee table all the remotes were sitting right there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I had gotten really sick. ( Spence and I were dating). I ended up sleeping on Spence's couch. I was headed to work because I had contracted the flu. The set up of our house is the kitchen door is connected to the garage and the kitchen opens up into a living room. I was sleeping on the couch in the living room. I heard the kitchen door open and someone walk across the carpet. I really thought it was his dad and I was sorta embarrassed so I faked sleeping. I heard someone walk across the carpet and then hear someone call my name. Teresa... I open my eyes and there is no one there. I was freaked out. I then hear the door open and close. BUT... there was no one there and the door never really opened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Spence has seen dark shadows moving in our walk in closet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* My bed is closest to the door in our bedroom. I climbed in bed one night looked at the door and there was a little girl holding a balloon and in a party dress ( basically a frilly, lacy, church dress). I asked Spence to close the door because I was too freaked out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe was sleeping in her crib I decided to go and take a nap. ( My bedroom is right across the hallway from the nursery). I heard someone walk down the hall. ( we have a squeaky floorboard that only squeaks when stepped on so you always know when someone is coming) the floorboard squeaked and I heard shuffling on the carpet. I opened my eyes and heard someone go and "check" on Zoe but I never say anything. I heard the shuffling leave her room but once again never saw anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*While I was pregnant with Peyton. I made it a regular nightly occurrence to get up and go to the bathroom at around 2 a.m. then go get a drink of water. For weeks I would get up and there would be music playing. It started at exactly 2. I told my husband about it and he thought I was crazy. One night he was sleeping downstairs and he heard it. The music sounds like it was coming from a music box. We searched everywhere thinking maybe an alarm was set to something, a toy was hiding in the storage room or toy room but to no avail we found nothing. We still don't know where the sound comes and we are still looking.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe telling us she sees people in her doorway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1310004896467220333?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1310004896467220333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1310004896467220333' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1310004896467220333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1310004896467220333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/06/ghost-stories.html' title='Ghost Stories'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8320869427304136635</id><published>2011-06-23T09:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-06-23T09:58:35.419-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Service</title><content type='html'>I just finished a book ( "The Housewife and the Actor" by Shannon Hales) I found the book disturbing throughout. I also couldn't put it down! Laughing! However, the main character, Becky, is a LDS mom who once a week bakes three apple pies. She saves one for her family and takes the others where her heart leads her. Lets just say I suck at service and to do this task once a week would kill me. I hear the promptings of the spirit. ( trust me they all come at inconvenient times... driving on the freeway in Utah traffic, changing a diaper, or I am almost asleep.) I swear to myself I will remember what I am supposed to do or where I am supposed to lead a hand but I forget. I move on with my life and the small prompting never comes again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sure it is nice to just have pie or loaf of bread show up at your door when you need it most or even just to brighten your day. However, I am always too proud to ask for help.  ( and have noticed if you don't ask my ward members do nothing)I don't want to just show up on someone's door unannounced bringing tidings of good cheer when they do not want it. ( I know you are thinking who wouldn't want something but this ole' gal is one of those who would be annoyed.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a great friend who I rarely talk to. She is  a working mom with four children. She is wonderful and I love her dearly. However, everytime I am talking to her she is making something or taking something she has made to someone's house for one reason or another. I always think to myself where do you find the time? How can you do all this for someone else when you have a family of your own? I know I am asking the easy question because in her mind it is how can I not do something for someone else? I know her blessings are great and she has faith and the strength of ten women but can your blessings be that great? Her answer is a resounding YES! This same friend had a calling in the church. She was to gather rolls around the church on Sunday. She had to small children that where not quite old enough for nursery. She carried them both around collecting rolls and the only time I heard her complain was when she dropped the rolls and no one was around to help her pick them up! I remember telling her that her bishop would understand if she asked to be released. She said no and is still in the calling. ( Needless to say that was a couple of years ago so I am sure picking up the rolls is a breeze now.) This individuals service and faith amaze me to no end. I am constantly amazed and surprised by all she does. When I had both my children she drove hours just to bring me food and make sure I was doing great! That is friendship with sprinkles on top! She really is amazing and I would love to strive to be like her more...especially in the faith and service category but I shall never have the patience, strength, or encouragement to do so! Kudos to you my friend for I lack that drive to serve! YIKES! May my soul still be saved from the fiery darts of Hell!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8320869427304136635?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8320869427304136635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8320869427304136635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8320869427304136635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8320869427304136635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/06/service.html' title='Service'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8732809210098757283</id><published>2011-06-18T19:21:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-06-18T19:30:37.010-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Day and the life of a Bee</title><content type='html'>Hello, My name is Bumptious the Bumblebee. I live in a beautiful forest located up Provo Canyon. Many humans travel the trail that runs through my homeland. They are harmless creatures really but once in a while they are unruly and mean. Today, was like every other day. I got up early finished my chores and decided I would go for a nice stroll through my lovely forest. I had been searching for nectar in all the right places. The trail had been very busy today. I overheard the humans talking about Father's Day weekend and all. I was uncertain what they meant by this notion but was quite pleased that they were being gracious to someone they called father. I noticed a strikingly good looking couple riding a two wheeled object that they sat upon along the trail. I was excited to see them because the girl human looked like a flower. I was was exceptionally pleased to fly up to her as she was traveling around 15 mph on her two wheeled object. I was flying towards her ready to collect nectar from the purple flower when I landed in a nice earthy toned log instead. My life force started to drain and everything around me started to go black. I did her the human yelp and pull the earthy toned log towards her blue puddles of water laced with black spider legs. She said, " Damn, that hurt like a SOB" I don't know what she meant but by this point I was no longer stuck in the log but was laying on the ground. Everything slowly fading around me and my life draining from my little body. I had struck out and now I was dead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Needless to say this was not the only animal that was harmed by this couple. I saw a poor helpless chipmunk get ran over by the boy humans two wheeled object as well. The chipmunk ran in front of him and the two round things ran over him. Gratefully the Chipmunk ran back safely to his home. I do hope his tail is alright!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8732809210098757283?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8732809210098757283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8732809210098757283' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8732809210098757283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8732809210098757283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/06/day-and-life-of-bee.html' title='Day and the life of a Bee'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-98112044910660763</id><published>2011-06-13T08:10:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T08:29:59.928-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Faith</title><content type='html'>I have always heard how faithful the little ones are but have never witnessed it. However, my little Zoe has opened my eyes to a whole new realm of the word faith. She is more diligent in being faithful and going to church than I am. ( I guess I have raised her right so far... laughing) She amazes me. This week Zoe, Peyton, and I received a 24 hour flu bug. ( I promise it only sucked because I am a mom who still had to take care of girls while being sick.) Zoe was crying so hard because she wanted to stop throwing up. ( I am soo used to throwing up by now it is a breeze. I wanted to tell Zoe this is what pregnancy is like but I don't think at the tender age of 3 she would understand or appreciate what I went through to get her here). At one point, in the middle of the night, Zoe was shooting out both ends. I asked her if she would like a blessing. We haven't really talked to her about blessings because we haven't really needed around here so far. She said yes and began to ask questions about what a blessing is. I explained to her that her Father laid his hands on her head ( we just did a fathers blessing because it was the middle of the night) and he would feel the spirit and the Lord would pronounce a blessing upon her to get better. She was good to go. She sat very still and listening to the beautiful pray being offered. I really thought she didn't understand what was going because very close to Spencer closing the prayer she quietly asked Spence if he was done yet. Anyway we put her back and in bed and had her sleep. The next morning she was so excited about the words from Heaven. ( her words.) " Mom Heavenly Fathers words from Heaven made me all better. I listened to daddy's words and he said I would get better and I am! She was so excited that she was healed. She then when into more detail with her dad about the guy who was blind and Heavenly Father told him to put mud on his eyes and he would be able to see. She was so excited that this worked for both of them. WOW!! I was  amazed that my little one could even soak up that information! She truly is an inspiration to me. Her faith is bigger and stronger than mine. I guess that is why the Lord wants us to be like the little children!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, yesterday in Primary Zoe received her first Quad! She was so excited. She came home and showed her dad ( who was sick becuase he go the wonderful 24 flu bug from us) and then had to show Peyton and proceeded to show anyone who walked by the house by shouting out the window and showing them and also anyone who came to the house. I can honestly say I want to hide her BOM but she is so proud of them. She tries to read me stories out of them but she really only knows the cool kids stories ( Daniel and the Lions Dean, Jonah and the Whale, Noah and the Ark, these are the stories she likes to hear over and over again). I tried to sit and read her BOM with her but after reading, " I, Nephi being born of goodly parents..." and asking her what it meant she replied well I don't know what do you think it means? Sorry, Zoe you can return my question with a question that is something one a teacher does so she doesn't give you the answer and I know you don't know the answer. She said I don't know then! However, all day long she has been reading them. Basically she says a prayer and then throws random stuff in there like, " Dear Heavenly Father thank you for this day and may we please have a play date at the pool soon." Then she will say more stuff and then throw in Scripture power! She even started singing "Follow the Prophet" ( Which applies more than having a play date!)Spence finally looked at me about 6 ( So all this had been going on about 4 hours and her toting the BOM everywhere) and Spence said, " I may have to kill Mandy" ( Who is the Primary President) I laughed. I know I should be reading the scriptures to my little one but I don't know if I have the patience to explain everything to her after I read it. She just knows they are true and I can't believe how amazing she is when it comes to her faith in the Lord and all his teachings!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-98112044910660763?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/98112044910660763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=98112044910660763' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/98112044910660763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/98112044910660763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/06/faith.html' title='Faith'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2013131096416442818</id><published>2011-05-22T14:01:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-05-22T14:09:45.177-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Death of Me</title><content type='html'>Everyone has a child that is their trial. Mine just happens to be a pint size nothing. My little pip squeak, Peyton, just might kill me. Yesterday as I was getting ready for the day, Peyton and Zoe came into the bathroom. Zoe was informing me she wanted a cup of juice and Peyton was wet from top to bottom. I looked at Zoe and asked her if she left the fridge open. Yes, I think I did Mom. Peyton had taken the jug of orange juice I had just made and began to carry it somewhere. My carpet now has an orange juice stain the size of Lake Michigan on it. I finally, find a carpet cleaner to clean the area and just as I am done Peyton dumps  gold fish all over the wet area and proceeds to stomp them into the carpet. Seriously? It is like she knows what buttons to push constantly. No worries though because as I go to take out the camera to take a picture, I realize it is broken from Peyton dropping it at Zoe's Preschool Graduation. Okay, I can handle that. Next,  I load the kids up to go get my tires rotated. I was being a nice mom and stopped at the gas station to buy the girls drinks and snacks so they would be good as the tires were being rotated. Peyton preceded to dump her Bug Juice all over herself and car seat. All this has happened in a 6 hour period. So if anyone wants a 19 month old she is up for adoption.  I can honestly swear this is just the beginning because more and more of my days are like this. I am losing my patience with Peyton and am losing the sense of hilarity in the situations that arise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-2013131096416442818?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2013131096416442818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2013131096416442818' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2013131096416442818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2013131096416442818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/05/death-of-me.html' title='The Death of Me'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1068547508994276821</id><published>2011-05-22T13:49:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2011-05-22T14:00:48.311-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zoe's Graduations</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MxSfsYJoVYk/TdlpY8OvLjI/AAAAAAAAAus/CoIPzmMBstg/s1600/DSC03727.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MxSfsYJoVYk/TdlpY8OvLjI/AAAAAAAAAus/CoIPzmMBstg/s200/DSC03727.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609630688072379954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sing the songs for the program&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I3wHhyUbaVE/TdlpZNS2EWI/AAAAAAAAAu0/pDFfKOUkC-4/s1600/DSC03730.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I3wHhyUbaVE/TdlpZNS2EWI/AAAAAAAAAu0/pDFfKOUkC-4/s200/DSC03730.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609630692653011298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alex, Mary Hinton, Zoe, Jessica Jensen ( Melissa Bailey's little girl for those from Sanpete) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KVkS0q5ZWrU/TdlpOH5PZjI/AAAAAAAAAuU/oLD6IFjAidw/s1600/DSC03728.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KVkS0q5ZWrU/TdlpOH5PZjI/AAAAAAAAAuU/oLD6IFjAidw/s200/DSC03728.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609630502224881202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe on Graduation day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qZx4TTXeOR4/TdlpN5DbXPI/AAAAAAAAAuM/XcAjLIk-684/s1600/DSC03721.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qZx4TTXeOR4/TdlpN5DbXPI/AAAAAAAAAuM/XcAjLIk-684/s200/DSC03721.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609630498241076466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe being a kitten. They were doing, " Three Little Kittens lost Their Mittens". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x1VC0TmZbRw/TdlpPPK9AZI/AAAAAAAAAuk/PJLO-9frdQ4/s1600/DSC03731.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x1VC0TmZbRw/TdlpPPK9AZI/AAAAAAAAAuk/PJLO-9frdQ4/s200/DSC03731.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609630521358090642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe and Jessica Jensen &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe has been excited to graduate from Preschool. She is excited that she is done with school. I laughed at her and told her she had about twenty more years of school unless she was a doctor or lawyer and then she had more school time than that. She was okay with it until today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe told her dad she doesn't want to go to college anymore. He asked why? She stated that she would miss us too much. He told her she could live at home and go to college or she could come and visit on the weekends that way she would miss us. She will have none of it. I could only reason with her by saying she doesn't have to go to college if she doesn't want to. ( I hope she doesn't remember that conversation when it comes down it) She has claimed she wants to be a farmer so I guess she wouldn't need schooling for that profession. I can only hope she chances her mind. She also proceeded to tell me that Max Russo ( Witches of Waverly Place) stated that you don't have to go to college if you become an Ice Cream Man! I hope my little Zoe changes her mind by  the time college comes around!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1068547508994276821?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1068547508994276821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1068547508994276821' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1068547508994276821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1068547508994276821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/05/zoes-graduations.html' title='Zoe&apos;s Graduations'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MxSfsYJoVYk/TdlpY8OvLjI/AAAAAAAAAus/CoIPzmMBstg/s72-c/DSC03727.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3347414970264596873</id><published>2011-05-16T12:12:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-05-16T12:22:58.225-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Tsk... Tsk..</title><content type='html'>Zoe's hair cut&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3bihpEYhGKY/TdFrUlJHMPI/AAAAAAAAAt0/VbY1PooeCoE/s1600/DSC03711.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3bihpEYhGKY/TdFrUlJHMPI/AAAAAAAAAt0/VbY1PooeCoE/s200/DSC03711.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607381012364865778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; After: &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kARCwW_UzEs/TdFrU7gqz-I/AAAAAAAAAt8/QFj0RB8k-34/s1600/DSC03712.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kARCwW_UzEs/TdFrU7gqz-I/AAAAAAAAAt8/QFj0RB8k-34/s200/DSC03712.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607381018369249250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday Zoe received "ears" from Primary. They had not cut them out so she asked if she could cut them out. I gave her a pair of scissors. ( She has been working on cutting at home as well as in preschool so she has gotten pretty good at cutting things out.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left the room to go watch television. Spence was upstairs in the same room as Zoe so I thought nothing of it. Well, I should have. Next thing I hear is Spencer's tone of voice change asking Zoe why she did it. I pause the television only to hear Spencer yell my name and tell me that Zoe has cut her hair. I run upstairs and sure enough she has hacked off one side completely. The only side has a couple of strands still long. She has taken a huge chunk out of the back. There is hair all over my kitchen. I look at Spencer and start laughing. Spence went outside and didn't think about Zoe cutting her hair anymore than I would have. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at her hair and really it is beyond help. I get on Facebook to see if anyone who cuts hair is on. I need her hair fixed ASAP! I finally get a hold of Sadie Buffo. Sadie and I make an appointment for 9 the next morning. I tell Zoe to go show Carol ( our next door neighbor... who gave me Sadie's phone number) Zoe starts over but comes back sad. I said what is wrong? I can't go over they are all going to laugh at me. I look at her and say  you are right they are? ( Really, her hair was horrible). I really thought we would have to cut her hair into a pixie cut but Sadie worked with what we gave her and she did great. ( Although Zoe looks like Joan Jett). Sadie even claimed that pulling her hair up until it has grown would be the best option. So anyway Zoe's blond hair is now cut and dirty dishwater blond. So much for her golden locks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3347414970264596873?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3347414970264596873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3347414970264596873' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3347414970264596873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3347414970264596873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/05/tsk-tsk.html' title='Tsk... Tsk..'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3bihpEYhGKY/TdFrUlJHMPI/AAAAAAAAAt0/VbY1PooeCoE/s72-c/DSC03711.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-76046255981471901</id><published>2011-05-08T14:45:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-05-08T14:48:22.847-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My funny Children</title><content type='html'>I am trying to write down everything my kids say or do that make me laugh. Lately, Peyton has been into trying everything she has eaten deodorant, hair spray, body wash, crayons, soap and I am sure many bugs and dirt particles from out side. I laugh because why would she listen to me telling her it is gross and yucky! She still puts it in her mouth and then gags and pulls a horrible face. I guess this is the process of growing up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day at the park a lady asked Zoe where she got her pretty blond hair. Zoe's reply: from Jesus. Later that day she asked me if that was the right answer. I assured it it was great. She proceeded to tell me that Jesus has given us everything we see and our bodies. This assures me she is learning something in primary!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-76046255981471901?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/76046255981471901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=76046255981471901' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/76046255981471901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/76046255981471901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/05/my-funny-children.html' title='My funny Children'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7611611552937131829</id><published>2011-05-08T14:33:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2011-05-09T20:29:05.885-06:00</updated><title type='text'>YIKES!</title><content type='html'>Why is it news or bad things always come in threes? Yesterday was actually a nice day ( compared to the week I have had) until... I wrecked both cars. I know who would think that this could be physically possible but all things are possible when I am in the picture. Zoe and I had just got ready to go to a wedding reception and the store. She was buckled in I was buckled in and I started to back out of my driveway. I am talking to Zoe and then I hear crunch. I think to myself , " Shit, what bicycle did I just run over." I get out and it isn't a bike at all. I have just side-swiped my own car. Spence had parked outside of the garage and sure enough I side-swiped the passenger and driver side door plus the damage to the Envoy. I am pissed as hell at this point but I am too tired to get over it. I start crying (remember I am a stupid girl as well) I honk the horn for Spence to come out and move the car because I don't want to do any more damage to the two cars. I guess my head wasn't in the game at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could blame it one many things... I had just heard three pieces of bad news and  my head wasn't in the game. I also have been tired beyond belief lately, I am surprised I was even functioning. Third, I am really not used to Spence even being home and his car parked anywhere so I just back out. Sure enough yesterday all of these factors were into play but it doesn't excuse the fact that I did body damage to two of my very own car. I really don't know where my head really was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a side note, Today Spence did let me sleep in. I sleep in until eleven o'clock. It was marvelous. However, I am still tired and need a few more days to processes everything! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am terrible sorry to those who have needed my help lately and I have been in my own little world to see things that are going on around me. I know that my problems are not as bad as others and I have become selfish and self absorbed. I haven't noticed things that I should have noticed, that I have been trained to notice, that my mind usually processes but for some reason did not. In my very own short words I am sorry but know I am here if you need me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7611611552937131829?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7611611552937131829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7611611552937131829' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7611611552937131829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7611611552937131829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/05/yikes.html' title='YIKES!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7125857287443813754</id><published>2011-04-29T16:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T16:21:09.468-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Boring is Back</title><content type='html'>I am still a cynic, however; I believe my children need to know the facts about their crazy, parents, how we have decided to raise our children, and the daily moments that make me laugh and make us "The Stevensons". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stopped blogging because blogging is the universal way to feel: wanted, needed, appreciated, " followed", and loved. Blogging claims bragging rights, complaints, bargaining chips, sadness, happiness, laughter, tears, zeal, hypocrisy, religious beliefs, show and tell rights, lies, truth, and daily stories of an individual. My cynicism is still strong and my offense to others still apparent. However, if you read and hate my thoughts or my comments on my blog, my advice to you: Stop! Do not pass go, do not collect $100. I am here for me and mine, not you and yours. Do not comment on my posts if offense was taken, just stop reading. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will praise my children and claim they are the best children in the world. They are miracles to me. I believe my children are beautiful, hilarious, transparent, and my everything. My children drive me to my breaking point of sanity but somehow in this insane world they are my sanity. My girls make me laugh daily and I am thankful for their giggles and smiles. Zoe's smart brain ( her words) always have a wonderful definition to the question of why? Peyton's stubbornness makes me laugh because she grunts at you and then proceeds to pout and give you the evil eye. She does this because she is not getting her way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fast friendship between my girls amaze me. Zoe is the little mothering hen to Peyton and those around her ( especially to Grandma Stevenson) and for the most part my little helper in almost every way imaginable. Peyton is Zoe's best friend and follows her every move. If she doesn't like Zoe's actions, she lets her know loudly! Both my children are miracles and an absolute wonder to me. My entries will be more for me than you the reader, therefore; pictures will be sparse. My thoughts, actions,and deeds are more important than showing you, the reader, the snapshots of our life. Each of my girls have a photo book that are kept updated monthly of the snapshots Spence and I have chosen to immortalize in pictures. I have chosen to focus more of the tedium of life. My thoughts will be candid and open. I am sick of walking on eggshells because I am about to "publish" something on the internet. I could care less who reads but life altering words of wisdom but this is for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7125857287443813754?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7125857287443813754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7125857287443813754' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7125857287443813754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7125857287443813754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/04/boring-is-back.html' title='Boring is Back'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5987832043528565741</id><published>2011-04-29T15:53:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T16:16:02.792-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zoe Ann</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T_Bw_j43VxI/Tbszi-k-R5I/AAAAAAAAAts/oCsIL2UMZy0/s1600/zoe.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T_Bw_j43VxI/Tbszi-k-R5I/AAAAAAAAAts/oCsIL2UMZy0/s200/zoe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601127237571987346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having a child who sleepwalks truly leads to many hysterical moments in my life. I love to see my three year old sleep walk. Zoe usually sleepwalks because she has to go to the bathroom. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first incident I realized Zoe was a sleepwalker happened to be late at night. Spence and I were downstairs watching T.V. I kept hearing a banging on the wall and  went to investigate. As I walked into Zoe's room I couldn't see her, yet the banging was still coming from her room. Finally, in the corner stood Zoe between her dresser and her baby doll cradle ( which was rocking against the wall because Zoe was consistently walking into it) I gently asked Zoe what she was doing and she said she was going potty. I grabbed her from the corner as pee was coming down her legs and landing on me and the carpet. I am laughing making this harder than it should be. I changed her and got her settled back in bed. The next morning she wondered why she was in different pajamas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next incident occurred late at night ( late at night in our household is eleven). Once again Spence and I were watching T.V. and I heard Zoe's pitter-patter on the kitchen floor. She opened the pantry door. I swore, jumped up, and ran upstairs to see Zoe with her pants around her ankles trying to pee in the garbage can. I was laughing so hard I was barely able to carry her to the bathroom. We made it this time... barely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she sleep walks her eyes are open and she talks to you but it doesn't always fit the situation. I usually get called daddy or told she loves me. Lets face it, her sleep talking and walking currently brings me joy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The times we don't make it usually end up in closets, corners, the hallway, my hip (because I am carrying her) We clean her up and change her jammies but the next morning she never remembers ( she usually remembers anything strange and unusual and everything. ) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her not remembering makes me marvel at how much we really don't remember. How much of our brain is functioning and how the memories and bodily functions work. I know I have been told that I make-up stories. I claim 100% truth to my stories but my sister tells me I like to live in my own world. Better yet, someone will remember something I did, said, was involved in,and I do not know what they are talking about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does the memory/brain only remember what we want it to believe or remember? Does the make-believe knowledge help us to overcome something devastating? Do we block out memories because our feelings were hurt in the moment? Or our defense are up so the mind helps us forget? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been stated that smell has the strongest memory or that having a song can "take you back" to a memory of someone or an event. However, can these sensory memories bring up memories we have blocked or dreams we have dreamed that seem real and have become part of our reality, our mental make-up? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While Zoe continues to sleepwalk, I will laugh and enjoy. If her sleepwalking continues into young adulthood, I will start worrying. Why you ask? I believe sleepwalking can lead to dangerous things. She could rob a store, kill someone, slip out of the house ans streak the neighborhood, get run over by a car, or try and drive away. The mind works in mysterious ways and may create her to do something only her sub-conscious can think of doing. The sub-conscious is what scared me the most. The unknown part of what we really feel, think, and do!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5987832043528565741?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5987832043528565741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5987832043528565741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5987832043528565741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5987832043528565741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/04/zoe-ann.html' title='Zoe Ann'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T_Bw_j43VxI/Tbszi-k-R5I/AAAAAAAAAts/oCsIL2UMZy0/s72-c/zoe.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5435553582729189174</id><published>2011-04-29T15:27:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2011-05-01T12:32:53.930-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Peyton</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gVvmTbIA8UQ/TbstWqAk4eI/AAAAAAAAAtk/dvlCGdMgsic/s1600/Peyton.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gVvmTbIA8UQ/TbstWqAk4eI/AAAAAAAAAtk/dvlCGdMgsic/s200/Peyton.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601120428822421986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peyton is the reason I have decided to start blogging again. My little ectomorph (doctor's definition of Peyton) She is always going to be tiny. P is eighteen months and weighting in at 18.12 pounds, 30 inches long. Buying pants for this little girl is a horrendous pain. The 6-9 month fit her waist but are too short. The 18 month fit length wise but are too big around the waist.  Short weather is welcome in our house only because I can pull of the 6-9 month or 12 month clothing on my waif of a daughter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P's personality is really beginning to shine thru. We have multiple nicknames for Peyton: P, Peanut, Monkey, P-bug, Peyty, Miss Poops-a-lot. I am sure you can guess why most of the nicknames have come about. More often than not she gets called by Peyton Lynn because she is a pro at tuning out mom and dad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peyton loves to show you her " toothy grin" ( trust me the few teeth she does have makes this cheesy smile adorable). Her body language is impeccable. She point to everything she wants because she is A: too lazy to say the actually word, B: too lazy to get it herself. She has learned how to manipulate the system already. She wants whatever someone else has ( this someone is usually Zoe- creating  more crying fights than should ever be allowed.) Fights begin in our household because Peyton takes everything from Zoe. Zoe can be playing with a toy and P will steal it directly from her hands. Zoe get mad, cries, steals it back and Peyton then smacks Zoe to prove she can hold her own. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peyton is cuddly, helpful, loud, stubborn, and lackadaisical. She learns everything when she wants and not when you expect her to or believe she should. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks ago she started climbing down the stairs. Now when you do not know where P is she is downstairs on the computer. She loves the sound of the keyboard as well as the screen saver ( a family photo at Arches in Moab) Her BF is by far Zoe, and she is a daddy's girl to the core. She just enjoys life at her own pace. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peyton loves dogs. She gets way too excited by the sight of a dog. Petting, hugging, kissing, and loving the small or big dog does not deter her away from the  creatures that are bigger than her. Her favorite movies is " Hotel for Dogs". She can't do the cartoon dogs " 101 Dalmatians" Or " Lady and the Tramp" are not for this gal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her favorite food is spaghetti, oatmeal, and sugar.  Really anything with sugar she will down and continue to ask for more. ( I wish I could eat like her and still be that small) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peyton's vocabulary consists of: bye-bye, dog, dada, moma, papa, go, bubble, yah, no, dog, bear, thank you, love you, bath, snack, more, chip, uh-oh, wee, hot dog, hot, down, boo, nye-nye, ba-ba, book, piggy bank, door,  and ha-ha. She can bark like a dog and gobble like a turkey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peyton waves bye-bye, blows kisses, gives hugs, knows teeth, mouth, toes, nose ( by picking her nose) face. She gets your shoes when it is time to go somewhere. She raises her arms and shrugs when you ask her a question and she doesn't know the where they are or the answer. She loves to be outside and playing in the rocks are a favorite past time. She will put toys away when asked, clean up, throw a ball with ease, tries to ride a trike, loves to go for car rides, loves bug juice, captivated by water, loves to go see her Papa's. She loves to ride in the stroller and she loves to swing and go down the slides. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can read Peyton's facial expressions like reading a book She has mastered facial and body language. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am more than thankful  for my beautiful little P-bug!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5435553582729189174?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5435553582729189174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5435553582729189174' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5435553582729189174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5435553582729189174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2011/04/peyton.html' title='Peyton'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gVvmTbIA8UQ/TbstWqAk4eI/AAAAAAAAAtk/dvlCGdMgsic/s72-c/Peyton.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4398032810188144183</id><published>2010-03-29T23:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T23:52:31.539-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/S7GRJzlGD3I/AAAAAAAAAtA/AT9NpC-UQow/s1600/DSC02485.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/S7GRJzlGD3I/AAAAAAAAAtA/AT9NpC-UQow/s200/DSC02485.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454300221373026162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spence was cleaning out his drawer yesterday. " Look mom, tickets. Can we go on the rides?" UMMM... how do you tell your two year old those aren't tickets and she is NOT old enough to be riding THAT ride. ( March 25, 2010) ( she found our condoms) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight while looking at old pictures of Spencer Zoe said, " Mom, who is that weird girl in this picture." I look at the picture and it was Spencer with his long hair. I laughed greatly!! ( March 23, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Mom I only say thank you words." This being said after her second tasting of hot sauce. Dang I must swear a lot. ( March 16, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe got her first taste of hot sauce. She called her grandpa a dumbass. Later last night she told me she didn't think it was fair that mom and dad could say naughty words and not get in trouble. So if Zoe catches us saying bad words she decided our punishment would be hot sauce and getting sent to our rooms. (March 15, 2010) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got in a fight with her two year old over pajamas. Come to find out the PJ's I put on her are her work clothes and she can't wear them to bed. Needless to say she won because I was laughing. (February 26, 2010)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4398032810188144183?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4398032810188144183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4398032810188144183' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4398032810188144183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4398032810188144183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2010/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/S7GRJzlGD3I/AAAAAAAAAtA/AT9NpC-UQow/s72-c/DSC02485.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-202188817964221480</id><published>2010-01-19T11:05:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T11:21:13.893-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Zoe-isms</title><content type='html'>I haven't documented the things Zoe says for some time so I decided I needed to do so. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* During Christmas Spence and I would keep telling Zoe we were going to call Santa and tell him not bring her a scooter. ( the only thing she asked for). Finally it got to the point that we didn't have to call. Zoe would call for us. She would get her Cookie Monster phone and call Santa. " Hi Santa, don't bring my scooter I've been bad. Thanks. Bye" We got a kick out of this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I have obviously been trying to loose my baby fat. Zoe said to me the other day, "Mom, you stomach keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger." Thanks Zoe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe calls me honey. Example, " Honey, are you okay?"  " Honey, what is wrong?" I must call her honey far to often. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*For the last week Zoe has had croup. She has been taking a lot of medicine and I was worried she wouldn't be able to go to the bathroom. She said to me, " Mom, my bum hurts." " I know you need to go to the bathroom." After she went, " Mom, my bum hurts. I think it needs some ice cream." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe was looking at her swimsuit which is array of colors. " Look mom a rainbow, blue, juicy, yellow, green." Juicy being orange. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* During Christmas Candy cane were called kangaroos. ( I have no clue where she got this one.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe had been sleeping in my bed and I was sleeping in her bed. She came one morning to get me up. I was spilling out of my shirt ( I am nursing and Peyton didn't wake up during the night so needless to say I was engorged and my "tummy" {as we call the twins} was coming out of my bra.) " Mom, your nummies are falling out." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe loves Little Einsteins. During their cartoons they pat their legs to make rocket go faster. While driving Zoe also pats her legs to make mommy drive faster. She doesn't like it when I go slow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I have been trying to teach Zoe my first name in case she gets lost. I always hated when a child would get lost and you would ask what their moms name was and all they could tell you was Mommy. I asked Zoe what moms first name was her answer was My best friend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Zoe has really thin hair and in the morning it looks like a rats nest. I call her Medusa. I have told her the story about Medusa and that her hair was ugly and filled with snakes. I call her Medusa almost daily and she screams at me, " I am not Medusa, I am a pretty princess!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Spence was putting Zoe to bed she looks at him and tells him that there were people standing in her doorway. Spence looked and there was nothing there. Creepy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Zoe told me there was a monster under the guest bed. ( This is the room she watches tv in.) I told her he wasn't there to hurt her he just wanted to be feed. That very day I found all her play food under the bed for the monster. She just wanted to make sure he never went hungry again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Her counting... 1,2,3,4,6,7,9,8. ( She never says five and for months on end we have been working on 7,8,9 but to no avail she hasn't fixed it.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-202188817964221480?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/202188817964221480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=202188817964221480' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/202188817964221480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/202188817964221480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2010/01/zoe-isms.html' title='Zoe-isms'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2920526738841557274</id><published>2009-11-02T09:17:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T09:51:42.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnancy differences</title><content type='html'>Peyton Lynn Stevenson was born November 1, 2009 at 6:08 a.m. She weighed 7 lbs and 10 ozs. She is 19.5 inches long. Dark born hair and looks like my baby pictures. We are excited she is here but mom still wishes that she was a Halloween baby. I blame Great Grandma Phyllis for that one. I talked to her on Halloween and she told me she was praying that my child wouldn't be born on Halloween. I guess her faith is strong than mine and her prayers were answered. Instead, Peyton was born on her Grandpa Stevenson's birthday. He claims it has been the best Birthday present he has ever received in his 29 years. ( okay really 68). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never believe that it would be true that pregnancy and delivers would be different but they were. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Laying in bed late Halloween night Spence tells me he is really tired. I swear, Spence I just wet the bed. I sit up... Umm no my water broke. A deluge of water is spewing out. Teresa, I will call your mom. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* With Zoe they had to break my water after I had been dilated to a 10. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I am laughing as we are leaving the house. Spence and I talk and laugh all the time to the hospital. No contractions in sight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe- I was contracting for 3 hours before we even left for the hospital. On the way to the hospital I couldn't talk to Spence becasue I was in so much pain. In fact I was white knuckling the oh shit bar the whole way to the hospital. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I was laughing as we walk in to the hospital, joking with Spence. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Zoe- I was bent over from contractions barely able to walk or talk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Check in... they really didn't believe me. Really your water broke and you have no contractions. Yep...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe- couldn't talk... Spence had to talk  and tell them everything. I was just trying to breath. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Checked me... realized I had in fact broke my water, changed rooms, and didn't start contractions until two hours later. I then decided I wanted my epidural... why have pain if you don't need it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe- second question I answered... was Yes, I want an epidural now! Had my epidural within a half hour of arrival. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Epidural injected and my whole body went numb... face, arms, even had a hard time swallowing. Couldn't feel anything anything... I mean anything. I never even had to push the button. They had to even stop the flow of the epidural because your whole body isn't supposed to go numb. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe- I could still feel things, pressure, pain, cutting me, pushing, stitches, basically no matter how many times I pushed the button I still felt pain.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Spence and I talked, joked, laughed, watched "The Shinning" and eve slept. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe I was just talking up a storm about nothing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. I had two full time nurses. They checked on me every two hours. They kept me comfortable. I even got to drink water. I was very excited. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe... I had a nurse check me in and I really didn't see another one until I started hard labor and they told Spence what to do so he could help me start pushing. I only got ice chips and really they didn't care about me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. I was told that I could start pushing at 5:45 a.m. I looked at my nurse and told them  that I could wait until shift change to start pushing. Oh, we will be fine.  It won't take that long. I wanted to offer my opinion on that one but I started pushing at 5:55 and Peyton was born at 6:08. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Zoe... they showed Spence when to start to have me push and he counted for me. It was just the two of us. The nurses checked on us and still had me pushing. Two and a half hours later Zoe was born. I was in hard labor for 2.5 hours. I'm tired- almost dead- and I screamed when the nurses had to push on my abdomen to get Zoe out. I got yelled out... becasue apparently yelling doesn't help the birthing processes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So overall I love my child both the same but Peyton's delivery was ten times better than Zoe's. I had a pleasant environment, I was comfortable, no pain, no worries, and I didn't get yelled out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. I have had great floor nurses. They are attentive and apreciative of everything.They have been great. Checked my vitals every two hours, checked to see if I need anything. Willing to help in anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe: My first nurse got sent home because she mean to patients. I never had a nurse check my vitals in the day time- night time yes- day time no. I got yelled at because I got out of my bed. Basically, I was treated horribly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. I have only taken over the counter Ibuprofin for a headache. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe: I was drugged the whole time. I was so sore and in pain that I was popping every pill imaginable whenever I could. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be posted pictures when we get home. I just wanted to document the differences of the two different delivers, hospitals, and staff. I promise if you deliver at American Fork Hospital the experience is much better than Utah Valley hospital.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-2920526738841557274?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2920526738841557274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2920526738841557274' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2920526738841557274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2920526738841557274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/11/pregnancy-differences.html' title='Pregnancy differences'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6114730326594126051</id><published>2009-10-26T09:43:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T09:48:39.220-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to unborn</title><content type='html'>Here is advice to my unborn child. We still haven't decided on a name so that is left blank. 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	mso-para-margin-top:0in; 	mso-para-margin-right:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; 	mso-para-margin-left:0in; 	line-height:115%; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:11.0pt; 	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; 	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; 	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; 	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; 	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:shapedefaults ext="edit" spidmax="1026"&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:shapelayout ext="edit"&gt;   &lt;o:idmap ext="edit" data="1"&gt;  &lt;/o:shapelayout&gt;&lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Dear&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;You are a wonderful spirit who has blessed us greatly. You have been an inspiration and a great support to those around you. I just want to express my love to you and to share advice. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I know there will be times that we do not get along; in fact you may hate me at times. Fortunately, this is the facts of life. You and I can be good friends and I will always be a confidant you can trust or you can utterly hate and despise me. I am willing to pay the price for both as long as you are healthy and have respect for those around you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My advice to you: Live life to the fullest for some day you may regret not doing something that you wished you had. Remember sometimes you do in fact have to break rules. However, be careful what rules you break because there are always consequences you have to pay. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Quickly forgive others of wrong doings or hurtful words. I know at times this is easier said than done but it makes you a stronger person and it helps you understand human nature more. Also if you don’t forgive the words or actions will eat at you and turn you into a hateful and vengeful person. Remember praying for your enemies are a way to soften both parties hearts. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Also kiss slowly. Meaning: don’t rush into anything especially relationships. There will always be guys/boys out there who really are spiteful and do mean to hurt you and your reputation. However, there are gentlemen who will love you for you and everything you have to offer them. They will be there to pick you up when you need them and to wipe away the tears. They will understand when you have done something wrong in the past and have learned from your mistake. They will accept everything you are and have done. Always search and pray about the boys you decide to date and eventually marry. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Laugh uncontrollably: laughter is truly the best medicine. You can laugh at yourself when you make an idiot out of yourself and you can laugh when things are funny. Just remember there are times for laughter and a times for seriousness. Do not laugh at others inability to do something or because they are different than you. Embrace the difference and help them to learn or teach them to do what is correct and just. Others will appreciate this quality in you and appreciate the example and time spent with them to grow as a person. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Always be willing to teach others what they don’t know. This will help you become a better person a swell as to understand human nature a little more. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Never regret that makes you smile. Also never regret anything that has happened in your life- good or bad. There is a reason and a purpose for everything that you have encountered and are going to encounter. The Lord as placed these deeds in your life to make you a stronger person. You are to learn from you mistakes and carry on. You may make some of the same mistakes over and over but before long they will no longer exist and you have learned a wonderful lesson from those mistakes. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Always ask your Father in Heaven fro advice. Go to him with your fears, concerns, your hopes and dreams. He truly is listening and will always hear and answer your prayers. He may answer them in a different way than you want him to or months down the road but if you listen to the still small voice you will know what pathway is going to be best for you at that particular time or that particular problem you are dealing with. When in doubt always get on your knees and pray to your Heavenly Father. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Get an education: I want you to go beyond high school. I don’t care if money is tight or if you don’t know how your education is going to get paid for. I want you to know that your father and I will help in anyway we can as long as you take your education seriously. Go to a university and receive bachelors or masters. Go to beauty school or a trade school- just get a higher education. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Do not stop at a high school diploma. Education is one key to make you a better person. I don’t care what you major in- find something you love and go for it!!!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;When it comes to marriage my advice to you is to pray about the gentleman you want to marry and when you think you have found him, pray he is the one for you. A happy marriage is truly the only way to even think about marring someone. Love him for his good qualities and bad qualities. Learn from him, always be truthful and honest. Do not deceive him in anyway. He will become you best friend for time and eternity. Do not let him verbally, physically, or emotional abuse you. You deserve better than someone who is going to degrade you and your children. If this happens it is not your fault and you need to get out of the relationship as quickly as possible. Your father and I will help you leave any abusive relationship. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;If you are afraid to fall in love the cliché, “to have loved is better than to never loved at all” is definitely true. Let yourself fall in love. Falling in love is one of the most emotionally blissful feelings you can ever experience. Don’t be afraid to let your guard down so you can see what it is like to love someone to the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. Let the butterflies take over every time he give you “that” look. Also know that you can and may possible fall in love more than once. This is okay as long as you love with your whole heart. There are many people who help sculpt us into who we become and loving them for a season may be part of you become. Always be adventurous. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Do all the exciting things even if you are scared; bungee jumping, jumping out of a plane, moving away from home, living with other girls for a time, kissing, cliff diving, anything. Live is too short to sit around and wait for things. You have to make them happen yourself. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Stay close to your Heavenly Father. There will be times you stray and question what you have been taught, but always come back. Coming back and gaining a testimony will only make you stronger in your religion and a better person. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Respect your elders. They are older and wiser and really do have more experience than you do. Believe it or not most of them went through almost all of the same experiences you are going through right now or have already gone through. They really were once young and vibrant. (Even your father and I) Sometimes we really do understand what you are going through. Sometimes we understand too well and try to prevent you from making the same mistake we made. ( this could be where we tend to fight or what we fight about.) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Have common courtesy. You father and I have hopefully raised you right. There is a time and place for things. Always have respect for those around you. Never act inappropriate in public and always respect other ethnicities. They have many great skills and qualities that you can learn from. Always be respectful of others things and property. If you break something of someone’s you replace it, if you act inappropriately you apologize. Do not use your electronic devices in movies, the classroom, or anywhere that you know are wrong. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Never lie to people. If you lie it creates a web of lies. You have to lie to cover up the first live and so on and so forth. If you ever lie to your father or I, you WILL REAP the consequences. (None of which you will appreciate or be thankful that we went &lt;i style=""&gt;easy&lt;/i&gt; on you). &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Be respectful, honest, trustworthy, a good listener, and loyal and you will receive many rewarding friendships that are long lasting and bountiful. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My strongest advice is to come to your father and I when you are having difficulty. We will listen and help you in anyway possible. We are there to love and support you in your time so need as well as the good times. Also remember that you can always go to your heavenly Father. For he loves you just as much as we do and he will help and listen to your prayers. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Remember that we love you and no matter what you do will always love you. There will be times we are disappointed and dismayed at your behavior but you will always be loved. Also remember you are a daughter of your Heavenly Father and he has placed you in our home to feel the love and comfort of a family. Families truly are forever and we are here for you whenever you need us. (Or don’t need us.) Go after your hopes and dreams and never doubt yourself. You can do anything you set you mind to do. Go after the stars!! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&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/3072435603015002322-6114730326594126051?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6114730326594126051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6114730326594126051' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6114730326594126051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6114730326594126051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/10/letter-to-unborn.html' title='Letter to unborn'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4135653523629122495</id><published>2009-10-14T08:35:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T13:11:08.729-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh where, oh where have you gone.</title><content type='html'>On October 12, 2009 about 11:50 Teresa Stevenson heard a clatter in her backyard. As she rose out of bed to look out her window, she saw a 6 foot portion of her fence gone, a trampoline missing, and a SLIGHT breeze. Her initial thought... Damn the trampoline has blown into the neighbors yard and the wind has really picked up and blown her fence over PERFECTLY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She slightly shook her husband and told him to get his clothes on because they were on a trampoline hunt. She, herself, got dressed, grabbed a flashlight, turned the back porch light on and proceeded to hunt down her tramp. ( We call it a tramp  no reference to a female anything.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a serious note, this is exactly how my evening went. We ( Spence and I) looked like thugs searching our neighbors yard dressed in black pants and hoodies. We had a itty, bitty flashlight (only thing with batteries in the house, guess I am not exactly ready for the second coming) looking for our trampoline. We are laughing because why didn't the swimming pool, or our lawn chairs blow away... out tramp blew a way. Seriously, how could it have flown over a six foot fence because there is no way that the large hole could have fit thru the 6 foot hole of the fence that was taken down. ( Gently, might I add. Also for those of you who do not know we have a white vinyl fence. The slats were laying gently on the Rushton's yard ( backdoor neighbors) not smashed, scattered, or out of order, but in order, gently placed and in a straight line.) Weird!! I think so!! Spence and I looked thru front and back yards all the while getting rained on. We checked out the big empty field across the street ( with our car lights). We checked out the Rushton's yard, and we checked out the big field connected to the town homes behind us. NOTHING!! We searched for over an hour and found nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We walked into our house wondering how to inform Zoe that she no longer had a tramp. Spence was made because he knew that someone had stolen it and our home insurance wouldn't cover it so we were out $300. I was hoping I would go into labor and this would be the start of a glorious morning. We decided to call dispatch. So at 1 a.m. Office Mike Doyle knocked on our door. We laughed and said we know this is stupid but we want you to be aware of our tramp being stolen. He stared at us dumbfounded. ( Really, he was thinking you got me out of paperwork at 1 in the morning to report a tramp. What the hell are you too stupid people really thinking) He said, I don't know what to tell you. We have never had that one before. Laughing we understood. One, who steals a tramp and two, how the hell did they really get it out. So we showed him our evidence. he didn't really believe that the wind could carry a tramp too far and he didn't understand the fence situation either. WE were are dumbfounded by what really happened. He left telling Spence we would be taking a loss on the tramp because there are no suspects and the detectives would look at this as not important. We knew this but we wanted the police to know incase other acts of thievery happened in our neighborhood. ( just looking out for those around us, RIGHT? )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So all in all I feel/felt violated. How could someone steal a tramp from a little girl. So the next morning I went on a man hunt again to see if I could find my tramp. I found my tramp dead (legs up) in the townhouse field. BUT WE LOOKED THERE!! Okay, so maybe my tramp had blown thru my fence, a wooden fence and half way across a field ( about the size of a football field). Whatever, I was elated my tramp was ALIVE!! I called my bro to come and help me move it home. As we walked over to get my tramp there were truck tire marks leading up the tramp. They stopped shortly of where the tramp was laid to rest. Okay WEIRD!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ty and I had to roll the tramp through the back field of the town homes. ( I mean rolling, like a enormous doughnut, cookie, pizza. I am pregnant and a weakling but lets face it that tramp was not light nor easy to move). Ty walked down the street carrying the tramp on his back. ( he was tired after and even stated that it was not light).  So all in all the tramp is back. I don't know if someone stole my tramp or if the wind is really the culprit. A good laugh is what it turned out to be. Hope this never happens to any of you!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4135653523629122495?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4135653523629122495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4135653523629122495' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4135653523629122495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4135653523629122495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/10/oh-where-oh-where-have-you-gone.html' title='Oh where, oh where have you gone.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4364454505958746397</id><published>2009-10-10T12:10:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-10T12:17:31.734-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally</title><content type='html'>Well I am finally back to private/locking my blog. ( sigh of relief) I will have no more weird people looking at my blog. ( I was getting people from Nebraska, Illinois, Japan looking at my blog) I do not know anyone from these places so it can be scary as to who really is checking out the thoughts in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may not be posting much the next while. ( surprise... right). I am not feeling great and am in a continual state of being nauseous.  I have to will myself to do anything. I contract daily and pray that soon this baby will be here. ( Yes, I still have 4.5 weeks but hey as long as the baby is healthy get me out of my state of misery.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IHC ( and most hospitals) have implemented a new policy that you can only have two guests in your hospital room at a time. If they are sick they have to wear a mask ( any kind of sickness) and no one under the age of 14 can go into the hospital unless they are guest. I am only saddened by this because Zoe will not get to come to the hospital to see her little sister. I understand the new policy and agree with it, I just wanted Zoe to see her sister at the hospital. I guess I can look at this as a nice quite time to be with the baby ( still no name) and Spencer before people come to see the baby. ( I have already told my family not to come to the hospital that they can see the baby when we bring her home.) When the baby is born I will post pictures and if you want you are more than willing to come visit when we get home!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4364454505958746397?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4364454505958746397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4364454505958746397' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4364454505958746397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4364454505958746397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/10/finally.html' title='Finally'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7332440634256322211</id><published>2009-10-03T16:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T18:32:54.615-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Writing Exercise</title><content type='html'>The clouds billowed around her as she sat and thought about her past. The fact that life has presented it in the package that it had amazed her. She couldn't believe that she had endured what she had. She she she she watched the amazed as life passed her by. She had nothing to show for her education or her life. Really what had she achieved at her age. Absolutely nothing. Sitting around doing nothing all day really didn't make her happy it was just a fact of life. One that she had to deal with as she thougth about what she could be doing, what she really wanted to be doing. It is amazing how something so special could really put your life on hold. Yet, was it that special thing putting her life on hold or her? She couldn't decided. Deciding required brain cells that she no longer processed. She had become ignorant in her own life. She laughs as she uses the word ignorant. Growing up she always thought this word meant you were rude, or you were being mean to someone that was just her small roots talking. The word actually meant you were unknowledgeable in something....like her being unknowledgeable about her own life. Even if she was the actor in her own beginning and end. She is the one that creates her own existence and she realizes this but yet she is confused and lets her heart lead more than her brain... or was it vice-versa. Did she even realize who she was anymore? Somewhere she had lost herself. Someone she once was. Was this for the good or the bad? Who was/is to say? She can't even ask her self.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7332440634256322211?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7332440634256322211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7332440634256322211' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7332440634256322211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7332440634256322211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/10/writing-exercise.html' title='Writing Exercise'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7692303400162189375</id><published>2009-09-27T18:10:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T18:33:39.977-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I am a Cynic.</title><content type='html'>Hi, My name is Teresa and I am a cynic. ( Do you really think they have a group for cynics? Does it really cure you of this natural feeling that suddenly occurs and invites bitterness into my home and heart.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have become a cynic. Definition: a person who believes that only selfishness motivates human actions and who disbelieves in or minimizes selfless acts or disinterested points of view. I know really how can someone who sits home daily doing nothing ( lets face it this beached whale doesn't want to go far from home.) become a cynic. I have asked this question over and over again in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe that the actions of the humans around me have created this overall feeling. Maybe, I have become selfish myself and my actions dictate my feelings. I may be acting accordingly to get something in return. However, more and more this is the behavior I tend to see from people whom I barely associate with. ( Really? Does that make sense??)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a God fearing person- who tries to live her life accordingly. However, more and more I am beginning to question some of the peoples motives in life and especially dealing with the service that the church provides. I am not a proud person who doesn't ask for help or isn't willing to ask for help however, there is a time to ask for help and a time to buck up and deal with life's trials within your family structure. Not all ward members need to know your business nor do they need to be at your beck and call. I so wish I was willing to share experiences but lets face it that is beyond my means right now. I am struggling with the over all attitude of people around me. (and lets face it that is few and far between because I would rather prefer to be friends with the four walls of my home right now...oh did I mention anti-social behavior is setting into my social regiment.) All of this is because lets face it cynicism is setting in and fast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7692303400162189375?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7692303400162189375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7692303400162189375' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7692303400162189375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7692303400162189375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-am-cynic.html' title='I am a Cynic.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8244169169590960487</id><published>2009-06-15T10:47:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T11:01:38.103-06:00</updated><title type='text'>More hates....</title><content type='html'>1. Getting in trouble while playing softball. I slide into second. No worries I was safe. The next time I was up to bat the umpire told me if I was to slide again I would be out. I asked her if she was serious and she said yes she didn't want me to hurt my baby. Maybe I am wrong but isn't it MY baby? If i hurt My baby it is my fault. Besides how can you hurt a baby when you don't Pete Rose slide?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Running. I need a diaper or something like that to run. I know right.... but I always have to go to the bathroom and as I run the bases the baby bounces up and down pushing on the bladder making me have to go the bathroom even more!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. People getting mad for me lifting things. I lift my 27 pound child daily... why can't I lift a box of books. I don't understand. I am not going to kill my baby by lifting something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I truly forgot how tired you get. I don't get too much down in the day because I take naps when Zoe takes naps. That was always my time to get everything down that I didn't want Zoe to be in the way of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. If you think about something too long it makes you throw up. Anything nasty and dirty ( toe nails, poop, bugs, vampires sucking a humans blood,  something unknown on your hand) throwing up follows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Having your 2 year old watch you throw up because your house currently has no doors, and then all day long she runs into the bathroom and "pretends" to throw up in the toilet.  Monkey see, Monkey do!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. No being able to pick things up off the ground with out a pain going through your abdomen because you are crushing the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Being winded easily!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Getting in a swim suit so your 2 year old can go to swim lessons. Isn't bad enough that I am self conscience when I am not pregnant! Being pregnant and putting a swim suit is degrading!! Besides who really wants to see that!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. The cravings. They really are crazy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. The pregnancy brain. I forget how easily you really forget things! I hate it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. People asking me if I am pregnant. I had a lady in my ward ask me if I was pregnant. Yes, I replied. Oh good! ( sigh of relief)  I tend to get fat like you when I am not pregnant so I didn't know if you had let yourself go or if you were pregnant. Really, you had the nerve to just say that to me. I would have smacked her but sacrament was about to start. Dumb ASS!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Asking my due date. If you really don't care about my due date DO NOT ASK!!You don't care, you are not family, and you probably will not come to see my child.  Because you are the person that asks me twenty times in the pregnancy. If you care and forget the date but not the month that is different. I understand that there are thirty/ thirty-one days to remember in months. Don't tell me you are going to write it on your calendar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Picking out a name that is going to be with this child for  the rest of their lives. It is a lot harder than you think. ( for those who do not have children) I can't come up with anything for this one!! Poor little girl!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8244169169590960487?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8244169169590960487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8244169169590960487' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8244169169590960487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8244169169590960487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/06/more-hates.html' title='More hates....'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7062954249849721314</id><published>2009-05-21T12:49:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T13:01:18.991-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnancy</title><content type='html'>Cravings:&lt;br /&gt;( Some are not good for me let alone attainable)&lt;br /&gt;Regina's Pizza ( Boston)&lt;br /&gt;Ice Tea ( Best damn cup of Iced Tea ever... Charleston, South Carolina)&lt;br /&gt;Cheese Burgers ( Basin Drive-in; Mount Pleasant, Utah)&lt;br /&gt;Chicken Sandwich from Bar E ( Mount Pleasant)&lt;br /&gt;Chicken Supreme ( Brad; Cedar City)&lt;br /&gt;Chinese Food- the only Chinese place I crave when pregnant ( Richfield, Utah)&lt;br /&gt;Screwdriver on the rocks ( Yep, that's right I crave alcohol while pregnant. I haven't even drank since college but yet vodka + orange juice= screwdriver sounds fantastic.)&lt;br /&gt;Tigers  blood snow  cone&lt;br /&gt;McDonald's Chicken nuggets with BBQ sauce&lt;br /&gt;Macaroni and Cheese ( From Walmarts Deli)&lt;br /&gt;Starbursts&lt;br /&gt;Black Licorice&lt;br /&gt;Ice cold water&lt;br /&gt;Strawberry yogurt.&lt;br /&gt;Watermelon&lt;br /&gt;suckers&lt;br /&gt;goat cheese&lt;br /&gt;Raspberry dressing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Habits:&lt;br /&gt;Doing laundry thirty times a week. ( Coughing, sneezing or throwing up leave bodily fluids on my clothes... causing me to change and then do laundry because I have nothing to wear)&lt;br /&gt;Taking two hour naps daily&lt;br /&gt;Reading all the time&lt;br /&gt;Becoming fat, lazy, and worthless.&lt;br /&gt;Reading " Where the Wild Things Are" to Zoe because she LOVES her monsters.&lt;br /&gt;Cooking and then not wanting to eat what I cooked because it no longer sounds appetizing.&lt;br /&gt;Going for walks all the while wondering when I will be home so I can use the restroom.&lt;br /&gt;Rubbing my enlarged tummy. ( I always made fun of the pregnant people who did this at Walmart. It was like they wanted you to know they were pregnant. I am doing it now. What the hell am I thinking)&lt;br /&gt;Playing Mafia Wars and Farm town on facebook. ( My life=BORING)&lt;br /&gt;Vacuuming my house.&lt;br /&gt;Watching Spence kill ants. I know you would think because I am home more my house would be spotless but instead these little creatures prey on every crumb I have failed to miss.&lt;br /&gt;Weighing myself daily on a scale to see how much I have gained in my pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;Showering and then not putting make up on or doing my hair- really where am I going?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say this is my life. Boring. I don't blog as much because there really isn't much to blog about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7062954249849721314?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7062954249849721314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7062954249849721314' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7062954249849721314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7062954249849721314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/05/pregnancy.html' title='Pregnancy'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7974516497357405788</id><published>2009-05-12T08:29:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T08:36:42.883-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Boston</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIlC4ChI/AAAAAAAAArs/hYL6v4ZrpmE/s1600-h/Boston+085.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIlC4ChI/AAAAAAAAArs/hYL6v4ZrpmE/s200/Boston+085.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334946014073195026" border="0" /&gt;Rockport, Mass&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIS9cwNI/AAAAAAAAArk/wMuzDwf9MYI/s1600-h/Boston+075.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIS9cwNI/AAAAAAAAArk/wMuzDwf9MYI/s200/Boston+075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334946009218597074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIALw_VI/AAAAAAAAArc/yu-8VrsY_mw/s1600-h/Boston+070.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIALw_VI/AAAAAAAAArc/yu-8VrsY_mw/s200/Boston+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334946004178369874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Gingerbread houses on Martha's Vineyard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJH2pQ7fI/AAAAAAAAArU/BNrLoFO5dAs/s1600-h/Boston+054.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJH2pQ7fI/AAAAAAAAArU/BNrLoFO5dAs/s200/Boston+054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334946001617743346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Alicia and I at Fenway. Red Sox played Tampa Bay. ( Rays)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJHq0kWdI/AAAAAAAAArM/thDnM-x0SOs/s1600-h/Boston+050.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJHq0kWdI/AAAAAAAAArM/thDnM-x0SOs/s200/Boston+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334945998443928018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Fenway&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIqwScCQI/AAAAAAAAAq8/CLSbS8XXe6g/s1600-h/Boston+040.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIqwScCQI/AAAAAAAAAq8/CLSbS8XXe6g/s200/Boston+040.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334945501695183106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Walden Pond&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIqoMokWI/AAAAAAAAAq0/FVWy8qvFtSM/s1600-h/Boston+037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIqoMokWI/AAAAAAAAAq0/FVWy8qvFtSM/s200/Boston+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334945499523354978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Paul Revere's House&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIqE4wrgI/AAAAAAAAAqs/hP1_Y6ppO1c/s1600-h/Boston+038.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIqE4wrgI/AAAAAAAAAqs/hP1_Y6ppO1c/s200/Boston+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334945490044759554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Spence and Henry David Thoreau&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIp53fJ6I/AAAAAAAAAqk/cxFEU6BhZTM/s1600-h/Boston+029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIp53fJ6I/AAAAAAAAAqk/cxFEU6BhZTM/s200/Boston+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334945487086626722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;First Organ in the United States&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIJQf_NaI/AAAAAAAAAqc/Z5oCkCSZYvw/s1600-h/Boston+032.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIJQf_NaI/AAAAAAAAAqc/Z5oCkCSZYvw/s200/Boston+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334944926226396578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIJEGv8YI/AAAAAAAAAqU/NKF5VSnCz_8/s1600-h/Boston+021.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIJEGv8YI/AAAAAAAAAqU/NKF5VSnCz_8/s200/Boston+021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334944922899313026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mother Goose's grave. ( Mary Goose)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmII6-tptI/AAAAAAAAAqM/Vn4_eubtfkA/s1600-h/Boston+019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmII6-tptI/AAAAAAAAAqM/Vn4_eubtfkA/s200/Boston+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334944920449689298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Monument to Captain Shaw. First Captain of an all Black Battalion. ( Glory)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIIv_L7lI/AAAAAAAAAqE/2_4zRErw6nU/s1600-h/Boston+034.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIIv_L7lI/AAAAAAAAAqE/2_4zRErw6nU/s200/Boston+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334944917498883666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Holocaust Monument&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIIUigIAI/AAAAAAAAAp8/ik7MHQXh5Ec/s1600-h/Boston+009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmIIUigIAI/AAAAAAAAAp8/ik7MHQXh5Ec/s200/Boston+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334944910130814978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Henry David Thoreau's cabin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time and time again I get wild notions to go on trips. I started planning my trip clear back in January. This trip was wonderful. We saw tons of history sites, English sights, coast, and lighthouses. I forgot what a romantic I am at heart but the trip was wonderful. Thank you Alicia fro being our tour guide and putting up with me wanting to do so much each day. You are the greatest!!! ( Sorry I don't know how to do a slide show so I didn't even put half the pictures on here)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7974516497357405788?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7974516497357405788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7974516497357405788' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7974516497357405788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7974516497357405788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/05/boston.html' title='Boston'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SgmJIlC4ChI/AAAAAAAAArs/hYL6v4ZrpmE/s72-c/Boston+085.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7849065694820697044</id><published>2009-04-15T15:13:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T15:33:52.756-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What you have all been waiting for.</title><content type='html'>My thirtieth birthday came and went but the great surprise was Spence bought me Brittney Spears tickets. ( the Pussy Cat Dolls came with her.) Now, I know what most are thinking Brittney Spears, really?? It was a wonderful concert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PCD: They can't dance for the life of them and they seemed to think that spanking their rear is a turn on for all the boobs and gay guys. ( I will expound further). They can sing ( Okay, really the lead singer, Nichole, is the only one that really sang. The rest was prerecorded. GREAT!!!)  Spence wasn't impressed because the HOT PCD ( Kym)  never came his way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brittney: remember the title of her newest CD is Circus therefore her theme. It was like a Cirque de Soil type of performance. It was very entertaining. She can still move with the best of them and she can entertain. I put her up there with the great concerts of my life ( Janet Jackson and Madonna: both great singer and entertainers)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Crowd: Now here is were it gets exciting. Boobs glalore. Everywhere we turned Spence had an eye full of boobs. I laugh now because I felt like crap ( being pregnant and all ) but some of these hootch mommas about lost their tops when Brittney came on. We seemed to be sitting in the whore section.  Halters, tub tops, and braless drunks surrounded us. Now if we were surrounded by boobs we were surrounded my gay guys. Before the concert began the two guys two seats away from us were the social butterflies of SLC. They were on the phone with everyone and trying to find everyone in the crowd. Finally, one of their friends ( girl) came over and applied make- up to the guy sitting by us. He looked more beautiful than I did. It was wonderful. They freaked together when Brittney came and it was amazing to watch Spence laugh. The next best thing is the stories from the Mens room. As Spence came back he was filled with stories of gay guys in the bathroom. I guess the guy next to him checked him out, his friend came up behind him and began to put his hands in his front pockets ( the guys next to Spence, not Spence). Spence claims if he would have asked for help he would have had many takers. I guess Brittney brings out everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also decided our camera sucks but here are some pictures...&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSPmuvSAI/AAAAAAAAApU/kpwHsS2sxCI/s1600-h/DSC01615.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSPmuvSAI/AAAAAAAAApU/kpwHsS2sxCI/s200/DSC01615.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325034037460289538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSP2KY4KI/AAAAAAAAApc/yZ11E9qjQwA/s1600-h/DSC01631.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSP2KY4KI/AAAAAAAAApc/yZ11E9qjQwA/s200/DSC01631.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325034041602793634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSQUMOTOI/AAAAAAAAAps/mavcT5TBq6c/s1600-h/DSC01630.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSQUMOTOI/AAAAAAAAAps/mavcT5TBq6c/s200/DSC01630.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325034049663552738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSQJmvJkI/AAAAAAAAApk/zZPOtjKPvps/s1600-h/DSC01623.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSQJmvJkI/AAAAAAAAApk/zZPOtjKPvps/s200/DSC01623.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325034046821967426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSQjCj13I/AAAAAAAAAp0/77FkWhjkqjI/s1600-h/DSC01633.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSQjCj13I/AAAAAAAAAp0/77FkWhjkqjI/s200/DSC01633.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325034053649553266" 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/3072435603015002322-7849065694820697044?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7849065694820697044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7849065694820697044' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7849065694820697044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7849065694820697044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-you-have-all-been-waiting-for.html' title='What you have all been waiting for.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SeZSPmuvSAI/AAAAAAAAApU/kpwHsS2sxCI/s72-c/DSC01615.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1947733604703012979</id><published>2009-04-06T10:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T10:47:03.048-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Joys of Being Pregnant.</title><content type='html'>Many woman believe that being pregnant is a miracle and one of the god given blessings bestowed upon us. I on the other hand believe it is a glimpse of what hell really is like. I hate being pregnant with every fiber of my being. Don't get me wrong, I love children and the final product is beautiful but some times I believe adoption would be better. Make some under aged adolescent go through all the pain and suffering to get me a precious little one here. I guess I can't take back the fact that I am pregnant but expect complaints throughout the nine months (really 10 months) of hell. Here is just a list of why I hate being pregnant. ( In no particular order and I can guarantee swearing will ensue. )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Maternity clothes. Really, they are not cute, they make you look frumpy and they shrink. (Okay maybe it is me getting larger but they never fit just right after the second washing.) They also cost a fortune!!! I don't want to spend 60 dollars on a pair of maternity Levis that make me look horrible just to wear them for four months of my whole life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Your uterus grows. As this happens cramps from hell follow. You are in agony. No pill or heat will stop these monstrous cramps from allowing you to double over in pain. You live with it and tell everyone that you are okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Your insides feel like they are being pulled through a strainer. I believe this comes with the uterus growing and there not being enough room for all that junk inside of our bodies. I love when my bladder gets pushed up into my stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Peeing!! Really wasn't peeing every hour before pregnancy good enough for you. Now I go every 15 minutes. Really!! Toilet paper is no longer cheap!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The tenderness in your breasts. I love not wearing a bra but that is no longer an option. You can not run, jump, climb stairs without pain coming to your chest. The slightest touch sends quivers ( not good quivers) throughout your body because you are tender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Dry Heaving/ Throwing up. All day sickness is not a blessing of a baby. It is horrible. I love to feel nauseous all day long. I love when my husband comes home and the smell of him makes me sick. I love when I check on Zoe in the tub and she is drinking the bath water that I instantly head to the toilet to dry heave. I love looking at the newspaper adds, watching television, the smell of bathrooms, the smell or look of red meat, chicken, opening the fridge, changing a diaper or watching Zoe go potty on the toilet, dreaming, reading, or seeing something on the internet, customers that come through your line, scanning certain food items, the smell of smoke on clothes or watching someone smoke, grime, bleach, certain sweet smells, and the look of toilets all make me dry heave. It is seriously the greatest blessing to know that no matter what I do, where I go, I will be dry heaving in a sick, gross, disgusting bathroom making me dry heave even harder. ( Because you think of what white trash ass sat on the toilet before you face planted it into the bowl wonder)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Peeing your pants. For some reason the body can not control your bladder as well. You sneeze, cough, laugh to hard, or are dry heaving uncontrollably and you are piddling on the floor or in your pants like a new born baby. You learn early on to always have spare underwear and pants on hand. ( you do all this while your husband sits and laughs)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. People pitting you. Really I love when Spence knows I don't' feel bad. He feels bad, he wants to do something to help. YOU CAN'T HELP, don't ask. I know it is the thought that counts but lets face it you got me in this mess. ( OH, as far as I am concerned while I am pregnant it was all Spence's doing and I was asleep)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. People asking you if you are having twins. I can't help it I am fat. I am having a baby. Twins are not in the cards so don't ask again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. People touching my stomach. Please do not touch my body parts. I do not come up to you and pat your stomach while you are skinny as a rail, or fat as a pig. I do not touch any body part of yours so do not touch mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Yelling at your husband. Seriously getting grumpy and yelling at your husband. I promise in 10 seconds you will forget why you started to yell and the irritation will still be there. Forgetting things are common. Remembering them not so common.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Getting poked, prodded, kicked, punched. You may be my child but that doesn't give you the right to abuse me. I do like being kicked- it hurts and it doesn't feel great. I hate being kicked everyday all day long. It HURTS!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. I love when the babies head is right in your rib cage. That is the best feeling ever. Or even better when the baby rolls from one side of your stomach to the other. I love the sick feeling I get when these two things happen. It is just a daily reminder as to why I hate being pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Heartburn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Not being able to breath. As the baby, gets bigger you lose your breathing power. Your lungs are smashed and climbing a set of stairs makes it sound like you just ran a marathon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Not being able to sleep with my husband or in my own bed. Did I mention the smell of him makes me sick? And so I sleep in the guest bedroom. After 7 months I can't get in my bed so I have to find alternative places to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Being tired all the time. Isn't bad enough as a mom you never catch up on your sleep. Being pregnant you are sluggish and always tired. Sleep never comes when you want it because some one always needs you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. If you are a back ( like me) or stomach sleeper this shortly comes to an end. You can no longer sleep on your stomach ( because your uterus is to big) or your back ( because your uterus lays on your vena cava and stops the blood flow to the baby) Besides you get really sick if you lie on your back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. The cravings. You crave the weirdest things. Really who can eat a jar of pickles in a week and then never want to see them again. Or how about craving apples, oranges, and crackers. Really who does that? Food sounds gross until you see a commercial for tacos ( example) and then that is all you think about until you have eaten it. After you have eaten the taco you never want to see a taco again because you are  sick. Really, I love that part!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Braxton Hicks. Really when you start having Braxton Hicks at 20 weeks and they continue until you go into labor ( the whole time the doctor telling you will be able to tell the difference. Really? Are you sure about that? Because the only difference about my REAL Labor and my Braxton Hicks were the fact that my body was cold and I was shaking uncontrollably- me dilating)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Hick ups. I love when the baby gets the hick ups inside. It is so wonderful to feel sick. When Zoe got hick ups I got heartburn. LOVED IT!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. People asking you if you due any day. No, I am five months along and I am only going to get bigger so keep your big mouth shut!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. Throwing up on yourself. Sometime you just can't help it. You are driving along on the freeway and sure enough you throw up all down your shirt. It is the greatest feeling ever. You definitely feel like a rock star!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. Giving labor. Really have you ever been in hard labor for two and half hours without a nurse. It is the greatest feeling to know you are paying for nurse to be along side you all the while you know your doctor is in an emergency C- Section so you are gong to be in hard labor for longer. It is the greatest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. Getting an epistome. I love this. Especially because I had an epidural and wasn't supposed to feel anything. I loved feeling the scalpel cute me and then my doctor push that skin down to my rectum. It felt great. You cringe because it hurt, Your doctor will look at you and say," You felt that?" No, dumb ass I screamed because that was better than sex. YES!! I felt you push down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. Getting your baby's shoulder stuck on your pelvic bone. It feels great when three nurses push down on your stomach. Screaming because that hurt soo bad. The doctor will say to you, "Teresa, you can't scream. You need to keep breathing to get your baby here." Are you serious? I can't scream when I am in pain. I want you to have someone push on your balls and then tell me you can't scream but you need to keep breathing normally. I also wish that you pass many kidney stones to know what giving birth is really like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. Really I love retaining water. I love when you can push on your calf and it leaves a finger indentation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. Stretch marks. Isn't enough that I already have the Texas road map engraved on my hips, butt, thighs, and stomach. Do I really need more? Also how is it that your body can just keep on stretching. You go to bed one night and the next morning you are another blimp size bigger. I don't understand that but it seems to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. Constantly being hot. You have heard the term bun in the oven. Well, you better believe it. You are hotter than a 400 degree oven. You only wish you could rip off all your clothes and parade around naked. But seriously who wants to see your fat ass naked let alone trying to waddle or run anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. I also love when you get soo big that you can no longer fit in a normal bathroom stall .( or your bathroom tub for that matter) You have to use the jumbo jet bathtub or the handicap stalls because your stomach gets in the way and you can't turn around to sit down. Great times!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. The weight gain. I love when your doctor ( who was obnoxiously obese) tells you I am gaining weight too fast and need to slow down. Really, you think gaining 10 pounds in a week is too fast. Do you think it has anything to do with how much damn water I am retaining? Well, even I know that but really should you be telling me this. How can you slow down with your weight when all you can consume are apples, oranges, and crackers. Give me a break fat ass. I gained 65 pounds because I have a baby inside of me. Growing to epic proportions, my boobs are three sizes bigger, my ass is the size of Africa so that I can still be somewhat proportioned and don't tip over from my enlarged stomach region. I also have gained 10 pounds in a week from water so what the hell do you REALLY want me to do? You obese slime bucket!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. Constipation&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Prenatal pills. Really they are supposed to help give vitamins to the baby but lets face it all they do is make you more nauseous. It doesn't matter what time of day you take these horse pills you are sure to throw up the contents of your stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. Dry heaving 35 times in one day. Did I say also peeing my pants most of these dry heaving experiences leaving me doing laundry 10x more than I ever have in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. Losing my eyesight. Isn't it bad enough that I am legally blind. Do I really need to have my eyesight get worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36. Headaches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or and this is just the start of my pregnancy. I am sure I can't wait to see what else happens to make me sooo excited to get this little bundle of joy here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1947733604703012979?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1947733604703012979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1947733604703012979' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1947733604703012979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1947733604703012979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/04/joys-of-being-pregnant.html' title='The Joys of Being Pregnant.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1111548245433070367</id><published>2009-04-03T16:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T16:29:28.561-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zoe says it all.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdaNuwXcKHI/AAAAAAAAApM/8wmSJ33XW6Y/s1600-h/DSC01576.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdaNuwXcKHI/AAAAAAAAApM/8wmSJ33XW6Y/s200/DSC01576.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320595844181534834" 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/3072435603015002322-1111548245433070367?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1111548245433070367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1111548245433070367' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1111548245433070367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1111548245433070367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/04/zoe-says-it-all.html' title='Zoe says it all.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdaNuwXcKHI/AAAAAAAAApM/8wmSJ33XW6Y/s72-c/DSC01576.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3657395536064337376</id><published>2009-03-30T14:13:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T14:21:56.742-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Done for now.</title><content type='html'>Our Bathroom downstairs is completed ( for now...we still need cabinets and a sink but time will bring those to us eventually.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEpNjZ5tJI/AAAAAAAAApE/k_CE_ehDXhM/s1600-h/zoe18months+056.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEpNjZ5tJI/AAAAAAAAApE/k_CE_ehDXhM/s200/zoe18months+056.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319077947720184978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I made sure it was a color I liked. Chocolate Brown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEozVCjErI/AAAAAAAAAo0/My6hF8uCFkY/s1600-h/zoe18months+057.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEozVCjErI/AAAAAAAAAo0/My6hF8uCFkY/s200/zoe18months+057.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319077497187537586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Big Jet Tub. Biggest tub in the house. ( It was free)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEozMj8kJI/AAAAAAAAAos/L2t-TNtIHy8/s1600-h/zoe18months+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEozMj8kJI/AAAAAAAAAos/L2t-TNtIHy8/s200/zoe18months+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319077494911701138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Spacers in the tile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEoyxdd5wI/AAAAAAAAAok/q5qaywm463U/s1600-h/zoe18months+015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEoyxdd5wI/AAAAAAAAAok/q5qaywm463U/s200/zoe18months+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319077487636768514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Finished Floor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEoymsLLRI/AAAAAAAAAoc/1eqGA6-woNg/s1600-h/zoe18months+017.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEoymsLLRI/AAAAAAAAAoc/1eqGA6-woNg/s200/zoe18months+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319077484745665810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Finished Bathtub/ shower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEoym9i8oI/AAAAAAAAAoU/jV2JSRJ21u4/s1600-h/zoe18months+019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEoym9i8oI/AAAAAAAAAoU/jV2JSRJ21u4/s200/zoe18months+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319077484818526850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thanks Casey and Spence for finishing up my bathroom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3657395536064337376?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3657395536064337376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3657395536064337376' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3657395536064337376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3657395536064337376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/03/our-bathroom-downstairs-is-completed.html' title='Done for now.'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SdEpNjZ5tJI/AAAAAAAAApE/k_CE_ehDXhM/s72-c/zoe18months+056.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3619855063566959833</id><published>2009-03-13T16:59:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T17:29:39.605-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Good, The Bad, and What the Hell?</title><content type='html'>I have been a slacker lately. I am a nutcase right now. I have been so stressed out with me going back to school. ( or thinking about it anyway.) I did get accepted, met with an academic advisory, realized I need to take College Algebra again. ( my grade was just "average") and you need a B+ or better to apply for the Nursing Program. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I cried about this. Realized going back to get another bachelors may just not be for me. Maybe a Masters?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay so on with my post...&lt;br /&gt;The wind was ferocious one day and so Zoe and I flew kites. ( Okay the kite lasted for five seconds but we had fun.)&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmQ-Fue6I/AAAAAAAAAmM/EUl_Gp7ivVk/s1600-h/DSC01537.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmQ-Fue6I/AAAAAAAAAmM/EUl_Gp7ivVk/s200/DSC01537.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312811889656232866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I wasn't kidding when I said the wind was blowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmQTX9zaI/AAAAAAAAAmE/Cwz5yMlKds4/s1600-h/DSC01529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmQTX9zaI/AAAAAAAAAmE/Cwz5yMlKds4/s200/DSC01529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312811878190009762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So more and more we realize Zoe is a huge HAM! Here she is as Ms. Pumpkin Head. ( don't look at what she is wearing. She wanted to be a princess and so she kind-a dressed herself.) &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmRJ7Z-9I/AAAAAAAAAmU/HXTMhsN6g6g/s1600-h/DSC01541.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmRJ7Z-9I/AAAAAAAAAmU/HXTMhsN6g6g/s200/DSC01541.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312811892834171858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next greatest thing about Zoe is she is potty training. We have had some horrible days but for the most part she goes all day without accidents. One night, ( while I was at work) Spence was on the computer and Zoe was climbing in the heating vent in the computer room. Needless to say she shouted, " Stinky, Pooh-Pooh!". Climbed out of the heating vent and sure enough there was a huge puddle of pee in the heating vent. Please don't hold it against us if our house smells of urine. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmRavXvPI/AAAAAAAAAmc/0H7OPU3Om38/s1600-h/DSC01545.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmRavXvPI/AAAAAAAAAmc/0H7OPU3Om38/s200/DSC01545.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312811897347095794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmRl37ZzI/AAAAAAAAAmk/zvyY_sDm5DY/s1600-h/DSC01547.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmRl37ZzI/AAAAAAAAAmk/zvyY_sDm5DY/s200/DSC01547.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312811900335777586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All winter long Zoe hated the snow. She knew what it was but never wanted to play in it. Well, the last snow storm was her time to shine. She had so much fun tromping around in the snow that she froze and didn't want to come in. ( I really didn't think she would stay out there for very long so I never put her snow suit on or proper gloves. Much to my surprise we were out there for an hour.)&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/Sbrnr8YLJMI/AAAAAAAAAms/q5aen8tYDGY/s1600-h/DSC01555.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/Sbrnr8YLJMI/AAAAAAAAAms/q5aen8tYDGY/s200/DSC01555.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312813452564833474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrnsIVCe4I/AAAAAAAAAm0/tEbdEgjPNvU/s1600-h/DSC01550.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrnsIVCe4I/AAAAAAAAAm0/tEbdEgjPNvU/s200/DSC01550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312813455772908418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My last story... I was having a very stressed out day. I was not in the mood to deal with people. Of course I had to work. I followed the slowest drive in Payson to work. ( I have extreme road rage and was swearing and yelling at this lady the whole way to Walmart.) I finally get to work, clock- in only to have the time clock tell me that one of the days I asked off did not get approved. Pissed by this point, I go to find out what night I didn't get off. Of course it would be a Saturday that Spencer works so I have no babysitter. I am furious. I walk to the front, grap my keys, grab a headset, grab my palm ( a palm works like a pager. The cashiers type in various codes and it lets the CSM's know so I can help.) I log on to my palm and it is filled with Cashier requests. I was upset because what were the other CSM's doing? Then over the head set I hear a (lazy) CSM say " Lorene, can you get to Amie's request?" ( I love Lorene btw) the next twenty minutes were like this. I can work, I am here to work, I know what I am doing, and I can do my job just like every other CSM who works there. Mad doesn't cover how I feel at this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay so all around bad day... Once again my palm fills up with requests. The cash wraps were doing something funky. Something no one and seen before. I was helping the cashiers figure it out. I head over to Amie's cash wrap. Her cash wrap went off line in the middle of a transaction. Great!! She was ringing up limes ( UPC/Code is 4048). Well instead of ringing up limes it charged the customer $40.48 for Merchandize. ( If you ever look at your Walmart recients it has what you bought, UPC, and price. ) The item said Merchandize, upc was for string cheese, price was 40.48. I was trying to void off the 40.48.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I am sorry, sir, I can't seem to void this off. Please give me moment to try and figure this out.&lt;br /&gt;Customer: I don't understand how a manager can not void something off. I am not paying for it.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I understand sir, I am trying to take of it.&lt;br /&gt;HIM: I have been waiting here for 45 minutes, and my frozen food is defrosting as we speak. (YELLING)&lt;br /&gt;Me: I understand and I am sorry.  ( At this point I am ready to shove the piece of paper in my hands up his nose.)&lt;br /&gt;Him: Well, you need to fix this problem I am NOT paying for it.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I understand and that is what I am trying to do.&lt;br /&gt;HIm: Well, if i didn't have to wait in lines here. This is nothing new I always have to wait in lines. I get home and my food is unthawed and i have wasted half my day at Walmart.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I understand sir. I have all my work force up on the registers at this time and we are trying ... he cuts me off.&lt;br /&gt;Him: Are you saying this is my fault?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No, sir I am saying we are trying to remedy the problem. I am going to suspend the transaction and take you to customer sevice to take care of this. ( I have been tyring to get item voided off the whole time he is screaming at me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We go to customer service. I can not under any circumstance get the damn thing off with out aborting the whole transaction and re-ringing every single item. He starts screaming at me. Then he sees my assistant manger walk by. He starts screaming at her.&lt;br /&gt;Him: I have been here for 45 minutes trying to get this worked out. You have some incompentant people who work here.&lt;br /&gt;Lana: Teresa, is this true? Has he been here for 45 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I have been trying to help him for 10 minutes maybe 15 tops.&lt;br /&gt;Him: YOu are all incompent. I am never shopping here again. (YELLING throughout the store as he leaves and is clapping. ) Walmart is a waste of my time, I am so thankful stupid people work here. I am never coming back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at Lana apoligized and break into tears. This was all I could handle for the day. It was not a good day and it was getting worse by the minute. I had to leave to go and compose myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell? I am not really a crier. I cry when stressed, frustrated, and depressed. NOT when a customer yells at me. Lets face it they make fools of themselves when they yell at you so you can always laugh about it. For some reason I couldn't find the "funny" in this situation. I guess that is waht happens when you are stressed to the max.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say when I came home Spence informed me that Zoe had peed in the heating vent and laughter consumed me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3619855063566959833?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3619855063566959833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3619855063566959833' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3619855063566959833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3619855063566959833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-bad-and-what-hell.html' title='The Good, The Bad, and What the Hell?'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SbrmQ-Fue6I/AAAAAAAAAmM/EUl_Gp7ivVk/s72-c/DSC01537.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1309291315784244012</id><published>2009-02-23T18:04:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T18:37:12.709-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates</title><content type='html'>On my days off I can relax and I always get more accomplished than any other day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe and I pulled this out and went for a joy ride...&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNIGMcIJ5I/AAAAAAAAAkk/S0OGb-mvEKg/s1600-h/DSC01016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNIGMcIJ5I/AAAAAAAAAkk/S0OGb-mvEKg/s200/DSC01016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306164057228191634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I did it!! I applied to Utah Valley University. This my friends was no small feat. Why you ask? Well, when you need transcripts from all the universities you have attended it makes it tiresome. Especially when you have attended...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNPMZ47w6I/AAAAAAAAAl8/5oltLwcuzgs/s1600-h/logo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 64px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNPMZ47w6I/AAAAAAAAAl8/5oltLwcuzgs/s200/logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306171860499284898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNLZJOANEI/AAAAAAAAAks/sVCdMdCerQM/s1600-h/s.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 81px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNLZJOANEI/AAAAAAAAAks/sVCdMdCerQM/s200/s.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306167681316041794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNLZD0O8EI/AAAAAAAAAk0/HQr5h6oyzAE/s1600-h/ULogoForHead.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 187px; height: 51px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNLZD0O8EI/AAAAAAAAAk0/HQr5h6oyzAE/s200/ULogoForHead.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306167679865778242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNLZejNS5I/AAAAAAAAAk8/QhPEuUbtm4s/s1600-h/main-logo.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 26px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNLZejNS5I/AAAAAAAAAk8/QhPEuUbtm4s/s200/main-logo.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306167687042124690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess you could say I am a bit indecisive on what university/college to attend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found out my husband wants to be a homeless bum. I know that his life long dream is to be a transient so I will let him. However, if he pursues this career and dream then I am taking Zoe and running away to Africa. I will live in a grass hut and we will eat bugs. Does that make me a homeless bum as well???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also downloaded this on to my Ipod. ( Stupid Tyrel...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNO0sm6bpI/AAAAAAAAAls/J6DblzYKvw8/s1600-h/fmdeck.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 100px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNO0sm6bpI/AAAAAAAAAls/J6DblzYKvw8/s200/fmdeck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306171453207113362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pulled out my running shoes and went walking with Zoe.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNNwJDc_WI/AAAAAAAAAlc/ZHyBRd_cj9Y/s1600-h/5-324663_whtcactus_cl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 109px; height: 115px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNNwJDc_WI/AAAAAAAAAlc/ZHyBRd_cj9Y/s200/5-324663_whtcactus_cl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306170275432037730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After walking I clipped all my coupons and made sure I had my price matches and went shopping here...&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNNgsFCpfI/AAAAAAAAAlU/k5GTcUR-iDI/s1600-h/walmart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNNgsFCpfI/AAAAAAAAAlU/k5GTcUR-iDI/s200/walmart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306170009956034034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know right. Am I not already sick of this place? I then came home and cooked dinner. I made halibut. Zoe and I ate all our fish and enjoyed it. Spence happened to call and I told him we were having fish. He asked if Zoe was eating it and I said yes. Zoe did not eat everything I put on her plate so as I was dumping it to the garbage she yelled, " Good-bye Nemo!" I guess she knew were eating fish. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNNwA9pxfI/AAAAAAAAAlk/kHA8I208wBQ/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 85px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNNwA9pxfI/AAAAAAAAAlk/kHA8I208wBQ/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306170273260226034" 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/3072435603015002322-1309291315784244012?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1309291315784244012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1309291315784244012' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1309291315784244012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1309291315784244012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/02/updates.html' title='Updates'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SaNIGMcIJ5I/AAAAAAAAAkk/S0OGb-mvEKg/s72-c/DSC01016.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-9087223556358065597</id><published>2009-02-22T21:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T21:47:19.281-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Second Guessing</title><content type='html'>Thinking is a problem for me. Especially when I have down time (aka right before bed). In the past four years of not teaching I have never second guessed myself. Now all of a sudden I am. I am wondering what my life would be like if I was still teaching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't be embarrassed to tell people where I worked or what I did for a living. I could stand tall and hopefully say I made a difference to someone. I loved to see the light in their eyes when they finally understood a concept or started to appreciate English. Those were the days that mattered. They were the days you remembered and can recall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I have stopped school teaching what do I have to show for my pathetic life. Really, nothing. I am not proud of the things I have accomplished since. ( okay, Zoe is an exception she is my sunshine daily) . Can I honestly say I am excited about things, or have great stories to relive or tell. I can't. I haven't aspired to anything great. I haven't held on to my dreams, and I am sure as hell not helping anyone anymore. The gratification of helping someone is a blessing to last a life time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When people ask me why I am not teaching anymore or if I still teach it is embarrassing to tell them no or the to tell them the story. It is no fault of their own it is my own doing. I am the one who created my life and now I have to deal with. I have to deal with the insignificance I have created in my own life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss talking about Shakespeare, nouns, verbs, spelling words, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. I have recently had an old student of mine send me poetry and we have been hashing it out on facebook. This saddens me because I can't talk symbolism, metaphors, or the underlying meaning of anything with people. I have let my mind waste away to mush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never second guessed myself so why am I know. I was never very good at school teaching and always compared myself to everyone else and always came up short. So really, why do I want to put myself in that circumstance again. Maybe, because I DO have a degree and I am doing nothing with it. I am getting tied up in the vicious cycle of gossip and backstabbing at Walmart and I hate that. I hate that trust is an issue. Who can you talk to, who can you trust, and what is everyone else saying about me? I can work and willing to work and in my eyes I am a hard worker but others see differently. I wish I could measure up to what others think and see me as but I know that in most people's eyes I fall short. I am not one who goes out of my way for others and I have noticed the outcome of my shortcomings. My unhappiness at this time is created from my own wrong doings. I can't go around and second guess what I know was right but yet I do and am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As of lately I have been thinking of going back to school. In something completely unrelated to my degree. I have always wanted my masters but fell short in my small effortless attempt at trying. ( I took the GRE to get into the sociology master program at the U... I failed miserably.) I have been leaning towards going back and getting my RN. Yes, this is in fact in the opposite direction I have already lead myself. I am debating. Really, lets face the small facts... MONEY!! I really don't have money to go back to school. I do have a degree. I am not completely hopeless (Okay, so I am... but lets pretend that I am not) Also I do want to further my family. I do want more little Spencer and Teresa's running around ( as scary and unnerving that may actually be) I also could never go back to full time student statis and therefore this is leading me down a long winding road of empty hope and promises, scrabbling for time and money, and wondering if it really is something I should pursue. I guess this is the basic thoughts of my head tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My temperament has fallen by the wayside and I need to find my happy place again. If only I was with Tinker Bell and could fly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-9087223556358065597?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/9087223556358065597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=9087223556358065597' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/9087223556358065597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/9087223556358065597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/02/second-guessing_22.html' title='Second Guessing'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4627802293125554453</id><published>2009-02-19T13:12:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T15:14:21.031-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Forgiveness</title><content type='html'>( More for Journal purposes. If you don't want to read personal stuff don't continue.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have all been taught to forgive people. Sometimes forgiveness is easy. You are on the freeway you get cut off, you honk, swear, flip the driver off but by the end of the day you have forgotten about the incident. However, what happens when you child is hurt by an adult who knows better? Or when  someone tells you ( to your face), you are FAT! Do these instances take longer to forgive or do you feel guilty because you indulged in the last twinkie?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if the problem is more serious: murder, rape, adultery? Do you forgive the person and move on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if hurtful actions and words are said to you and about you? Do you move on and by pass the actions and words? Do you wallow in the insecurity the words/actions bring upon you? Do you let it slide off your back and move forward? I so wish I had the knowledge to all of these questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have many instances in my life where I have had issues of forgiveness. In high school I always, always got in fights with my best friends. We hated each other, said mean nasty things about each other, made others hate us, and basically made life hell for all those involved. I did what I was suppose to: I fasted, prayed for them, prayed to soften my heart and theirs, and hoped for the best. Sad to say the forgiveness nor the friendship came to me immediately. But 12 years later, I am undoubtedly best friends with these said girls and we laugh and joke about the situation. In fact it probably made us stronger as friends and as people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, what do you do when it is family members? What happens when the words and actions are tearing the family part? What happens when you feel like your hatred for the things said and did to you are spinning out of control? Does this mean I hate the person? NO, I hate the situation I feel I have been placed in. Am I in the wrong for said situation? ( I am sure I am partly to blame). Do I hate the way I feel? YES!! Undoubtedly it doesn't get better. I have prayed for guidance, for hearts to be softened, for understanding, for the forgiveness to come. I have prayed for acceptance, for the skills to communicate, for all people involved. I have fasted, prayed, been to the temple, placed names on the temple prayer list, and yet the feelings saute in my heart, mind, and soul. Just when I feel things are getting better and I am on my way to recovery and forgiveness something else is said or done. I have to start over and everything permeates on the surface once again. Staying away is easier but then it causes rifts in said environment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I consulted a dear friend today about the situation. ( One who is WAY more religious than I will ever be and had great advice.) You can forgive but that does not mean you have to let them in your life. As individuals, we only want those in our lives who makes us better people. If someone is going to drag us down or bring out the worst in us we don't need them in our lives. This does not mean we can NOT forgive them. We can but then we can make the decision to have them active in our lives or not. ( Why did I never come up with this) Also the Lord teaches us to forgive indefinitely. ( &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And so on unto the second and third time; and as oft as thine enemy repenteth of the trespass wherewith he has trespassed against thee, thou shalt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://scriptures.lds.org/en/dc/98/40a" mark="a" type="C" title="Matt. 18: 22 (21-22); TG Forgiveness."&gt;&lt;span class="searchword"&gt; forgive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; him, until seventy times seven. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;D&amp;amp;C 98:40&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt; I believe this to be true but very hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that if I don't over come the hatred and unkind actions and deeds I am the one who has to repent and then in turn will need to be forgiven for my lack of faith. (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;sup style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://scriptures.lds.org/en/dc/64/9a" mark="a" type="C" title="Prov. 17: 9; Mark 11: 26 (25-26); D&amp;amp;C 82: 1; TG Reconciliation."&gt;&lt;span class="searchword"&gt;forgive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; one another; for he that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://scriptures.lds.org/en/dc/64/9b" mark="b" type="A" title="Matt. 6: 15 (14-15); Eph. 4: 32."&gt;forgiveth&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;div class="verse"&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" name="10"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div id="dc/64/10" onclick="return toggleMarked(event, this)"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;   10  I, the Lord, will &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://scriptures.lds.org/en/dc/64/10a" mark="a" type="C" title="Ex. 33: 19; Ex. 34: 7; Rom. 9: 18; Alma 39: 6; D&amp;amp;C 56: 14; TG Forgiveness."&gt;&lt;span class="searchword"&gt;forgive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; whom I will &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="searchword"&gt;forgive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, but of you it is required to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://scriptures.lds.org/en/dc/64/10b" mark="b" type="C" title="Mosiah 26: 31 (29-31); TG Benevolence; TG Forbearance."&gt;&lt;span class="searchword"&gt;forgive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; all men&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;D&amp;amp;C 64: 9-10&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why am I struggling with this so much? I understand we all need trials and everyone has different trials in their life but lets be honest THIS SUCKS!! I would never wish this upon anyone. I would rather deal with catastrophe, death of a loved one, cancer, rape, adultery,   losing my child ( okay, close second). In reality this is harder than anything I have been through. I know our trials make us who we are but becoming a bitter individual is not what I have in mind for my salvation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does anyone have more sage advice? I am trying but forgiveness takes time. However, the time it is taking makes me a ticking bomb ready to explode. My faith is not waivering but my patience are. I am stuggling. Deep soul struggling. Talking about the situation makes it worse for me most of the time. How do you get to the point when talking about it doesn't upset you or take hold of your emotions and insides? How does the black pit of despair get released from your life and you get to move on and enjoy your family and the time you are here on earth? My heart pounds with fury when actions and words are said to me. I want to get passed this, forgive, and possible not have this person active in my life so I can move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it possible that the Lord will forgive me for the time I have stewed over said situation? Will I ever be whole again? May my actions and deeds not be interrupted as a hateful, vengeful person but one who is desperate for forgiving the situation.&lt;br /&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/3072435603015002322-4627802293125554453?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4627802293125554453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4627802293125554453' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4627802293125554453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4627802293125554453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/02/forgiveness.html' title='Forgiveness'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5493676383031903012</id><published>2009-02-10T08:17:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T08:57:49.147-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Viva Las Vegas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjp1vkuHI/AAAAAAAAAkM/CUetQzv_Nl8/s1600-h/Vegas+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjp1vkuHI/AAAAAAAAAkM/CUetQzv_Nl8/s200/Vegas+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301198175588366450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer and I had a wonderful time in Las Vegas. We arrived in Vegas after a hairy drive in a rain storm that Vegas roads are not prepared for. We went and stood in line to get our Elton John tickets. At the ticket booth they told us that the content was Mature and had full frontal nudidity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We checked into our hotel room at the Tropicana. Now I know this hotel was very popular when the Rat Pack vacated Vegas frequently and we found out why as we entered our room. That is right ladies and gentleman, our room had mirrors on the ceiling and on the walls surrounding the bed. I guess many people have fantasies about looking at themselves in mirrors.  We laughed. other than the wonderful mirrors our hotel really wasn't too bad. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGb-iOAdtI/AAAAAAAAAjc/yMZcEQ08t54/s1600-h/Vegas+003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGb-iOAdtI/AAAAAAAAAjc/yMZcEQ08t54/s200/Vegas+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301189735031535314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We hurried to Ceasars Palace to witness a legend in the act. The couple next too us was great. They keep talking to us and they were just a little pervy to make the night hilarious and raunchy. We started talking about the full frontal nudity. Knowing Elton John is Bi-sexual I really thought that a male nudity would be part of the show but once again it was just the female. The couple  next too us stated that to see the nudity were we were located they would have to be big, I mean really big. I laughed and told them they said what I was thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phallic Symbols were focused upon throughout the show but now really live " junk". I witnessed Pam Anderson pole dance. ( Really she is very beautiful, her boobs are great but she doesn't pole dance very well.) I don't understand why she really put a pole in her bedroom but I do understand why people watched her and Tommy Lee's sex video. She is gorgeous. My favorite part was HUGE, giant blow up boobs. They looked like a giant punching bag because they hung from the ceiling. It was wonderful and the best part after the song the boobs squirted milk on the audience. It was hilarious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watching Elton's fingers fly across the piano and hearing the legendary songs was marvelous. I have become a fan of Elton Johns.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGd3wuWp-I/AAAAAAAAAjk/1hxUoutQJCc/s1600-h/Vegas+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGd3wuWp-I/AAAAAAAAAjk/1hxUoutQJCc/s200/Vegas+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301191817689475042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day we did what normal people do, shop!! We also had dinner reservations to one of the popular resteraunts in Vegas. Top of the World is located on the very top of the Strasposphere. It is a five star resteraunt and very pricey. We both new this going in and I made Spence take me for Valentines.  The resteraunt revolves clock wise around the city. The view is spectacular and it was wonderful to spend time with Spence.The food was wonderful. Spence had steak and I had rack of lamb. Everything couldn't have been more perfect.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGenzfYqJI/AAAAAAAAAj0/TKf0TMJP9ms/s1600-h/Vegas+013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGenzfYqJI/AAAAAAAAAj0/TKf0TMJP9ms/s200/Vegas+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301192643065718930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGenjKGVvI/AAAAAAAAAjs/qlOPaPxmzls/s1600-h/Vegas+010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGenjKGVvI/AAAAAAAAAjs/qlOPaPxmzls/s200/Vegas+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301192638681470706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dinner we went to the show Zumanity. I loved it but would not reccommend it to anyone who gets offended easily. They say that Zumanity is the Cirque du Soleil's erotic adventure: acrobatics, gymnastics, a GREAT pole dancer. This show plays up our fantasies and desires. A young school girl, domimatrix, swingers, gay/lesbain passion, transvestites, lust, passion, and temptation. The show was done very tastefully and was beautiful. In fact it was hilarious at times. They have the audience participate and the audience was great. My complaint is the ribbon dancing. ( a ribbon hangs fromt he ceiling and they do acrobatic tricks on the ribbon... I actually really love to watch this it is amazing) However the acrobatic doing the ribbons was a little person. I could not watch. I had a hard time paying attention to this one.Other than that it really was amazing. Being a prude was definately not part of our trip this time. I saw more nudity than if I went to Cheetahs or Little Darlings. However, both shows were wonderful and we had a great time. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjAzcgXqI/AAAAAAAAAj8/7Hh7fwM8q-Q/s1600-h/Vegas+014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjAzcgXqI/AAAAAAAAAj8/7Hh7fwM8q-Q/s200/Vegas+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301197470596882082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjHGs6m2I/AAAAAAAAAkE/4MFPXf9g--A/s1600-h/Vegas+015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjHGs6m2I/AAAAAAAAAkE/4MFPXf9g--A/s200/Vegas+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301197578845199202" 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/3072435603015002322-5493676383031903012?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5493676383031903012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5493676383031903012' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5493676383031903012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5493676383031903012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/02/viva-las-vegas.html' title='Viva Las Vegas'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SZGjp1vkuHI/AAAAAAAAAkM/CUetQzv_Nl8/s72-c/Vegas+007.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6399241185353523689</id><published>2009-02-06T14:49:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T15:01:47.402-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not that you can tell..</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYyzRXzWFiI/AAAAAAAAAjU/kic5Lgn60SI/s1600-h/zoe18months+060.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYyzRXzWFiI/AAAAAAAAAjU/kic5Lgn60SI/s200/zoe18months+060.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299807972536751650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My little one has the croup. She does eat much and besides the cough you wouldn't even know she is sick... she is still jumping on beds, running around the house, playing with her baby or her kitchen. She is basically doing okay. The cough however sounds like a dog coughing up a giant shoe. It is horrible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-6399241185353523689?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6399241185353523689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6399241185353523689' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6399241185353523689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6399241185353523689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/02/not-that-you-can-tell.html' title='Not that you can tell..'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYyzRXzWFiI/AAAAAAAAAjU/kic5Lgn60SI/s72-c/zoe18months+060.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8280317696559772177</id><published>2009-01-30T12:58:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T13:51:39.622-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate February..Long Post</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNnpGjtfEI/AAAAAAAAAi8/5AoX_4jv6Ag/s1600-h/family+018.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNnpGjtfEI/AAAAAAAAAi8/5AoX_4jv6Ag/s200/family+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297191542550527042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February brings nothing good to my life. Something horrible always happens. I take everything and end up being a better person for it but I dread the up coming month. Thinking positively it is a short month and seems to fly by faster than all the other months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;** Swearing and name calling are in this post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post is for a journal entry I should have made years ago...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever realized that you have no one you can truly count on? The event that brought this about is horrible yet  made me realize that asking for help hurts is harder than it seems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had just received my jury duty check in the mail. I cashed the check and was headed to Provo to pay off my Victoria's Secret bill. ( where I was moonlighting at night) I needed to get out of my house. Softball was in St. George and I had the day off from practice. ( I was also a softball coach for Payson High. Oh... The day was February 26, 2004). I jumped on I-15 at the Flying J on ramp. I reached the freeway and realized all too late that the roads were really wet from the rain we had received that day. I knew if I slammed on my brakes I would slide off the road so I made the decision to change lanes.  I quickly changed lanes when I lost control of my car. I hydroplaned. My car did a 180 turn. I was looking into a green SUV that was coming straight at me. I turned my wheel and rolled my car into  the bar pit. I don't remember much after that. I felt glass and water splatter across my face. When I "came to" I was hanging by my seat belt, upside down in my car. Sheryl Crow was singing and I was swearing up a storm. A young lady and man were at my driver side window asking me if I was okay. I was just very upset. I undid my seatbelt and feel on the roof of my car. I climbed out of the broken drivers window. The young lady gave me a wet wipe and said she had to get back to her car becuase she had her baby with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNno95fP4I/AAAAAAAAAi0/h2zYI2CUzT4/s1600-h/family.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNno95fP4I/AAAAAAAAAi0/h2zYI2CUzT4/s200/family.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297191540225949570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was looking for my cell phone so I could call the police to come and help me. My car was taking up all lanes of south bound 1-15. That is right I said southbound. I was heading Northbound and had rolled my car into southbound traffic. While I was rolling around I got hit by a southbound car. Right, like that wa my fault. ( Okay, so it was... how could anyone avoid hitting a car that comes flying out of the bar pit right at you). I was walking back to my car to grab my phone the young man grabbed my shirt to stop me and I growled at him. ( Let's face it I was not in the best of moods at this point).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The police and fire crew arrived. I was standing at the railing pissed by this point. Officer Riley (I sort-of worked with Officer Riley at Payson High) was trying to find out what happened, see if anything was broken, if I was hurt.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNnphU32MI/AAAAAAAAAjE/PFvC9AtorQA/s1600-h/family+019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNnphU32MI/AAAAAAAAAjE/PFvC9AtorQA/s200/family+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297191549736048834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: " How would you feel if you just wrecked the one thing that you owned?"&lt;br /&gt;O. Riley:" But are you okay."&lt;br /&gt;Me: " No, I am not okay. I don't have a car anymore!"&lt;br /&gt;O. R: " A car is replaceable are you okay?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: " Not with my salary. Buying a new car is out of the question."&lt;br /&gt;O.R: " Really, you can get a new car. Calm down."&lt;br /&gt;After this I was escorted into the ambulance. They checked everything out. Pulled as much glass out as they could. They wanted to take me to the hospital to check me out for shock. I looked at them and said no I would walk home.  ( I lived in some apartments down by Walmart). They claimed they didn't want me to walk home. That I needed to call someone. Who the hell did I call? Lets face it I had lived in Payson for 2.5 years and I didnt' really have anyone I could call to come and get me. I had acquaintances from work but no one that would be willing to come and pick me up. I was lost.  I finally called Valarie. We were cheer coaches together and I hoped she would be willing to pick me up.&lt;br /&gt;Val: Hello.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Can you pick me up at McDonalds. ( crying)&lt;br /&gt;Val: Teresa, what happened.&lt;br /&gt;Me: ummm.... I wrecked my car. Please come get me. ( crying harder)&lt;br /&gt;Val: When? I am coming right now.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Give me twenty minutes. They need my statement.&lt;br /&gt;Val: I'll be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt stupid for calling and asking for help but I guess sometimes call for drastic measures. We were friends but we weren't really that close yet. ( Times would change and we ended up becoming great friends)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They made me sit in a cop car. As I was sitting in the cop car, I was listening to the radio about all the "other" wrecks my car had caused. There was a baby in critical condition, broken legs,  there were atleast 8 seperate accidents that I had caused. (remember cause and effect.) I wrecked therefore causing the effect of 7 other accidents. My wreck shut down 1-15. I guess if wreck go big and cause people  A LOT of problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cop gets in his car as tears are cascading down my face.&lt;br /&gt;Officer: I have to give you a ticket.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Really? Isn't wrecking my car enough.&lt;br /&gt;Officer: No.&lt;br /&gt;Me: What is the ticket for?&lt;br /&gt;Officer: Improper lane change.&lt;br /&gt;Me: WHAT!! Improper lane change? I was heading North bound and ended up going southbound how can you give me a ticket for improper lane change.  IN my head I am thinking what a dumb ass.&lt;br /&gt;Officer: Speeding for the weather conditions.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Fine&lt;br /&gt;The officer fills out the ticket. I am steaming mad. He hands me a clip board to sign my name admiting to the fault. I scribble something that I can't even read. I throw the clip board back at him. He tells me he will take me to McDonalds to meet my party. I wait and wait and wait. He never gets back in the car. I open the door and get out. I begin walking on the innerstate to McDonalds. He looks at me.&lt;br /&gt;Officer: Where are you going?&lt;br /&gt;Me: ( remember I mad) Well, if you can't do your damn job and take me to McDonalds I will walk.&lt;br /&gt;Officer: Get back in the car and I will take you there right now.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I am sure I can walk faster than it will take you to get me there.&lt;br /&gt;I keep walking  a semi rolls by and stops. "Do you need a ride?" NO! I can walk but thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walk to McDonalds. I see Val's Ford Explorer. I open the door and climb in.&lt;br /&gt;Val: You look like shit.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Thanks! ( start cyring). I retell the whole story.&lt;br /&gt;Val: You really said that to the cop?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah, he was dick and I  wasn't in the mood for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had called my parents. They were NOT happy. I should tell you now this was not my first accident. They were not excited about the outcome. They were on their way to come and get me and to get my stuff out of my car. My car was totalled. I was devasated. Parents came, we got my stuff, mom cried and said she was sorry after she saw my car.&lt;br /&gt;Mom: I can't believe nothing happened to you.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I told you it was bad but you didnt' want to believe me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parents leave, I take a bath, turn off my phone, climb into bed. Couple hours later I am swatting at someone who had broke into my apartment. Needless to say my mom, was worried because I wasn't answering my phone. She drove back up to check on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning I got up early to walk to school. My mom followed me for a couple of blocks to give me a ride. I wouldn't get in her car. ( can you say stubborn). Luckily, it was PJ day at the school and I was showing my "LIONS" pride by wearing PJ's.  ( Lets face it I don't think I could have worn anything else. I had a bruise in the shape of my seatbelt. I had cuts all over my hands and face. Great day for PJ's. First period was Battle of the Bands. I didnt' tell anyone what had happened. After the "assembly" Mr. Penrod pulled me into my office.&lt;br /&gt;Mr. P: I have called a sub for you and she is on her way.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I am sorry, you will have to call and tell her you don't need her.&lt;br /&gt;Mr. P: You need to go home and rest. Officer Riley told me about what happened.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I am not going home. My students have presentations today and I am the only one who can grade them.&lt;br /&gt;Mr.P: I have already called a sub so you can go home.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I don't care. I am not going home, end of story.&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Penrod left defeated. I stayed the whole day not really telling anyone what had happened until Trevin Welch hit my class. He drew diagrams and told everyone the story. He knew more of what happened than I did. I guess his dad ( or uncle) was right on the scene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say over the next three weeks I learned how to ask for things. How to ask in my time of need for something. It was a hard way to learn a lesson. Asking for help is not the easiest thing a person can do. ( especially for me. I would rather do everything myself)  I realized that friends are placed there to help you and the Lord is there to protect you. The driver side of the car is the only place that nothing happened. I realized then that I really did have a purpose here and I had not accomplished what I had meant to do yet. Val was placed in my life for a short time but she was there when I needed her the most. She helped me understand that asking people to do the Lords work is why people enter our lives.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNno7mku8I/AAAAAAAAAis/H3RyU7Cl0J0/s1600-h/family+017.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 137px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNno7mku8I/AAAAAAAAAis/H3RyU7Cl0J0/s200/family+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297191539609746370" 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/3072435603015002322-8280317696559772177?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8280317696559772177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8280317696559772177' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8280317696559772177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8280317696559772177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-hate-february.html' title='I hate February..Long Post'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SYNnpGjtfEI/AAAAAAAAAi8/5AoX_4jv6Ag/s72-c/family+018.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4654762281170398134</id><published>2009-01-26T11:52:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T12:25:35.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What does a girl wear?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4HkY1KcMI/AAAAAAAAAiE/58tWs8UmMuw/s1600-h/220px-Elton_John_performing,_2008_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4HkY1KcMI/AAAAAAAAAiE/58tWs8UmMuw/s200/220px-Elton_John_performing,_2008_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295678533556400322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have done this to myself. I can only blame myself for my own predicament.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer has talked about seeing Elton John in concert since he has been in Vegas. I finally decided to buy Spence tickets to Elton John for Christmas. Spence is very excited. I on the other hand do not know much about Elton John. Lets face it, I know he wrote the music to Disney's The Lion King. I also danced to Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) when I was on drillteam my senior year and when in London at a Madonna Concert he walked right past me and sat three rows down from us.  Other than that I have no prior knowledge to Elton John.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what does a girl wear the to the social "gay" fest of the year?&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking this...&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4ImusFdxI/AAAAAAAAAiU/LzkM3qSFM7U/s1600-h/mode.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 154px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4ImusFdxI/AAAAAAAAAiU/LzkM3qSFM7U/s200/mode.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295679673295271698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But decided no one wants to see the road map of Texas that is ingrained on my stomach. (Stretch marks)&lt;br /&gt;So I was thinking this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4Imm1PZtI/AAAAAAAAAiM/ttDlZ2JRJFE/s1600-h/fashion-makes-a-mark-this-year-in.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4Imm1PZtI/AAAAAAAAAiM/ttDlZ2JRJFE/s200/fashion-makes-a-mark-this-year-in.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295679671186187986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but decided "slut" is not what I wanted for the Gay Men. I might turn them straight. ( I know I am hot but I would like to come home with my husband and not some hot dude)&lt;br /&gt;So I decided Spence and I would wear this outfit...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4Im0RoWbI/AAAAAAAAAik/GpOcNTUheJE/s1600-h/old_hippie_very_old_hippies_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4Im0RoWbI/AAAAAAAAAik/GpOcNTUheJE/s200/old_hippie_very_old_hippies_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295679674794924466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In all reality what does one wear to a Elton John concert. I went shopping for a stellar outfit but came home with Elmo panties for Zoe. Everything I liked wouldn't look good with the underwear I wear and the rest definately dates me as old mother figure. So ideas for this concert would be great? ( Maybe you could come up with an outfit I can wear to Brittany Spears as well...)&lt;br /&gt;I will tell you of out adventures to Sin City when we get home... Because lets face it Vegas is one of the greatest places on earth to see the Freaks of this world. I LOVE VEGAS!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4654762281170398134?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4654762281170398134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4654762281170398134' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4654762281170398134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4654762281170398134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-does-girl-wear.html' title='What does a girl wear?'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SX4HkY1KcMI/AAAAAAAAAiE/58tWs8UmMuw/s72-c/220px-Elton_John_performing,_2008_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6766029634018414112</id><published>2009-01-19T11:38:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T09:49:31.823-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories of Walmart</title><content type='html'>On behalf of my fellow employees I am sharing this story. Now really it is more for you the customer of BEWARE!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a CSM last week. One of the cashiers ( name disclosed)  had just come in to work. Jodi ( the other CSM) asked her to help a customer out with his groceries. The cashier was glad to do so. Five minutes later, when she came back in, she was gagging. I walked up to her to find out what was wrong. The customer she was helped take groceries to their car was on a moterized cart. When they got to the customers car steam was coming off of the cart. The cashier thought maybe he was hot and sweaty. When the customer stood up his whole back side was wet and steaming. As you are all thinking WT? Well, that is right ladies and gents, this customer had peed on the moterized cart. My poor little cashier had to sit on the seat to bring the cart back into the store. ( She did wait until all the liquid had evaporatyed from the seat) The rest of the night I laughed while she gagged. I am sorry for you misfortune. My sound advice even if you can't walk do not use a moterized cart from any Walmart.  This is not the first time it has happene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Sunday, I had the pleasure of getting a great laugh at one of my clients. I was a cashier. I had just helped a married couple through my line. My next customer was an older lady. ( When I say older I mean 70-80 years old. Grandma Age.) She eagerly watched the married couple walk off. She looked at me and said," He was a looker."&lt;br /&gt;Me: laughing," Hey, it doesn't hurt to look."&lt;br /&gt;Lady: " That's right. I can look until I am dead."&lt;br /&gt;Me: " It mean you are alive and well"&lt;br /&gt;Lady: "Did you see his backside?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:" NO."&lt;br /&gt;Lady:" Well, he was a looker. I can look but not touch."&lt;br /&gt;Me: laughing, " That is what I always say."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can any of you image you grandma saying anything like that? I have never laughed soo hard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-6766029634018414112?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6766029634018414112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6766029634018414112' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6766029634018414112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6766029634018414112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/01/stories-of-walmart.html' title='Stories of Walmart'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5728227109824264302</id><published>2009-01-16T14:03:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T14:20:14.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Behavioral Psychology</title><content type='html'>Psychology 3450: Behavioral Psychology. This class is most remembered by the statement of, "Why do we act the way we do?" This statement was written, stated, or quoted daily in class. I hated the quote but as of lately have been thinking about this quote directly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In college I believed that it was all genes and my up bringing. After being out on my own for longer than a year and really understanding human behavior and their upbringing. I really do believe that friends, situations, trauma, and genes have a big part to do with, "Why we act the way we do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had the opportunity to get in contact via blogging or face book with some of my friends or people who shaped me into what I am today. ( Please don't blame them they tried to create perfection but really Dr. Frankenstein I believe they created a monster). Upon getting in contact with these people I have tried to find others who created Teresa. I haven't been successful but have pondered over these personas daily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many people have touched my life, and I can only hope in one way or another I did the same. I know that the Lord has placed people in my life for that short time and then for some reason they have served their purpose and disappeared. However, it is usually these people who had such a lasting effect on my life. These are the people who have helped me out of my depths of despair. Helped me transform my life into what it is today and helped me become a more peaceful and subdued Teresa. So why if they have had such a lasting effect on my life have they had to leave? Why can't I have their friendship be a lasting friendship? How do you repay them for their kindness and generosity in creating a more realistic Teresa?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that tough times are in everyone's life and the Lord helps you. However, my help always, ALWAYS came in the form of a smile, a friendship, or comfort. I appreciate these brave souls that stepped in and did the Lords work for him in helping me. I never got the opportunity to thank most of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will instead thank all of you. I could go through each and every name on my blogging but that is time consuming. I will make it very generic. Thank you!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for letting me cry tears on your shoulders, for allowing me to have my melt down while you listened, to listening to me cuss and swear, for my angry fits. ( Roommates... Sorry!!!!), for my unkind words ( because lets face it I have told many of you off one time or another). For allowing me to find my way, for helping me in the times I needed you most, your kindness, generosity, and love have helped me in everyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I was once a giving person but somewhere along the way I lost that in my move to Payson. I have changed for the better or worse? I am not to judge. I have just grown up and openned my eyes to the difficulty of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I know that this makes no sense to most but I am at a loss this time of year. Depression sets in for old mistakes that have scared me for life. However, each one of you have been there to help me through and I can honestly say if you hadn't been there I would not be writing this today. I would not be as well adjusted as I am and in fact would be insane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5728227109824264302?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5728227109824264302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5728227109824264302' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5728227109824264302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5728227109824264302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/01/psychology-3450-behavioral-psychology.html' title='Behavioral Psychology'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-578806215837423374</id><published>2009-01-02T13:41:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T14:18:29.210-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lessons Learned</title><content type='html'>I should have done this around my birthday but what a great time now to do it after the wonderful new year.&lt;br /&gt;The Thirty lessons I learned this year ( most are from my life but some are from observing life)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SV6D_QSz3wI/AAAAAAAAAhk/orEN-d37kp8/s1600-h/Picture+014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 163px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SV6D_QSz3wI/AAAAAAAAAhk/orEN-d37kp8/s200/Picture+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286808135308402434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. When people tell you to enjoy the moments with your children because they grow up so fast- listen. They really do know what they are talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. People come from all different backgrounds. Love their backgrounds and respect their up bringing-for that is what makes each of us unique and our very own person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Losing sight of your dreams is a way to bring a dark depression into your life. Hold on to all your dreams and hopes  for happiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The people who will disappoint you the most is your family- not friends, neighbors, or a stranger but your family. This hurts the most and causes devastating effects in your heart, mind and soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. American's really do believe everything they read and hear- creating a want for change. However, the next four years may be very bleak and devastating for all those involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. The Lord truly does hear and answer your prayers. You just have to listen very carefully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. The temple truly is the most peaceful place on earth. I have never felt more peace sitting in the temple than this year. ( even if falling asleep happened)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Finding a lump in your breast will freak anyone out. Be concerned about what you find out with your body or in life. The knowledge you will gain is powerful and invigorating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Mammograms really do hurt. ( you have all seen the comics where her boobs look like flat squares... so true. Grit your teeth and hold on tight for a powerful squeezing!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. There really is more to reading and cleaning I just haven't found out what yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Calling a friend out of blue in years will bond a friendship and you will see it continue to florish and grow. You will realize that the friend you haven't talked to in years is really a lost companion and you will pick up where you left off. Friendships are a bonding relationship- you just have to give a little to make them work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. The devil is really strong these days. He will tempt you more now than ever before. Being steadfast and faithful helps but if you are weak the temptation will succeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Hard wood floors are the only way to go if you have high traffic areas. ( someday I will get hard wood floors.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Television really isn't a huge part of my life. Amazing how little I watch now that we got rid of cable. ( Bunny ears are future! LOL)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Lies are like a torn feather pillow. Once  the pillow starts to rip it gets bigger and bigger until the feathers are all over and there is now way to clean up the mess. Basically what I am trying to say is lies are horrible creatures and the more you lie the more devastating life becomes. Don't lie to people because losing someones trust is horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Mesquite really has nothing to do there if you don't gamble, drink, party, golf, or club. Actually is quite boring. So don't plan a weekend getaway if you do none of the above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. One persons junk is truly another persons treasure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Teaching your child how to use a pen, pencil, crayon will lead to destruction of most things. Walls especially. Make sure all writing utensils are out of a child's hands when left alone or to meander around the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Nobody is safe in this economic crisis. The most stable person in the work force can and will lose their job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Food storage not only helps when a nuclear bomb hits the earth but when times are tough and you need to feed your family but there is no money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Fences really do make the best neighbors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. The most hurtful things said to a person will come from their own family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. Remember all the Disney movies that you love.  I promise there will come a day you get sick of each and everyone of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.  Leaving your family at home daily does provide peace  but also provides a dependability on 'daddy' you never thought would happen.  I believe this is how Daddy's girls are created.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. The only bed hog in our house  can hog a king sized bed all to herself and never share. Oh idd I mention she is only 30 inches tall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. Some talets are never forgotten just lost while other talents are never found because we are too scared to explore what we may or may not be great at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. Devastating actions, lies, and hurtful words can tear a family apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. Love and passion really do conquer all. Being there for each other, talking and helping one another throught the trials in your life is what helps you grow as a couple and makes your love and passion stonger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. After having your first child ( propably any child really) a womans self confindance is never the same. No matter what she does. So love her for what she is, what she looks, and ultimately what she is going to become. ( Even if fat cow is in the cards)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. Life is too short to not live happily. You define your own circumstances if you are not happy with your life change what you are doing to create that happiness in your life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-578806215837423374?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/578806215837423374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=578806215837423374' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/578806215837423374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/578806215837423374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2009/01/lessons-learned.html' title='Lessons Learned'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SV6D_QSz3wI/AAAAAAAAAhk/orEN-d37kp8/s72-c/Picture+014.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3954920284095660290</id><published>2008-12-29T10:56:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T12:16:02.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New words from Zoe</title><content type='html'>Once again archiving for my own sake...&lt;br /&gt;Don't&lt;br /&gt;Where is it?&lt;br /&gt;light&lt;br /&gt;Santa&lt;br /&gt;tea ( for tree)&lt;br /&gt;kiggy ( piggy)&lt;br /&gt;nigh nigh ( for her blanket- she changed this recently from ki-ki)&lt;br /&gt;noman ( snowman)&lt;br /&gt;now&lt;br /&gt;hawse-horse&lt;br /&gt;Pooh- For Pooh Bear&lt;br /&gt;stinky or poo-poo- when she has made a mess in her diaper&lt;br /&gt;teef- teeth&lt;br /&gt;juice&lt;br /&gt;baby- for anyone who she thinks is tinier than her&lt;br /&gt;mine&lt;br /&gt;mell-smell&lt;br /&gt;bolk- book&lt;br /&gt;more&lt;br /&gt;bite&lt;br /&gt;choo choo- for train or a car&lt;br /&gt;dog- for hot dog&lt;br /&gt;nack- snack ( really fruit snacks)&lt;br /&gt;makes crash sounds when she runs into or hits things&lt;br /&gt;Makes the animal sounds for a pig, sheep,rooster, lion, bear, and monkey&lt;br /&gt;Knows where her mouth, nose, eyes, ears, teeth, and lips are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3954920284095660290?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3954920284095660290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3954920284095660290' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3954920284095660290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3954920284095660290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-words-from-zoe.html' title='New words from Zoe'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-481896217888958596</id><published>2008-12-24T00:37:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-24T00:52:39.156-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Please tell me why..</title><content type='html'>Please, oh please tell me why we lie to our little children. Why do we really tell them Santa Claus is real? What do we say to our children when they ask if he is real? Why do we want them to believe in something that only exists in fiction? Why can't we really tell them what Santa represents and why he is sooo important in our lives?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have come to the conclusion that Christmas is WAY too commercialized. The sad thing we give into the commercialism. We buy our children the electronic devices they want and all the other toys that they so desperately need, only to watch them play or use them once and then discard them like a rag doll.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas is really about the birth of our Savior but most people fail to see that. Working at Walmart I see far too many people spending money they don't have to give their children things they don't really need. I also see many people trying to out do each other, or their neighbors, or the person behind them in line. I watch as people use their food stamps to buy candy that their children don't need. Buy them food that will nourish their little bodies!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What children really need these days is someone to look up too. We need to let our children know the true meaning of Christmas. We need to explain to them that our Savior was born so that we may have a better life, that we may return unto him and our Heavenly Father. Truly the greatest gift ever given was our Savior. However, how many of us really think about our Savior this time of year. We seem to by-pass him and his special birth. We lie to our children and tell them that if they are not good Santa is not going to come. Shouldn't we be telling them that if they are not they may not return to our Heavenly Father? They will not see their brother Jesus? Bribing them with presents to be good so Santa can come is not how we should be treating Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many of us really sit down as a family and read of Christmas Birth? Do we tell our children of all the symbolism that surrounds us throughout the Christmas Season? Or do we by pass that as well? Do we let them know that giving is better than recieving? Do we actually feel the spirit like we should in our homes? Or do we let Santa, presents, and greed take over Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Christmas has given me time to reflect. The economy is not where it could/should be and yet we are still spending outrageous amounts of money when we should really be focusing on the birth of our Savior and all that he has given us. The life that was born on that Christmas day is more profound and abundant in my life. I am grateful for all he has given me and continues to give me. He has an amazing power to let me know just how much he truly does love me and care for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May we all ponder the true meaning of Christmas in our hearts and with our families. May you all have a Merry Christmas!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-481896217888958596?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/481896217888958596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=481896217888958596' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/481896217888958596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/481896217888958596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/12/please-tell-me-why.html' title='Please tell me why..'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-861085635766364035</id><published>2008-12-21T15:33:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T15:55:46.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Attention Walmart shoppers...</title><content type='html'>Okay if you are sick of hearing about Walmart please skip this post. This is more towards the very stupid people that shop there. ( I am not singling anyone out unless you fall into one of these categories.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rules and etiquette to self check out.&lt;br /&gt;1. If you have never used self check out before don't try. You are a hazard to your own health. You don't understand the means of technology and self check out will be too much for you to handle. Besides waiting in line behind three carts load on a different register will take just as much time as it will to get your incompetent butt through self check. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. If you have A LOT of produce don't use self check out. Once again you probably don't know how self check out works and will ask for assistance for every produce item you have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. If you are trying to purchase gift cards of any shape or form go to a REAL register. Self check doesn't read them then we have to suspend the transaction because you only want one charge on your credit card to Walmart. ( Really does it matter I saw you in there yesterday)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. If you pull the bags off the scale faster than the machine will read them don't look at me for assistance every time. You are to blame. Leave the bags on the scale until they are registered. I promise this will make your check out time more efficient.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. If for some reason you do need assistance do not look at me with hatred on your face. It is not my fault. I do not completely understand all laws of physics and why you need an age approval for Night Quil. Nor do I no why your credit card is asking for me to check the signature. You just do and you will have to wait while I am helping the other needy customer before I get to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. If I am helping someone else DO NOT yell at me to come help you. I will get to you when I get there. There are others that needed my help before you so kindly ruined my day with you impatience. I will get to you. You yell at me I yell back. I also take my time and might just tell you leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. If you are going to steal... do not keep looking at me to make sure I am doing something else. I have great vision even if it looks like I am not watching you. (I am) If you stare at me  I will watch you like a hawk! Don't think you are going to get away with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. If you are going to steal... don't put the items in the bag while it is still on the scale. That my friend is a tell tale sign and that means I will catch you and make you scan the item or wait until you are down and bust you ass for stealing!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. If you have a price match go to a normal register it is easier and you don't waste my time standing in proximity to me telling me some yarn as to how Milk really is $1.50 at Reams. Get Real!! No where in America is a gallon of milk a $1.50... EVER!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. If you have coupons- DON'T go to self check. This is Misery without Kathy Bates. You scan the coupon the machine doesn't read it and then you wait 10 minutes to fix the problem. Go to a regular register.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. If you have a cart full of anything go to a regular register. You do not know how to scan and waiting on your lovely slow ass to scan an item is without doubt a slow death. You will take longer scaning all of your cart than standing in line for 15 minutes. TRUST ME!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. If you don't have enough money, or your card is declined, or the machine tells me you push the debit/credit key don't look at me. YOU ARE THE CASHIER !! My job to make sure you aren't a stupid head. ( too late for most!) You are in control of the machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. If for some reason your money doesn't dispense or your reciept gets stuck while I am trying to fix it do not stand there and tap your foot at me. I am doing my best to get you out of here. If you have a propably with slowness or someone who is doing their best to help you get your recipe then go to a regular check out!! I do not appreciate foot tapping unless someone is dancing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Don't ask questions. If you don't understand something that is one thing but if something comes up as an unknown item don't ask me why. Are we two? I will answer becasue I said so!! Come on people most of us are adults and should act accordingly not act like two year olds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. I know it is the season to be giving but if something rings up unknown item or unknown price- Don't make the joke," Well, I guess it is free!!" You are not the first to make this joke and really lets face it, this line is without a doubt the stupidest thing you have said in 30 seconds. Really, lets face it you are a not a jokester and you are not funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for understand my concerns and problems!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would now like to wish you all a Merry Christmas. I am sure most will post of what a wonderful time they had. With any luck I will not post about how stupid people can be and are the day after Christmas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-861085635766364035?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/861085635766364035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=861085635766364035' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/861085635766364035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/861085635766364035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/12/attention-walmart-shoppers.html' title='Attention Walmart shoppers...'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2568257906842187241</id><published>2008-12-18T15:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T15:56:07.784-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Too much fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SUrUg8vFW2I/AAAAAAAAAhc/GpklI-s6emY/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SUrUg8vFW2I/AAAAAAAAAhc/GpklI-s6emY/s200/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281267175569840994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;That's right ladies and gents, Zoe and I with Santa. I have never seen a little girl sooo excited to see Santa. She was yelling his name, waving, jumped right out of her stroller and walked right up to him. Then it was time to sit on his lap for the much desired picture I had just paid for. Screaming, wailing and gnashing of teeth followed. I sat with Zoe so I could get the picture with Santa. So really lets just hope we both get what we asked for, for Christmas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-2568257906842187241?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2568257906842187241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2568257906842187241' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2568257906842187241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2568257906842187241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/12/too-much-fun.html' title='Too much fun'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SUrUg8vFW2I/AAAAAAAAAhc/GpklI-s6emY/s72-c/Picture+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3683165196031713649</id><published>2008-12-09T10:24:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:49:22.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What has been happening...</title><content type='html'>In no particular order... I recieved him... ( Okay, House Season 1)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rosesblog.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/hugh-laurie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 107px;" src="http://rosesblog.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/hugh-laurie.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received Tickets to Her ( Section 3, Row 23, Seats 17,18) Remember my bucket list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.britneyspears.com/2008/12/02/britney-spears-tour-circus-120208-ft.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 195px;" src="http://www.britneyspears.com/2008/12/02/britney-spears-tour-circus-120208-ft.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We went here with the family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6raV5NnnI/AAAAAAAAAhU/Upf5yy9LEqU/s1600-h/DSC01386.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6raV5NnnI/AAAAAAAAAhU/Upf5yy9LEqU/s200/DSC01386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277844282366860914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Zoe got to ride on her horse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rZvIcQdI/AAAAAAAAAhM/1anl6CGpByk/s1600-h/DSC01392.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rZvIcQdI/AAAAAAAAAhM/1anl6CGpByk/s200/DSC01392.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277844271961752018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I cut this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rZGaJNpI/AAAAAAAAAhE/BjsKq7B5CDI/s1600-h/DSC01381.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rZGaJNpI/AAAAAAAAAhE/BjsKq7B5CDI/s200/DSC01381.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277844261030147730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I turned this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rYiZDAQI/AAAAAAAAAg8/ZxCGSDMVb0o/s1600-h/DSC01377.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rYiZDAQI/AAAAAAAAAg8/ZxCGSDMVb0o/s200/DSC01377.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277844251361870082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We put this up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rYViJL5I/AAAAAAAAAg0/jQKNyaOKr7k/s1600-h/DSC01370.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6rYViJL5I/AAAAAAAAAg0/jQKNyaOKr7k/s200/DSC01370.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277844247910363026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Twins Were born. ( Yates, Mercedes)( Sadie is home and Yates is still in ICU. He has had some problems breathing. He is doing soo much better and we are excited to have twins in the family.) We are also glad that it wasn't me who had to carry them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6p-Hr7a9I/AAAAAAAAAgs/A8JALDHAsEw/s1600-h/babies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6p-Hr7a9I/AAAAAAAAAgs/A8JALDHAsEw/s200/babies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277842698005081042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Pretty much my life in a nutshell. I have been extremely sick and have taken myself out of the blogging world for a short while. Hope all is well with everyone!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3683165196031713649?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3683165196031713649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3683165196031713649' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3683165196031713649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3683165196031713649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/12/what-has-been-happening.html' title='What has been happening...'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/ST6raV5NnnI/AAAAAAAAAhU/Upf5yy9LEqU/s72-c/DSC01386.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3374558121995033041</id><published>2008-11-26T01:27:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T01:54:58.594-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dreaded Holiday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SS0OCis_BdI/AAAAAAAAAgk/wIvp4OPCvSY/s1600-h/hawaii.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SS0OCis_BdI/AAAAAAAAAgk/wIvp4OPCvSY/s200/hawaii.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272886175558731218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who know me, and know me well, you know I despise Thanksgiving. It is a stupid made up holiday for family to gather and to be grateful for things. You eat turkey and other "family traditional" foods. I believe that if you only gather with your family on this one day of the year you really need to get your priorities straight. Family may be far and wide but you should always have more time with your family. Also if you are only grateful for things on this day you are missing out on life. You need to be grateful daily for the many things that are placed in your life and the blessings. If you fail to find these qualities daily you are looking altogether in the wrong place. Turkey- need I really say more- growing up in Moroni turkey was readily available at the drop of a hat. Having a turkey  for Thanksgiving was not a treat it was more like a chore. Ham would have been a treat and more of a rarity than a turkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess what I am trying to say is Thanksgiving sucks!!The only Thanksgivings that really stick out in my head are...&lt;br /&gt;1. Spencer and I's first Thanksgiving.  He was on call so I went to Denny's and we had a hamburger and a superbird for out Thanksgiving dinner. We ate at the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Spencer and I's second Thanksgiving. I cooked a big elaborate meal for all his family. Half his family decided not to come and I was prego. I was so sick that I had to keep excusing myself from the dinner table so I could go dry heave in the master bath. Needless to say we hadn't told our families that I was pregnant so I had a really bad stomach flu. ( Really... would you eat food prepared by someone with a stomach flu?) I had a lot of leftovers that went in the trash because the sight of the food made me dry heave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Driving back from Thanksgiving break there was a huge ice storm. The roads were covered with Ice. I had a feeling I needed to call my roommate, Lani. I did she didn't answer. I called her house and talked to her dad. He told me that she was already on her way back to Cedar. I knew something was wrong. I came across a car accident. Sure enough Lani was involved. By the time I pulled over to the side of the road to go and check on her, ( she wasn't answering her cell phone), I was a mile and half away. I parked my car, grabbed by keys, and cell phone and I spirited in hooker boots( at least a 2 1/2 inch heel)  and a skirt to get to her. A car pulled over on the other side of the road and asked me if I wanted a ride. I hiked up my skirt crossed the highway and the bar pit and climbed in. They drove me back to the scene of the accident. I climbed out and across the bar pit again only to find my roommate leaving.  I then proceeded to walk/run back to my car. I don't remember Thanksgiving that year but I sure do remember this incident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. By far the best Thanksgiving Ever, was the year I was a junior in high school!! The one and only memorable Thanksgiving I can recall in my 20+ years of age. The year I went to Hawaii with Kathryn Slack. I was so excited when she asked me. I didn't think my parents would let me go but I got to. We had the best turkey ever (funny how it tastes better when you are FAR from home)  with homemade stuffing and after dinner we both fell asleep to Jurassic Park. The rest of the week was a wonderful we did Pearl Harbor, PCC, Baptisms for the dead, hit the beaches, shopping, snorkeling,  went to the high school championship football game and of course came home with wonderful stories to tell everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never look forward to Thanksgiving but since it is coming up I wanted to reflect and be grateful for my time spent in Hawaii. I always think of my time in Hawaii on this day and am grateful that I got to go. ( Remember I am grateful for other things daily... My list... ENDLESS)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what are you grateful for?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3374558121995033041?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3374558121995033041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3374558121995033041' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3374558121995033041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3374558121995033041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/dreaded-holiday.html' title='The Dreaded Holiday'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SS0OCis_BdI/AAAAAAAAAgk/wIvp4OPCvSY/s72-c/hawaii.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3836520100065577173</id><published>2008-11-23T22:08:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T22:21:58.899-07:00</updated><title type='text'>GNO</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSo3AssadAI/AAAAAAAAAgc/1VpR1yCNgpY/s1600-h/DSC01355.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSo3AssadAI/AAAAAAAAAgc/1VpR1yCNgpY/s200/DSC01355.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272086798927557634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right, like every other female creature we too attended the "Twilight" movie on Friday. I ordered tickets on line about a week ago. We were all like high school students really excited for the movie. I am glad that I was not excepting much from the movie for it was cheesy and had absolutely no character development. I will honestly say if I hadn't read the books it would have been hard to sit through the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It certainly did not help that three teenagers behind us didn't shut up. They yelled and screamed when "Edward" came on the screen and then throughout the whole movie claimed how hot he was. I guess their hot and my "hot" are two different things because he was not even close to my Edward. The movie had cheesy lines. They made Edward awkward and  stupid not educated and suave.  Also I too believe that Jasper was a wonderful rendition of Edward Scissorhands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also in Biology class when Bella sits by Edward for the first time he acted like he was going to puke. That is not even close to how it was in the book. I will hold on to the dream of Edward being romantic, suave, and absolutely beautiful as opposed to the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If anything it was a wonderful night to get together with the girls and talk. After the movie we went to Dalton's and had wonderful yummy food.  We had a great time talking about what a mean little girl I was. ( Thanks Abbie for some of those great memories! Really how did I have friends??). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am grateful daily that I have  wonderful friends in my life and for all the blessings they provide in my life!! Love ya!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3836520100065577173?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3836520100065577173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3836520100065577173' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3836520100065577173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3836520100065577173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/gno.html' title='GNO'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSo3AssadAI/AAAAAAAAAgc/1VpR1yCNgpY/s72-c/DSC01355.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7030907676068370414</id><published>2008-11-21T11:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T11:06:26.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coloring</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb4W7GL3nI/AAAAAAAAAfU/AA680YSayvo/s1600-h/DSC01348.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb4W7GL3nI/AAAAAAAAAfU/AA680YSayvo/s200/DSC01348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271173486588190322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe has been into coloring lately. She thought it would be wonderful to color all over Daddy's back while he was laying down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb4XNQLvHI/AAAAAAAAAfc/giN4emj-TZw/s1600-h/DSC01349.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb4XNQLvHI/AAAAAAAAAfc/giN4emj-TZw/s200/DSC01349.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271173491461962866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The finished product! Gotta love kids!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7030907676068370414?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7030907676068370414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7030907676068370414' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7030907676068370414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7030907676068370414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/coloring.html' title='Coloring'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb4W7GL3nI/AAAAAAAAAfU/AA680YSayvo/s72-c/DSC01348.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-242142018034003730</id><published>2008-11-21T10:58:00.007-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T11:35:38.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Girls Weekend</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb_a0O8B7I/AAAAAAAAAgU/NHW26fHt4Tk/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 141px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb_a0O8B7I/AAAAAAAAAgU/NHW26fHt4Tk/s200/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271181250046724018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Note: Above picture was taken when we were all single... In fact I think it was Amanda's bachelorrette's party. We went to Thunder Down Under.I forgot my camera and didn't get a picture of us all together.  Me, Amanda, Shalon, Back: Brooke, Jaime. Moniece was also with us this weekend but I didn't have a picture with her and all of us together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friends from Cedar came up last Saturday and we went shopping. I love to hang out with these girls. We haven't really been together for awhile. We have all gotten married, started our families and of course Jaime and I have moved. We had a great time remembering the old times, talking about the new times and just being together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb3So_etsI/AAAAAAAAAfM/u2nKJGawfrs/s1600-h/DSC01347.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb3So_etsI/AAAAAAAAAfM/u2nKJGawfrs/s200/DSC01347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271172313497122498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shalon had not slept for over 24 hours and then she went shopping with us all day long. One, She hates shopping and two she doesn't really remember much of the trip because she was so exhausted. She always makes me laugh no matter the circumstance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kicked Spence out of the house so that everyone would have a place to sleep but of course they all feel asleep on my couch. It was great to spend time with such good friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-242142018034003730?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/242142018034003730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=242142018034003730' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/242142018034003730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/242142018034003730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/girls-weekend.html' title='Girls Weekend'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb_a0O8B7I/AAAAAAAAAgU/NHW26fHt4Tk/s72-c/Picture+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5328550580736666103</id><published>2008-11-21T10:40:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T10:57:49.698-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TSO</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb2BQg_6tI/AAAAAAAAAfE/020NeqcnyNU/s1600-h/leftnav-downloads4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb2BQg_6tI/AAAAAAAAAfE/020NeqcnyNU/s200/leftnav-downloads4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271170915357420242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to Trans-Siberian Orchestra with my family last week. We had seats on the floor and the concert was wonderful. The music was great and the light show was spectacular. I couldn't ask for a better way to start off the Christmas season. We went to the show with my family ( no kids included) so it was great to see my family and spend time with them. Thanks for the wonderful present!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb2BSZrt-I/AAAAAAAAAe8/hZgEhbKEJII/s1600-h/DSC01338.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 126px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb2BSZrt-I/AAAAAAAAAe8/hZgEhbKEJII/s200/DSC01338.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271170915863607266" 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/3072435603015002322-5328550580736666103?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5328550580736666103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5328550580736666103' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5328550580736666103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5328550580736666103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/tso.html' title='TSO'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SSb2BQg_6tI/AAAAAAAAAfE/020NeqcnyNU/s72-c/leftnav-downloads4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5123701695160304419</id><published>2008-11-12T11:41:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T10:46:15.879-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep time...</title><content type='html'>Night time is always eventful in our house hold. It usually consists of one of the adults taking sleeping medicine. However, the best times are had when Spencer takes the sleeping medicine and I keep him up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home last night and he had already taken this pill. I wanted to talk to him but he was already feeling the effects of his pills. ( Preface: the night before was the same... I had news to tell him but when I remembered he was so far gone he doesn't remember what I told him. I have to repeat my words because I told him he wouldn't remember but he stated he remembers everything- he has no clue what I told him). Anyway last night  we got talking about childhood t.v. shows. We have good memories of the ones we were talking about. It beings back our childhood and the warm fuzzy feelings. I loved being a child and I loved these shows. I will name the ones I watched and loved while growing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please leave me messages of others that you watched or of memories that these t.v. shows enhance.&lt;br /&gt;In no particular order...&lt;br /&gt;1. Today's Special: Jeff, Sam, Muffy, and Jody&lt;br /&gt;2. Slim Good Body&lt;br /&gt;3. The Polka Dot Door: I loved this show and I watched this show more at my friend Rebecca's house than my own.&lt;br /&gt;4. Fat Albert&lt;br /&gt;5. Smurfs&lt;br /&gt;6. The Snorks&lt;br /&gt;7. He-man&lt;br /&gt;8. Small Wonder&lt;br /&gt;9. Growing Pains&lt;br /&gt;10. Alf&lt;br /&gt;11. Scarecrow and Misses King ( I watched this every Sunday at my Grandpa/ma Irons' house while eating some yummy treat my grandma had made.)&lt;br /&gt;12. Wonder Woman ( same as above)&lt;br /&gt;13. Magnum P.I.- My family nickname is TC! I loved TC in Magnum. I also got to ride in a helicopter when I was little because of this show!!&lt;br /&gt;14.Cosby's&lt;br /&gt;15. Charlies in Charge: this was when Scott Baio was actually kind-of- hunkie!&lt;br /&gt;16. I watched all the soaps because that was what my grandma liked: Falcon Crest, Dallas, Hotel&lt;br /&gt;17. Webster- Spence went off on this one last night about when Webster hide in the Grandfather clock hiding from George. I don't remember this episode but I remember when the black girl on Punkie Brewster hide in the refridger playing hide-n-seek!!&lt;br /&gt;18. Who's the Boss!! I loved this show!&lt;br /&gt;19. Three's Company!! I never really knew what the show was about when I was little but man did i love it.&lt;br /&gt;20. Newhart- when there was nothing else on. Who could forget about: " Hi my name is Bob, This is my brother Bob and my other brother Bob" ( atleast I think their names were Bob)&lt;br /&gt;21. Murder She Wrote- Still watch this show when I have TV that allows me.&lt;br /&gt;22. Moonlighting: Who could forget Agnes Depesto!&lt;br /&gt;23. My sister Sam: was on Saturdays and boy did I love this show.&lt;br /&gt;24. MacGyver- Watched at my Grandma's mostly but man what that guy could do with matches, a pencil and some string!&lt;br /&gt;25. Gimme a Break: Joey Lawerance was so cute back then and who wouldn't want a housekeeper like Nell.&lt;br /&gt;26. Facts of life&lt;br /&gt;27 Eight is Enough&lt;br /&gt;28. Different Strokes.&lt;br /&gt;29. Silver Spoons- I always wanted a train like they had and lets face it the duck phone was a must!&lt;br /&gt;30. Saved by the Bell!!&lt;br /&gt;31. Designing Woman- If I had Lifetime I would still watch this one. I love "Suzanne Sugarbaker"&lt;br /&gt;32. Night Court&lt;br /&gt;33. Fraggle Rock&lt;br /&gt;34. Alvin and the Chipmunks&lt;br /&gt;35- Wuzzles&lt;br /&gt;36. Shirt Tales!!! Remember they lived in a tree!! Oh the good ole' days!!!&lt;br /&gt;37. My two Dads&lt;br /&gt;38. Mr. Belvedere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sure there are so many more but that is all I can think of! Leave me your favorites and your memories. Misty and Ty help me if you think of any that we watched a lot of!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5123701695160304419?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5123701695160304419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5123701695160304419' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5123701695160304419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5123701695160304419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/can-anyone-name-kangaroo-looking.html' title='Sleep time...'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6283452143048312106</id><published>2008-11-08T19:00:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-08T19:19:18.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Damn!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTg5NzQ3Njg2OF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTkxNjc0MQ@@._V1._CR0,0,356,356_SS80_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 87px; height: 83px;" src="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTg5NzQ3Njg2OF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTkxNjc0MQ@@._V1._CR0,0,356,356_SS80_.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember those childhood dreams, the ones you kept to yourself or wrote about in a diary. The ones that you were afraid to tell others. Well, my childhood dream is coming true but I am not involved. I know right. I guess you are wondering what that would be let me preface...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a little girl my Grandma Phyllis  had a love for musicals. She would buy the VHS videos and I would steal them and watch them over and over. I loved the musicals, the well known... Annie, My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, The Wizard of Oz, Grease and the lesser known... Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Throughly Modern Millie, State Fair, Meet Me in St. Louis and my all time favorite Summer Stalk. I wanted to be the leading lady... one taken off my feet and my leading man singing to me about his love for me. Was this every little girls dream?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved in elementary when we would go to the high school and watch the cast of the high school musical. It was one of my favorite days. I longed to be on the stage. In high school I gave it go,&lt;br /&gt;I was a not a leading lady and lets face it I can't sing with a darn. But I was in Bye, Bye Birdie!! (Thanks Sam for getting me through). I loved it but lets face it no leading man was singing his love and affection to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I thought I will dance!! I danced in many productions and always thought I could be the dancer in the background. Flashdance and Center Stage became my favorite movies because the leading actress lived the dream of dancing.  I never fulfilled this dream...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found out from a Zac Efron enthusiast that they are remaking Footloose (2010). Zac is playing&lt;br /&gt;Ren McCormack and low and behold Payson is once again the setting for the all time famous Footloose. I am pissed!!! I worked at Payson high and I quit!! I am now loosing my chance to be the 30+ dancer in the background. I am losing the opportunity to be a teacher in the background, the cheer coach that makes something happen. I am missing my Childhood DREAM!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should also mention I am missing the chance of saying that was/is my classroom. (Please watch Footloose, when the one boy gives Kevin Bacon's ( Ren McCormack) character Marijuana  It was my classroom!!! My claim to fame!! I will just keep on wishing on being in my own musical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe someone can talk Spencer into writing and being the leading character in my "high school musical"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-6283452143048312106?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6283452143048312106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6283452143048312106' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6283452143048312106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6283452143048312106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/damn.html' title='Damn!!!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7586426866121351449</id><published>2008-11-04T11:42:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T11:46:42.787-07:00</updated><title type='text'>tagged... 4th picture in the file</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SRCXz1FZMNI/AAAAAAAAAe0/-a8aTjCgpGU/s1600-h/DSC00187.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SRCXz1FZMNI/AAAAAAAAAe0/-a8aTjCgpGU/s200/DSC00187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264874881074933970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Well, ladies and gents here you are!! My hairy husband sky diving. I hate his goatee in this picture... it was so long but he never believed me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tag Jen, Abbie, and Sha&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7586426866121351449?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7586426866121351449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7586426866121351449' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7586426866121351449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7586426866121351449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/tagged.html' title='tagged... 4th picture in the file'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SRCXz1FZMNI/AAAAAAAAAe0/-a8aTjCgpGU/s72-c/DSC00187.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6347818672538972430</id><published>2008-11-01T15:29:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-01T15:29:56.330-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Speechless Saturday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQzKTt378ZI/AAAAAAAAAeg/6LH-23IF5SY/s1600-h/DSC01310.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQzKTt378ZI/AAAAAAAAAeg/6LH-23IF5SY/s200/DSC01310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263804504569803154" 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/3072435603015002322-6347818672538972430?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6347818672538972430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6347818672538972430' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6347818672538972430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6347818672538972430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/11/speechless-saturday.html' title='Speechless Saturday'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQzKTt378ZI/AAAAAAAAAeg/6LH-23IF5SY/s72-c/DSC01310.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-2291751869507599622</id><published>2008-10-23T11:32:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T13:48:39.812-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Amazing what got done!!</title><content type='html'>I had three days off this week. I haven't had three days off since I started working. It was a glorious time. I got so much done. I don't where the time goes when I am working but I don't get as much done. ( could be because I sleep when Zoe does because I go to bed at like 2. when I don't work I go to bed at 10 or 11.)&lt;br /&gt;I made lots of these....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC39gqC2nI/AAAAAAAAAeY/NBR5oiePid0/s1600-h/DSC01295.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC39gqC2nI/AAAAAAAAAeY/NBR5oiePid0/s200/DSC01295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260406632134924914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/STEVEN%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/STEVEN%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-1.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleaned all my closets and organized them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC30Rpiw0I/AAAAAAAAAeI/ZKbFvJ3zE9o/s1600-h/DSC01296.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC30Rpiw0I/AAAAAAAAAeI/ZKbFvJ3zE9o/s200/DSC01296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260406473487467330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrapped all my Christmas. ( That's right I am done. Except Spencer, so if you have any ideas on what to get the husband who wants nothing let me know) I married Scrooge!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC3zorbn2I/AAAAAAAAAeA/6phQ-9eOfAY/s1600-h/DSC01297.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC3zorbn2I/AAAAAAAAAeA/6phQ-9eOfAY/s200/DSC01297.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260406462489534306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did a lot of this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC3zRwEBPI/AAAAAAAAAd4/FejYkEQmvdw/s1600-h/DSC01298.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC3zRwEBPI/AAAAAAAAAd4/FejYkEQmvdw/s200/DSC01298.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260406456334943474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read these...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/STEVEN%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-2.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/STEVEN%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-3.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/6/6d/Atonement_%28novel%29.jpg/200px-Atonement_%28novel%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 187px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/6/6d/Atonement_%28novel%29.jpg/200px-Atonement_%28novel%29.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.micheleashmanbell.com/images/modestproposal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 189px;" src="http://www.micheleashmanbell.com/images/modestproposal.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listened to these !!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://base0.googlehosted.com/base_media?q=http://images.buymusichere.net/images/muze/080/88439.jpg&amp;amp;size=2&amp;amp;dhm=9cd9f84d&amp;amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 90px; height: 90px;" src="http://base0.googlehosted.com/base_media?q=http://images.buymusichere.net/images/muze/080/88439.jpg&amp;amp;size=2&amp;amp;dhm=9cd9f84d&amp;amp;hl=en" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://cover6.cduniverse.com/MuzeAudioArt/070/77318.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 170px;" src="http://cover6.cduniverse.com/MuzeAudioArt/070/77318.jpg" alt="" 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/3072435603015002322-2291751869507599622?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/2291751869507599622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=2291751869507599622' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2291751869507599622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/2291751869507599622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/amazing-what-got-done.html' title='Amazing what got done!!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SQC39gqC2nI/AAAAAAAAAeY/NBR5oiePid0/s72-c/DSC01295.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4875503600577236034</id><published>2008-10-22T10:47:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T10:57:18.387-06:00</updated><title type='text'>He's Baaaack!!</title><content type='html'>Well, I am usually sleep deprived when George comes to visit so I often wondered if everything is in my imagination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe is teething so she is waking up the same time, every night. ( around 1:00) She is in pain and she just needs to be loved in her frame of mind. So I get up and rock her in the wee hours of the morning. The first night music starts playing around 2:00 o'clock. I seriously thought it was Spencer's pager going off ( he was on call) and didn't think anything of it. The second night it happened  ( same time, same place) I got freaked out because nothing in the room can or will play music on demand like that. ( clocks chime- but not any of mine). So by this point I am freaked. The next night Zoe needs to be comforted I make Spence get up with her. I wasn't going out there to hear music being played. He waited until around 2;30 but heard nothing. I was disappointed. We chalked it up to a book that played music under the couch. ( I cleaned under there finally).  So no more incidents, right? WRONG!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I was not tired. I sat up and was reading. Around 2:00 the same five notes play!! ( I was so engrossed with my book I almost fell of the couch as the music played) This time I was not awakened by the sound I was UP!! So George what do want!! Why do you only communicate with me and what am I supposed to be doing? I understand that All Hallows Eve is upon us but really do you have to be spooking me now? What am I doing wrong? Please let me know so I will not run into my bedroom jump on my husband and tell him strange things are happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You read all the stories that if a clock stops at midnight and never works again that is the time someone died. Or if a strange occurance happens at the same time nightly some one died in your home. This can not be possible in my home! We are the first to live in it! So please inform me of what is going on!! George I don't mind that you live with usk, but please stop FREAKING ME OUT!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4875503600577236034?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4875503600577236034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4875503600577236034' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4875503600577236034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4875503600577236034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/hes-baaaack.html' title='He&apos;s Baaaack!!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7843557352409452998</id><published>2008-10-15T15:40:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T15:59:41.219-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My favorites</title><content type='html'>Sanae left her favorites on her website and loved them all but I also really liked these ones as well.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks Sanae we love our pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZkZyIVDUI/AAAAAAAAAco/S9yP6OphB4M/s1600-h/stevenson25.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZkZyIVDUI/AAAAAAAAAco/S9yP6OphB4M/s200/stevenson25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257500009117846850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZk5oGJSZI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/LwxRxvHY900/s1600-h/stevenson20.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZk5oGJSZI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/LwxRxvHY900/s200/stevenson20.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257500556180146578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZlsiBrqCI/AAAAAAAAAdo/AqSvLqDiD6E/s1600-h/stevenson33.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZlsiBrqCI/AAAAAAAAAdo/AqSvLqDiD6E/s200/stevenson33.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257501430724143138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZlr-0NiWI/AAAAAAAAAdg/e4lQ2v3Qco4/s1600-h/stevenson32.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZlr-0NiWI/AAAAAAAAAdg/e4lQ2v3Qco4/s200/stevenson32.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257501421272402274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZnxAgJcDI/AAAAAAAAAdw/UebBi4i8mQU/s1600-h/stevenson29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZnxAgJcDI/AAAAAAAAAdw/UebBi4i8mQU/s200/stevenson29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257503706647719986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZka_W5BFI/AAAAAAAAAc4/HYz318FWolM/s1600-h/stevenson34.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZka_W5BFI/AAAAAAAAAc4/HYz318FWolM/s200/stevenson34.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257500029848454226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZkbYzRcpI/AAAAAAAAAdA/TIYj_61UGL0/s1600-h/stevenson38.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZkbYzRcpI/AAAAAAAAAdA/TIYj_61UGL0/s200/stevenson38.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257500036678382226" 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/3072435603015002322-7843557352409452998?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7843557352409452998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7843557352409452998' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7843557352409452998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7843557352409452998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-favorites.html' title='My favorites'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPZkZyIVDUI/AAAAAAAAAco/S9yP6OphB4M/s72-c/stevenson25.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7345683355265948086</id><published>2008-10-15T12:28:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T16:02:13.487-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates on the Stevenson Family</title><content type='html'>I do not see or talk to anyone anymore. I am never home it seems. After work it takes a while to calm down so I get to bed pretty late. The next day after feeding and getting Zoe ready I lounge around my new basement because I am to tired to do much else. My house cleaning has suffered with me going back to work. ( please remember my OCD). I try more to be with my family I and I have realized that family is really the most important aspect of life. It isn't the money we make or the nice things we buy it is the family. Spending time with my family is high on my list. I truly love all Spence has done. He has stepped up the plate and has helped me greatly while I have gone back to work. I currently have my piano but not much playing time has ensued. Each time I start I hear pitter patters of feet to come and help me. I believe I have the next Chopin on my hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe's new words are:&lt;br /&gt;Meemo: Nemo ( Finding Nemo is played at least once a day in this house)&lt;br /&gt;Ki-Ki- Blankie&lt;br /&gt;Dow- Down ( for down stairs)&lt;br /&gt;bubba- baby&lt;br /&gt;Caw- cow&lt;br /&gt;hars- horse&lt;br /&gt;naa- now&lt;br /&gt;tank oo- Thank you&lt;br /&gt;mote- remote&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is no longer using her pacifier. ( thank goodness. She only used it at night but we have done away with that) She is currently teething four teeth. ( Heaven Help us). She loves shoes- anyone's shoes. She tries them on and walks around in them. ( much like her mom did at her age.). She loves tooth paste. If you are not careful she will grab the tube and start sucking it from the tube. ( Notice: There is a warning label on there if too much is swallowed. She doesn't like to suck on the kids toothpaste we have for her. Only the adults) Her exploring has gone to new lengths. She likes to sit in the pan cabinet ( after everything has been pulled out). She loves the fridge and her climbing ability has no lengths. She is climbing everything. She also is no longer in a high chair. We have bumped her up to a "big girl chair" ( really a table chair pushed up to the bar so she can eat. We don't eat at the kitchen table very much). She also likes to hide things. She places them in the least likely place. She was playing with mom's keys and hide them. They were lost for four days!! I found them today in the dish washer. ( I know I haven't done dishes for four days... it is called" momma don't cook no more". I work every night usually by 5 so what is the point of cooking. ) My family lives off cold cereal and PBJ's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5sJJBLXI/AAAAAAAAAcg/6OInpTY2kJM/s1600-h/Zoe+1+year+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5sJJBLXI/AAAAAAAAAcg/6OInpTY2kJM/s200/Zoe+1+year+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257453045532405106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5rqaeAdI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/UwOmMAUmgHY/s1600-h/Zoe+1+year+048.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5rqaeAdI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/UwOmMAUmgHY/s200/Zoe+1+year+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257453037284098514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5rUYj09I/AAAAAAAAAcI/WCxadNga9Ks/s1600-h/Zoe+1+year+043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5rUYj09I/AAAAAAAAAcI/WCxadNga9Ks/s200/Zoe+1+year+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257453031370511314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5r4xAdFI/AAAAAAAAAcY/XhM4qprefXk/s1600-h/Zoe+1+year+050.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5r4xAdFI/AAAAAAAAAcY/XhM4qprefXk/s200/Zoe+1+year+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257453041136727122" 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/3072435603015002322-7345683355265948086?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7345683355265948086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7345683355265948086' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7345683355265948086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7345683355265948086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/updates-on-stevenson-family.html' title='Updates on the Stevenson Family'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SPY5sJJBLXI/AAAAAAAAAcg/6OInpTY2kJM/s72-c/Zoe+1+year+007.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5835335332235032425</id><published>2008-10-12T22:27:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T22:32:02.210-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Copy Cat</title><content type='html'>Okay so I read this off a friends blog and I find it very interesting. We have all had weird things happen and there are definitely creepy people out there. I went private because I was getting weird people whom I didn't know leaving comments and viewing my blog. I also had a friend who had someone leave a comment with a direct link to a porn site. ( Sorry to say I checked it out before I knew what was going on.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend had some weird and misfortune events happen so I am copying her post and putting it on mine for those of you who don't have access to her post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a few things to think about...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Identity fraud is so REAL!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Be careful about the information you are making available to EVERYONE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Be careful with some tags. They can sometimes ask very personal questions. "Where are the last 5 places you have lived? Where are the last 5 places you have worked? What time do you get up in the morning? What is your husbands full name? etc." If the wrong person were to get a hold of this information. It could not be good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Remember that ANYONE can copy your pictures off your blog. All they have to do is click and drag on them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. There are CRAZY people out there! Some pictures that we think are so cute (bath pictures etc.) could be used in another ways such as child porn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Be careful with your profile! Anyone can view that even if you blog is private. (If you have it open to be viewed) This is how the last incident happened, was by my email that showed on my profile. (SCARY!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Be careful when posting about birthdays. We usually all post the date and the age of the person. That is the the information someone might need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. It is a good idea to have a tracker on your blog. That way you can see who is viewing your blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Try googling your name and see how many links you are connected to. That my surprise you! My name shows 619 links. No, they're not all really me. But the 1st 10 links are from other people's blogs. Before I went private, almost every post I made showed up on the search.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mean to scare anyone. Just something to think about. Things could be happening without you even realizing it. BE SAFE! Happy Blogging!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5835335332235032425?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5835335332235032425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5835335332235032425' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5835335332235032425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5835335332235032425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/copy-cat.html' title='Copy Cat'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3415378473564295927</id><published>2008-10-07T00:48:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T00:55:19.401-06:00</updated><title type='text'>New Pictures</title><content type='html'>A friend of mine has started her own photography company (?). Sanae and I taught school together for one year at Payson. We have stayed in contact over the years  so I was excited to have her take our pictures. Well, she emailed me and she has placed some of the photos on her blog. I am posting it here so you can all take a look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just love my daughter in these pictures and honestly believe she is adorable. Sanae has done a wonderful job at capturing her different "faces".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also if you are interested in getting your pictures taken she was great. Reasonably priced and fun!! Check out the website for out photo's as well as pricing and deals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.sanaejamesphoto.com/"&gt;http://www.sanaejamesphoto.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://wwwsanaejamesphoto.com/"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3415378473564295927?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3415378473564295927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3415378473564295927' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3415378473564295927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3415378473564295927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/new-pictures.html' title='New Pictures'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3944430429672346283</id><published>2008-10-01T13:41:00.008-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T16:16:41.521-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Blind Dates</title><content type='html'>How many of you have been on a blind date? They are pitifall attempts at finding love or your soul mate. You go on a date play twenty questions just so you can decide if you ever want to see this guy/girl again? If the date goes well you wonder if you should kiss the guy/girl ( or maybe that was just me). You have to decide if you walk the girl to the door or just let her hop out of the car. You have to decide who pays? Is it dutch, or does the guy pay for everything? Do you let the guy call you again. It really all depends on the final words of, " I had a great time, let's do this again." If these words are coming from the girl she is just being nice. If from the guy he never wants to see you again. If the words of " May I call you?" are uttered it usually is the guys way of saying "I'd do you! Let's go out again so I can get to second base." and if the girl says this she is already naming your children and planning the wedding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so really I have had a few &lt;em&gt;DISASTROUS&lt;/em&gt; dates! Really who hasn't. ( Of course, you always have those peope who will not let you hook them up for a blind date) Let me name a few... ( I have been driving a lot this week and have had too much time to think)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I went on a date with Timmy-too-tall. He was about 6'9'' and all 5' 2'' of me. We looked horrendous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I had a nice gentleman ( a co-workers, husband's best friend) pick me up in his BMW and take me to a play at Hale Theater. ( we also had dinner ) It was a wonderful date and I was getting excited for him to call me again. He dropped me off walked me to my door and upon putting my key in the lock it broke off in the door knob. I lived by myself so really who was I too call? Ghostbusters? My spare didn't work and I didn't know my garage code to go in through the kitchen door. ( Hadn't figured out the in's and out's of the touch pad "thingy"). My date had to lift me up so I could climb thru my living room window. Needless to say, he never called me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Charlie Bird ( co-workers brother)  took me to Llama fest. Well they also serve Indian food there. We both got plates and he didn't have enough money for both of us. We ended up getting a plate for one and sharing. Then we went back to my duplex to watch a movie. I fell asleep in the middle of the movie. He stayed to watch the whole movie because he had never seen it. We never saw each other again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. My friend set me up with her home teacher. He came and picked me up and was speeding everywhere. I  recently got in a horrendous car wreck and he was scaring me senseless. I yelled at him to slow down and he admitted he was a wonderful driver because he is a cop. We go out to eat, he  sits towards the door so he can watch people and he talks about how great he is. We go and play pool and he flashes his gun so everyone knows he is a bad a#$. He texted other girls the whole night. It was an amazing date.   Needless to say he was only in it for a piece of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  Next date went  with a guy who took me to a Thai resteraunt. I ordered the curry. I had never had Thai food before so of course mine was sooo spicy. I also didn't know you put the curry on the rice they brought out. I thought it was seperate. I starting eating the curry like soup. As tears rolled down my face, he laughed and told me the curry was to go over the rice. After dinner, we went back to his parents house to watch the fireworks. ( He was from Salem, it was Salem days) EVERYONE was there! I had to be introduce as his blind date the whole night. We never talked again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I had the sister, of the guy, I was crushing on call me and ask me to go out with some of her friends. (I know plural- I was to find someone else to go) I found my two wonderful roomates. I didn't end up going but these two guys ( from what I heard) walked right out of John Wayne movie and into our living room. They took my roomates country swinging. ( I do need to mention my roomates hated dancing of any sort). They rode all the way to Mesquite in a single cab truck squished like sardines. I laugh at this memory!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I got set up on a date with a co-workers cousin. He called me we got everything planned and we talked a couple hours on the phone. He was really nice on the phone and I was actually (sorta) excited. As I drove past the restaurant I was to meet him at, I almost turned around and went home. WHITE TRASH! ( Okay, I am not saying I am perfect but puh-leez). Okay, so I went on the date. The guy talked about his cats for two hours. ( Cat Man is his nick name). I heard everything and more about cats. ( which I detest by the way). I also was telling him a story about my students doing drugs and I was trying to figue out ways to help them and he pipes up, " What is wrong with doing drugs?" Okay, if the cat talk wasn't a red flag this question was indeed. I couldn't wait to get my sorry butt out of the restaurant and drive home. Needless, to say I was home by 9 that night. After, this date I began to swear off blind dates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. A friend set me up on a date with one of her co-workers. ( she worked two jobs). She had already set another co-worker up on a date with this gentleman and she had nothing nice to say about him. I wanted to see what he really was about. My friend had us meet so it wasn't soo awkward when we went on the date. Val and I were at the booth (Red Robin) talking and a "Greek God" walked around the corner and sat next to Val. My heart was pounding and I was exciting that this hunk-hunk of burning love was sitting across from me. The three of us talked, ate, and there really wasn't a lull in the conversation let alone a moment of awkwardness. Yeah, I finally found a gorgeous guy, intelligent, and was eventually going to take me on a real date. After we ate, he walked me to my car and that was were we parted. He never got my phone number so I guess that was over. My heart quit pounding and my breathing went back to normal. I guess some people do walk out of your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, sometimes they walk right back into your life. My gorgeous " Greek God" was my eternal soul mate. He is my everything and I love all he does for me. That is right ladies and gents, my heart pounding, take my breath away man was Spencer!! I ponder this event because it was in the month of October that we met. Our first official date was Nov 5 or 6 ( can't remember the date- and really the only reason he called me back after the November date is because he initially kissed me first  and then I pounced on him like a dog in heat).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer, is not what I dreamed about as a little girl he is soo much more. He is attentive, makes me laugh, jokes with me, loves me for me, is a wonderful father, a loving and caring husband, he is my "Greek God"  and point blank my best friend. We tell each other everything. ( really, there are no secrets in our relationship- really NONE!) I am thankful for always going on blind dates so I could meet the love of my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3944430429672346283?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3944430429672346283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3944430429672346283' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3944430429672346283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3944430429672346283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/10/blind-dates.html' title='Blind Dates'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8383689546006425181</id><published>2008-09-28T20:07:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T20:31:19.574-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wanted/Needed</title><content type='html'>Well, all my decorative peeps, advice time is near.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; I need help&lt;/span&gt;. We have finally finished the basement. Well, this is wonderful expect NOW I have two useless rooms upstairs and no furniture downstairs. Okay let me explain...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Room One: My home teacher room, doesn't really serve a purpose other than being clean and looking nice when someone comes over. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA5e1ponGI/AAAAAAAAAbE/IaAiZYNTtN4/s1600-h/DSC01272.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA5e1ponGI/AAAAAAAAAbE/IaAiZYNTtN4/s200/DSC01272.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251260367474564194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Room Two: Once was my family/TV room but we have moved the TV downstairs so it really doesn't serve a purpose. We have the sectional here. I am hoping to move my piano against the wall that you can't really see. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA6PcbzoMI/AAAAAAAAAbU/R8qkwz_06lw/s1600-h/DSC01273.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA6PcbzoMI/AAAAAAAAAbU/R8qkwz_06lw/s200/DSC01273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251261202519269570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The basement: it is a wide open space with a lot of room. We have moved the TV downstairs (not pictured) and will eventually get furniture. .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA7BgagHII/AAAAAAAAAbc/2TTDZ9_fmLU/s1600-h/DSC01255.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA7BgagHII/AAAAAAAAAbc/2TTDZ9_fmLU/s200/DSC01255.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251262062580997250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA7CKukHHI/AAAAAAAAAb0/BLbZ4PeqzPU/s1600-h/DSC01259.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA7CKukHHI/AAAAAAAAAb0/BLbZ4PeqzPU/s200/DSC01259.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251262073939434610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(No advice needed here... bedroom- just wanted to show you) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA7CalQL7I/AAAAAAAAAb8/FCsu6uhpwb8/s1600-h/DSC01258.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA7CalQL7I/AAAAAAAAAb8/FCsu6uhpwb8/s200/DSC01258.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251262078195347378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I need help  as to how to not make my upstairs 'living rooms" so useless. The sectional is a foot too big to move downstairs and parting with it "... would be such sweet sorrow." But advice is needed on how to make my home look nice and not like I just moved in. Please help... all advice will be read but may not be used so please help me to see the light. Any all you peeps are invited over to help me see the chosen path of decorating or to see the handy work of my husband. Let me know what you think?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8383689546006425181?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8383689546006425181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8383689546006425181' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8383689546006425181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8383689546006425181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/wantedneeded.html' title='Wanted/Needed'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SOA5e1ponGI/AAAAAAAAAbE/IaAiZYNTtN4/s72-c/DSC01272.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8595911970972895392</id><published>2008-09-23T23:32:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T23:55:49.120-06:00</updated><title type='text'>REALLY????</title><content type='html'>That's right ladies and what few gentlemen read this I have been tagged again. I know what you are all thinking... YEAH!!! Teresa, gets to share more personal nonesense, embarrassing moments, great facts about the wonderful person she is, or better yet, answer random questions in alaphabetic format. ( Jen: refer to August 28th entry- Candi: refer to June 10 entry) I have avoided tags for awhile and yet someone ( Candi) tagged me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am to tell you wonderful facts about myself that you don't know. ( I really believe I have done this one but it is late, I am tired, and I don't want to search for information about myself) so here are my thoughts in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. My favorite actress is Aubrey Hepburn. I aspire to be like her. ( not that I will ever achieve the greatness she beheld here on earth but I do like her and would love to work with UNICEF one day. )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. My favorite movie is Bridgette Jones Diary. I could watch this movie over and over again. I laugh harder and harder when I watch it. ( the second one sucks). Bridgette is such a dork that when I was a "singleton" it was my life. I am and will always be a DORK!! ( was anyone out there in my geography class freshman year to remember this memory??? short story... it took four guys to pin me to the ground to write DORK on my forehead while Dovey was out. I was one strong girl if it took five guys but I walked around with DORK on my forehead for the rest of the day.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Forgive me father for I have sinned...I have stolen an evergreen wreath from Smiths (St. George), a hurdle from the SUU track field, and candy bars ( Fish Lake: My plea I was straving and no one was coming to relieve my position at the front desk).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I have had a crush on a married guy before. ( I was a sophomore he was like 30 something).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I did the running man in my Eastern Literature class. Story... we had just finished reading Tagore and we were being tested on it. The day we got the test back was a BAD day. I got my test back and it read 95%. I screamed did the running man, shook my bootie in class and sat down. S.S. Moorty ( professor/hindu/Indian) laughed and said well Teresa, I see that you did well on the test. I stated I studied my Ass off for this test professor Moorty and I passed. Kissed my test and smiled from ear to ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I own 36 bras and only one is white.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So once again, all my peeps out there now know more about me than you ever wanted to. (also in the near future we may or not have an embarrassing moments part duex. I thought of some on my drive to Moroni this morning)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8595911970972895392?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8595911970972895392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8595911970972895392' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8595911970972895392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8595911970972895392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/really.html' title='REALLY????'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4221885457745369405</id><published>2008-09-22T08:15:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T15:20:11.567-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Reasons why Walmart Cashiers are Crabby Patties</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/04/Walmart_exterior.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/04/Walmart_exterior.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Disclaimer: Do not read if you are easily offended. The following is my diatribe of stupid people in this world. I am mean, nasty, and down right rude about customers. WARNING: swearing and name calling will ensue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In no particular order because they are all number one on my list.&lt;br /&gt;1. Do not stand in my line with your cart bubbling over with food only to read the magazines until the conveyor belt is empty and now I have to wait for your lazy butt to put your food on the belt before I start bagging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Don't re-bag everything I have already bagged. I have taken my precious time and care to bag what you think are essential items in your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. IF you want the frozen food to stay together then put them on the conveyor belt together.  Do not think under any circumstances I am going to wait for every frozen item to be put on the conveyor belt 10 items apart just to keep the damn things from thawing out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Don't state the obvious and then do nothing about it. Such as- looks like I need another cart. I believe you do. Don't just stand there and expect me to cater to your lazy P.O.S. butt. Walk over and grab a cart. In no way is it my job to run and get you a cart when I have five people in line with carts stacked to the ceiling with food and your husband or child is still loading your  junk food on the belt. GO GET IT YOURSELF!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Also lazy P.O.S, don't get to my checkout and then ask me to run back and get you some Off spray because you are too tired. I have been standing at this stupid conveyor belt for four hours, my feet hurt, and I am sick of whining people like yourself. Get it yourself because then you aren't getting the wrong product and I don't have to walk to the back of the store twice to get you something you later decide you don't want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. If you get money back off your Debit card make sure you tell me you want a 10, one 5 and five ones before I close my till. I can't open my till unless a CSM opens it. It will take my  CSM (Customer Store Manager) the time you could have had your money, walked to your dirty car, put your junk food away, and drive to your cluttered house to get to me to open my till to give you the change you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Really&lt;/span&gt; want. Face it you are a slow a@@!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. If you have WIC, ( nothing against WIC) please make sure everything is grouped together. Don't tell me after I have fished the milk out of the random canned foods and frozen dinners to realize you are on WIC. TELL me up front or group the damn food together so I don't have to waste my time trying to figure out what the hell you were thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. If you are going to put your meat in the fruit/veggie bags then have the common sense to put one meat product per bag. I have to take all the meat out of the little stupid bags you idiots put them in and scan each meat product. This does not save time- nor does it stop the bacteria and juices from getting everywhere. In fact if you do this I make sure to mix fresh food with your meat products because you are soooo damn nervous that the meat juices are going to get everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. If you are price matching make sure you tell before I have scanned half the items you were price matching. Oh, the spaghetti is 1.00- wait have you already scanned the spaghetti. My reply will be Yes. Tell me about the price matching and group them all together. It is easier than scanning one or two items to be told that they were price matches. PAY ATTENTION you stupid pie hole. It is not my job to know what you are price matching and from what store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. If I have over charged you and you realize after the fact don't come to my till to let me know. Go to the service desk. There is nothing I can do to help you. It is not my fault that when I scanned your bread it rang up at $1.12 but the price on the shelves said .79. How am I too know that? I am stuck up at the front end for 8 hours a day I don't know what the hell you bought or the prices on things. Also don't argue with me if I am trying to tell you that the bag a candy you bought was misplaced and should be the asking price of $5.99 not $1.99. I know and you know there is no way in hell a family sized bag of Hersey bars are going for $1.99.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Don't stare at me until I greet you. This is annoying to have someone right up in my face only to see if I am going to say hello to you. This is a reason I will avoid you like the plague. I am not getting paid to have you stare at me like Scuttle ( Little Mermaid). I will say hello to you when I am damn good and ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. If I ask for you ID when you are purchasing beer or cigarettes do not be annoyed because I ask almost everyone. Even the 85 year old who purchases beer. Get over yourself and be flattered that someone is asking to see your ID.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Do not wait until my carousel  is full with your junk food to start putting your bags in your cart. If you have a cart bubbling over with food have an extra cart ready so I can put the bags in your cart. It sucks when I run out of room to put your junk food and frozen TV dinners because you are still loading more on to the conveyor belt. BE PREPARED at all times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. If you are to grab something from the sporting goods section always make sure there is a UPC on the product. The people at sporting goods never answer the phone and most people really don't want to walk back to the back of the store to find a product that does have the UPC. At least know the price within a reasonable distances so we can fudge the price.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Don't ask me if you have everything. Spin the carousel yourself and see. Once I have scanned your food and you are walking away you are the least of my worries. I could care less if you left 100 dollars before me. Don't ask if you don't know, find out for yourself. Once again it comes down to laziness!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. If the credit card machine doesn't take your card- don't blame the machine. It basically means you have no damn money in the bank or on your card. You are trying to out do the Jones and you have maxed your card out. Never blame the machine it is ALWAYS your fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. If you are grabbing bags from the carousel make sure you don't grab them until I have rotated the carousel your way. This means EVERYONE. I was probably still going to put items in the plastic bag that is ruining the world because you won't let me put more than two items in a bag. Conserve and save the world!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So really this is my rant for the day. This is truly why the cashiers at Walmart put up with some of the smartest people in the world. I mean everyone thinks they are rockets scientist in their own Walmart world. So please take my advise and don't be stupid people because if you are one of these annoying people:DON'T COME TO MY LINE. THANKS!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4221885457745369405?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4221885457745369405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4221885457745369405' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4221885457745369405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4221885457745369405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/reasons-why-walmart-cashiers-are-crabby.html' title='Reasons why Walmart Cashiers are Crabby Patties'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-1953758102614141160</id><published>2008-09-18T16:59:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T17:18:54.781-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Reaons why going back to work isn't what is is cracked up to be...</title><content type='html'>1. Getting no sleep. I come home and have to unwind from my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hard&lt;/span&gt; day at work. So by the time my sleeping pills kicks in it is about 2 in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I have come home several night to my husband sleeping with another girl. Okay, so he falls asleep with Zoe. In OUR bed but this 30 inch little girl seems to take up more room on our king sized bed than Spence and I ever have. I have been sleeping in the guest bedroom because really there is no room for me in MY bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I am missing playing softball. ( Much to my surprise they are in the championship game next week. Please, someone from my team explain that one to me. How the heck did we pull it off?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I see my "old" students. This in my mind is both good and bad. I have those students who despised me and are laughing inside that I am working at Walmart. I have those who say, " You look familiar do I know you?" , I have sold beer and cigarette to some, and then you have those who yell out, "IRONS, what are you doing? Are you still school teaching?" How to do you tell someone you hated school teaching after you taught them how to never give up on something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. It is truly degrading to think I do have a great degree from a good college but I am not using any part of it and have subjected myself to the banter and the yelling from angry customers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I miss out on the little things, Bree's surprise 30th  birthday party, Summer's baby blessing, putting Zoe to sleep, bathing Zoe, seeing my husband, going on dates, watching One Tree Hill and House at their designated times and not a recording and much more I am sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess this is what you endure when you go back to work, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-1953758102614141160?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/1953758102614141160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=1953758102614141160' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1953758102614141160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/1953758102614141160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/reaons-why-going-back-to-work-isnt-what.html' title='Reaons why going back to work isn&apos;t what is is cracked up to be...'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-7315748907500463248</id><published>2008-09-18T16:59:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T17:06:06.234-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Need opinions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SNLelPL1iSI/AAAAAAAAAVg/IOesIc3kXv0/s1600-h/DSC01246.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SNLelPL1iSI/AAAAAAAAAVg/IOesIc3kXv0/s200/DSC01246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247501247152752930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently got me hair cut. I was trying to keep the length but do something different. I need to know what ya'll think. And believe me I can handle the truth. So all you stylists out there in cyber blog land ( Jaime, Ciera, Jaycee, Nikki, and Jen- be honest) Is it me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-7315748907500463248?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/7315748907500463248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=7315748907500463248' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7315748907500463248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/7315748907500463248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/need-opinions.html' title='Need opinions'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SNLelPL1iSI/AAAAAAAAAVg/IOesIc3kXv0/s72-c/DSC01246.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8988175877560626773</id><published>2008-09-11T09:32:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T09:55:31.085-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zoe's sayings</title><content type='html'>I need to document the words/phrases Zoe is saying so I will let you all know what she is up to.&lt;br /&gt;Her favorite word is outside. She definately knows what it means and will grab your shoes if you don't already have them on saying outside, outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dada- Daddy&lt;br /&gt;Mama/ Mom- Mommy&lt;br /&gt;Bah- Boo&lt;br /&gt;Baba- Bottle ( she hasn't said this one for over three months, unless she sees someone elses bottle. She has been off the bottle since she was  one)&lt;br /&gt;Num- num- dinner or she want's something to eat&lt;br /&gt;Nigh-nigh- nap time or bedtime&lt;br /&gt;wha's tha- What's that. She will point and say these words and you guess what she is pointing at.&lt;br /&gt;Where's da- Where's daddy? She places her little hands in the air looking for Dad&lt;br /&gt;Papa- Grandpa&lt;br /&gt;Hi&lt;br /&gt;Bye-bye&lt;br /&gt;Bye-Bye- Rock-a-bye while rocking in a chair. She only does this at Grandma's because my rocking chair is currently dismantled.&lt;br /&gt;dag- dog&lt;br /&gt;If you say I love you she will kiss you!&lt;br /&gt;Ou- Ouch&lt;br /&gt;If you say ouch she will come and kiss you.&lt;br /&gt;Animal sounds: woofs like dog, meows like cat, makes scary monster noises, can tell you what the turkey says, fake burps if mommy does.&lt;br /&gt;eresa- Teresa. She hears everone else call me this so she does too.&lt;br /&gt;ball&lt;br /&gt;ooes- shoes&lt;br /&gt;no&lt;br /&gt;She knows the sign language for milk and water. ( You always know when she wants a drink and I love it!!)&lt;br /&gt;I am sure there are more great and fun things that she does/says but I can't think of them right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8988175877560626773?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8988175877560626773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8988175877560626773' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8988175877560626773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8988175877560626773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/zoes-sayings.html' title='Zoe&apos;s sayings'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6924508231370232866</id><published>2008-09-08T12:15:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T12:34:44.302-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Lagoon</title><content type='html'>The excitement is welling up. Hands are in the air, the ride shoots up the hill, screaming is accompanied by the grasping of my arms and a face filled with panic. NO, this is not the emotions that accompanied us riding Wicked but Puff the Magic Dragon. Zoe did great but she held on for dear life. She had her little hands in the air until the ride started and then she screamed and was holding on to me for dear life. Of course I am laughing but can only hope that the longing for Lagoon once a year is ingrained in my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lagoon started out as an Irons family retreat. When I say Irons I mean full blown cousins, aunts, uncles, grandma and grandpa. Gramps would pay for everyone and we would enjoy a fun filled day of family fun, riding rides and a great family meal under the pavilions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember riding up there with my family or staying at my Aunt Connie's and then getting ready the next day to meet the rest of the family. Emilee and I would usually take off and leave everyone behind. We loved to ride the Wild Mouse and then move on the Music Express. We would do one scary one ( the Mouse) and a fun one ( Music Express) over and over again. When we were older the Colossus and the White Roller Coaster held the most fun for us. We ran all over the park loving the day. One of the last rides of the day was the Log Flume. We would wait in line forever and go on the Log Flume. ( The only ride, at the time, to guarantee getting you wet.) One year we actually got stuck on the Log Flume and it was the best to just sit in the log, relax, and get in trouble for splashing each other. The best was when the Irons clan would have most of the bumper cars. You had a great time getting all your cousins, aunts, or uncles, but mostly just laughing till you had to go to the bathroom. This tradition started to die down in the late eighties. Inflation caused the prices to go up and trying to find time for the whole family get together was becoming more difficult. ( that and all my sullen teenage cousins.) Really, I don't remember why we stopped but we did. My dad keep the tradition going with his children and grandchildren. We fight over who is going to pay just like my grandpa and aunts did but we still have a great time. We go once a year, every Sunday, on the last weekend before Frightmares starts up. ( really there was hardly anyone there yesterday- it was Great!!).&lt;br /&gt;Here is little Zoe having a great day...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv7cxscqI/AAAAAAAAAUk/0SDrDnERxdc/s1600-h/Zoe+129.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv7cxscqI/AAAAAAAAAUk/0SDrDnERxdc/s200/Zoe+129.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243720408270402210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv7mgQVRI/AAAAAAAAAUs/vXcisUDSEL0/s1600-h/Zoe+111.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv7mgQVRI/AAAAAAAAAUs/vXcisUDSEL0/s200/Zoe+111.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243720410881611026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvQ97uIOI/AAAAAAAAAUE/Qj-rdVBrlEk/s1600-h/Zoe+122.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvQ97uIOI/AAAAAAAAAUE/Qj-rdVBrlEk/s200/Zoe+122.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243719678436450530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvRV66ekI/AAAAAAAAAUM/TqLDutPmOMg/s1600-h/Zoe+120.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvRV66ekI/AAAAAAAAAUM/TqLDutPmOMg/s200/Zoe+120.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243719684875516482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvR9r3ADI/AAAAAAAAAUU/_-C_YgQ35Co/s1600-h/Zoe+118.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvR9r3ADI/AAAAAAAAAUU/_-C_YgQ35Co/s200/Zoe+118.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243719695549792306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvSG-MysI/AAAAAAAAAUc/wVGvz35kqi0/s1600-h/Zoe+127.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVvSG-MysI/AAAAAAAAAUc/wVGvz35kqi0/s200/Zoe+127.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243719698042636994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv8JvES-I/AAAAAAAAAU0/GZgZd4gYbV0/s1600-h/Zoe+119.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv8JvES-I/AAAAAAAAAU0/GZgZd4gYbV0/s200/Zoe+119.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243720420338977762" 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/3072435603015002322-6924508231370232866?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6924508231370232866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6924508231370232866' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6924508231370232866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6924508231370232866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/lagoon.html' title='Lagoon'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SMVv7cxscqI/AAAAAAAAAUk/0SDrDnERxdc/s72-c/Zoe+129.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-6135165729185332540</id><published>2008-09-03T09:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T09:48:17.091-06:00</updated><title type='text'>going Private</title><content type='html'>I really have been thinking about this for some time. I was private at the beginning and then went "public" but I am going private again. If you still want to look at my wonderful blog please leave an email address for me. I am giving you all a week!! If you never leave comments but stalk me please leave an address and I will get on my email list! Thanks for everything!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-6135165729185332540?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/6135165729185332540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=6135165729185332540' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6135165729185332540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/6135165729185332540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/09/going-private.html' title='going Private'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-3188340606211125143</id><published>2008-08-28T09:54:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T10:10:29.140-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ME! Me! me!</title><content type='html'>I really believe people tag me because they know I will fulfill the duty of filling out the "survey" because I have no life. I will fulfill these requirements and laugh because really I don't mind doing these surveys I just feel bad for those faithful readers who really are sick of hearing about glorious, wonderful ME!!!( unless of course they are embarrassing moments)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been tagged by Amber .&lt;br /&gt;How To Play This Game of Tag: Post these rules on your blog.&lt;br /&gt;List: 3 joys, 3 fears, 3 goals, 3 current obsessions/collections, 3 random surprising facts about yourself.&lt;br /&gt;These change every now and then so see if you can guess what my joys, fears, goals, obsessions, and surprising facts may be. Make it a  game to see how well you REALLY know me!! In no particular order...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;JOYS:&lt;br /&gt;1. Spencer&lt;br /&gt;2. Zoe&lt;br /&gt;3. Coming home to a clean house ( OCD)&lt;br /&gt;4. Read a good book. ( had to add this one because really Reading is my passion! Even before Sex- surprising I know!! Especially for those who new what my jello fantasy was- can you believe ME!!( never been fulfilled-BTW)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fears:&lt;br /&gt;1.  Spiders&lt;br /&gt;2.  Spence dying before me&lt;br /&gt;3.  Something terrible happening to Zoe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goals:&lt;br /&gt;1. To get my four hour ( boring) modules done today for Wal-Mart!&lt;br /&gt;2. To read the entire series of "Interview with a Vampire" by the end of the year&lt;br /&gt;3.  To Pay off my credit card&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obsessions:&lt;br /&gt;1. Hugh Laurie ( basically House- I love this show and damn Hugh Laurie is my fantasy!)&lt;br /&gt;2. One Tree Hill ( I didn't say my obsessions where great!!)&lt;br /&gt;3. Cleaning ( I vacuum up to three times a week, dust at least twice and everything else gets done at least once. Can you say OCD!!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact:&lt;br /&gt;1. Well, I am a cashier at Walmart ( just started please don't be too shocked that my four year degree will never be of any use to me ever again!)&lt;br /&gt;2. I still believe Aliens sucked out my brains!! ( I have a forehead scar to prove the point... This really does explain a lot about me.)&lt;br /&gt;3. I am really truly a shy person. When I get in unfamiliar situations and around new people I am quite and very conservative. I do not speak my mind and I do not speak out with my randomness to annoy them further with my good looks. ( Please don't be shocked!! I know me shy but it is really true and factual!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, how did the game work. Did you know me as well as you thought you did  or was there something shocking to dismay you? Have a supercalifragilisticexpialidious day!!! (  believe it or not I believe that is really spelled correctly!) Prove me wrong!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-3188340606211125143?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/3188340606211125143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=3188340606211125143' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3188340606211125143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/3188340606211125143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/08/me-me-me.html' title='ME! Me! me!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-8991852329421418592</id><published>2008-08-24T14:42:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T14:47:47.460-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sibling BBQ</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIoKWt-mI/AAAAAAAAATk/2TyDGrTihPE/s1600-h/Zoe+110.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIoKWt-mI/AAAAAAAAATk/2TyDGrTihPE/s200/Zoe+110.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238188433908562530" border="0" /&gt;My favorite Uncle Ty!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIovzaD7I/AAAAAAAAATs/aED3X2UBUpE/s1600-h/Zoe+109.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIovzaD7I/AAAAAAAAATs/aED3X2UBUpE/s200/Zoe+109.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238188443961003954" border="0" /&gt;Misty, Ty, and short little me!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIo6uFFII/AAAAAAAAAT0/8JFkkzbSRdY/s1600-h/Zoe+105.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIo6uFFII/AAAAAAAAAT0/8JFkkzbSRdY/s200/Zoe+105.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238188446891447426" border="0" /&gt;Zoe, Spence, Ty, Kara, Byron,Misty&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is nothing better than getting the siblings together. We always have a great time. About two years ago my sister, Misty, asked us each to take a turn and do a dinner. It was supposed to be every 6 months. I was the second in line and two years later we had a BBQ! I love getting together with my family we always have a great time being silly and just talking. My family has always been pretty close and it makes me realize that there is nothing on earth better than your family. ( your own family i.e. Spence and Zoe but my brother, sister, and my parents.) My family means the world to me and I am grateful daily for the time we spend together, the lessons we have learned  over the years, and the wonderful memories we always share when we are together. ( I also love my brother- in-law Byron and sister-in-law, Kara!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-8991852329421418592?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/8991852329421418592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=8991852329421418592' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8991852329421418592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/8991852329421418592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/08/sibling-bbq.html' title='Sibling BBQ'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SLHIoKWt-mI/AAAAAAAAATk/2TyDGrTihPE/s72-c/Zoe+110.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-4185799906006458910</id><published>2008-08-18T10:26:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T10:34:40.162-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Girls Weekend</title><content type='html'>Some of my high school friends and I planned a girls night. We drove to Park City, went shopping,  ate wonderful food, and stayed the night.  We all found some great deals at the outlets even if we bought more for our kids than we did for ourselves. We ate at Baja Cantina. We really did have a wonderful time talking, laughing, shopping, and just remembering the good ole' days. Thanks gals for a wonderful trip!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjzW-TTuI/AAAAAAAAATA/xLWCO9kMaDU/s1600-h/Zoe+101.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjzW-TTuI/AAAAAAAAATA/xLWCO9kMaDU/s200/Zoe+101.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235896144530460386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjzom2B0I/AAAAAAAAATI/qkehEfArNeI/s1600-h/Zoe+102.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjzom2B0I/AAAAAAAAATI/qkehEfArNeI/s200/Zoe+102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235896149263910722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmj0dv9jLI/AAAAAAAAATY/zZtclHt0n54/s1600-h/Zoe+104.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmj0dv9jLI/AAAAAAAAATY/zZtclHt0n54/s200/Zoe+104.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235896163529231538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjz-KRPxI/AAAAAAAAATQ/GYQMlq5jT7Y/s1600-h/Zoe+103.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjz-KRPxI/AAAAAAAAATQ/GYQMlq5jT7Y/s200/Zoe+103.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235896155049639698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Top Left Picture: Sha Jacobson, Darci Cook, Staci Stephensen, Me&lt;br /&gt;Top Right Picture: Nichole Sunderland,Sha, Darci, Staci, Me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-4185799906006458910?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/4185799906006458910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=4185799906006458910' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4185799906006458910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/4185799906006458910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/08/girls-weekend.html' title='Girls Weekend'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKmjzW-TTuI/AAAAAAAAATA/xLWCO9kMaDU/s72-c/Zoe+101.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5138931047158517003</id><published>2008-08-15T08:30:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-15T08:38:37.724-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wonder Woman</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Remember the days when we all a super hero in our life. Mine was Wonder Woman. I remember going to my Grandma and Grandpa Irons' and watching Wonder Woman every Sunday. I was in love with her she was everything I wanted to be right down to the red boots and golden lasso. Well the closest I ever got to being Wonder Woman was a t-shirt and some undies. Well thanks to my sister she has given me the chance to make Zoe my Wonder Woman. May this bring a smile to your face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKWT1wafBnI/AAAAAAAAAS4/5MBN4aFBU14/s1600-h/Zoe+095.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234752693626406514" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKWT1wafBnI/AAAAAAAAAS4/5MBN4aFBU14/s200/Zoe+095.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKWT0YCgyQI/AAAAAAAAASw/KGc1Z_YRkzk/s1600-h/Zoe+093.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234752669903538434" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKWT0YCgyQI/AAAAAAAAASw/KGc1Z_YRkzk/s200/Zoe+093.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The night I had Zoe dress up like Wonder Woman we had our windows open. The next day my neighbor boys asked me why I was laughing so loud. I smiled and told them I was an idiot having to much fun pretending I was Wonder Woman. They were confused and Ramona ( my neighbor- Micha and Alickiah's ( spelling?) mom) Laughed and said she remembered watching Wonder Woman. Oh bless my beating heart!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5138931047158517003?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5138931047158517003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5138931047158517003' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5138931047158517003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5138931047158517003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/08/wonder-woman.html' title='Wonder Woman'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SKWT1wafBnI/AAAAAAAAAS4/5MBN4aFBU14/s72-c/Zoe+095.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-9202038666926007491</id><published>2008-08-08T22:17:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T23:08:35.921-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bucket List</title><content type='html'>So this week I had a scare when I thought I had lost my Bucket list. I have had this list since I was 15 years old. I was frantic and tore my house apart looking for the list. It was if an old lost friend had walked out of my life never to return. I found the list hidden behind the computer motem. ( It seems the list fell out of the drawer and behind the motem- causing me great stress.) So to commerate the 15 years of an old friendship I am sharing my bucket list with all of you. ( in no particular order...)&lt;br /&gt;1. Spend New Years in an exotic location&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Write my will&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 3. Learn how to juggle three balls &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. Find a job I love&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Kiss the Blarney Stone ( Okay so this one has changed... a friend of Spence's told him the locals piss on the stone and laugh at the foreigners who kiss it. So seeing the Blarney Stone will have to do.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. Visit Stonehenge ( Been to England why didn't I go to Stonehenge?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. Go to Chicago&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. Go to Boston&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. Go to San Francisco&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. See the Golden Gate Bridge&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11. Go to Alcatraz&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;12. Ride on a Troley Car&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;13. Go to Ireland&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;14. Swim with dolphins&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;15. Ride a camel&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;16. Get laser surgery on my eyes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;17. Go snokerling&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;18. Go to New Orleans during Mardi Gras&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;19. Plant a Catalpa Tree ( Spence won't let me have one so if anyone ever plants one can I PLEASE plant the tree) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;20. See " Madam Butterfly"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;21. See " Copella" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 22. See " Giselle"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;23. Attend a boxing match&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;24. go to Russia&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;25. Attend a bull fight in Spain ( Have been to Spain my friends went to bull fight and I decided to go shopping for shoes- what the hell was I thinking!!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;26. See the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;27. Go to Australia&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;28. Go to Morocco&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;29. Go to the French Rivera30. See a dolphin, killer whale, sperm whale, and humpback whale. ( Okay, so Sea World really doesn't count on dolphins and a killer whale.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;31. Go whale watching&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 32. See leaning Tower of Pisa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 33. See the Eiffel Tower&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;34. Watch all the Audrey Hepburn movies ( I still have to see &lt;em&gt;War and Peace, Green Mansions,The Unforgiven, Bloodline, They all laughed.&lt;/em&gt; Pretty good to have seen 15 of her 20 movies) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;35. go BACK to Hawaii&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;36. Watch a sunset and enjoy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;37. Watch a sunrise and enjoy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;38. Hike Mount Nebo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 39. Hike Mount timpanogos&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;40. Receive my masters degree ( really don't think that this is going to happen... however, I would like to recieve a different bachelors in something else- what I am currently working on that question.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;41. Donate a large sum of money to charity&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;42. Go to Africa ( had plans until I met Spence- dang him! I decided to get married.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;43. Live outside of Utah for awhile ( I might have to kill Spence to do this one! I belive we are deeply rooted to Payson!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;44. Own something from Tiffany's ( necklace, bracelet)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 45. Go through the temple&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 46. Own a piano- My piano is at my mom's house until my basement is finished and then glorious music can fill my house again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;47. Go to Jamaica &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;( X) 48. Read &lt;em&gt;The Scarlett Letter &lt;/em&gt;from Cover to cover &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;49. Read &lt;em&gt;Madame Bovery &lt;/em&gt;from cover to cover ( I can't tell you how many times I have started all three of these books and find something else to read)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;50. Read &lt;em&gt;Great Expectations&lt;/em&gt; from cover to cover&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;51. Own my own house&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x) 52. Always have my toe nails painted&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;53. Camping with my husband and children&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x) 54. Run a 5K&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;55. See Brittany Spears in concert&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;56. go to Nauvoo and do the church history tour&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;57. Go to a topless beach ( of course I will join in) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;58. go on a mission ( I don't think this will happen... had my papers once, filled out, ready to turn in- Life happened) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x) 59. Go to a drive in movie with my husband ( and all that it implies!!!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;60. Go to a gay bar&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X)61. Watch the Yankee's play baseball at Yankee Stadium&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;62. Go bungee jumping&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x) 63. Go sky diving ( 2x- loved it!!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;64. Go to a drag show ( drag Queen)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 65. Ask a man I've only met out on a date&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 66. Spend a night in a haunted house by myself&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 67. Learn how to play a musical instrument with some degree of skill ( piano)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x) 68. Sing as loud as possible from a mountain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;69. Enjoy an evening at the Opera&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x) 70. See &lt;em&gt;Cats&lt;/em&gt; on Broadway. ( I really did like it I have seen many others as well) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;71. Shower in a waterfall&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X)72. Make a complete fool of myself&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x). 73. Make a complete fool of myself on the most important day of my life ( my wedding- the ring story! If you don't know the story ASK- I am not shy but my family and friends know what an idiot I am) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X)74. Go rock climbing/ repelling&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 75. go up in a Hot air Balloon&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;76. Go skinny dipping in an ocean/lake&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;77. sunbathe naked&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;78. go to Alaska&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 79. Go to Maine&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 80. See Portland Maine Lighthouse&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;81. Go to Washington D.C.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;82. go to the Smithsonian&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;83. Learn the words to &lt;em&gt;Amazing Grace&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;84.&lt;/em&gt; Learn the words to&lt;em&gt; Poor Wayfaring Man&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;85. Take my children to Disneyland/or World&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 86. Fall in love&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X)87. Go to New York City- see Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Trade Center, Rockefeller Center, Empire State Building, Brooklyn Bridge&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 88. Learn Sign Language ( when you don't use it you lose it but I did know sign language many years ago)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 89. Have a loving husband&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 90. go to Disneyland AND Disney World&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 91. Walk on the beach with the man I love&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;92. Take tango lessons&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;93. Read the &lt;em&gt;Bible&lt;/em&gt; from cover to cover&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(x). 94. Read &lt;em&gt;Book of Mormon &lt;/em&gt;cover to cover&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(X) 95. Make love on the forest floor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay so the (X) obviously means I have accomplished them. ( Remember 15 years old... I still have a lot to do. Did anyone else notice all the nudity I want to involve myself with- WOW!!) I am still working on some of them but really money is needed for most of them. ( Wonder how much Spence's life insurance really is? HMMM!) Okay, Okay- so as long as I have Spence and Zoe this list is really nothing but it is something to work for. I would never hack my husband just so I can accomplish something- however he hates to travel and I LOVE to travel and be in different places. I would love to live over seas ( England, Ireland, Italy, Scotland) but for some reason Payson is where the good Lord wants my roots to be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is on your bucket list? Leave me your bucket list or some of the things you would like to do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-9202038666926007491?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/9202038666926007491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=9202038666926007491' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/9202038666926007491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/9202038666926007491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/08/bucket-list.html' title='Bucket List'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-5989051295574379789</id><published>2008-08-03T10:59:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T11:17:08.571-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Orchard Days!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlFoSS1KI/AAAAAAAAASI/OmF0gevxRdk/s1600-h/vcc+027.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230338427136955554" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlFoSS1KI/AAAAAAAAASI/OmF0gevxRdk/s200/vcc+027.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Zoe's second parade turned out to be nothing but a miraculous journey of her proving she is really part Irons!!! This parade she understood the concept of flying candy coming towards you. She screamed, ran like a gazelle and picked up those pieces of beloved candy. She clapped at every thing she really liked. ( the "Princesses" and anything with music.) She danced when the drill team walked by with their blaring music and clapped for the cheerleaders. ( I believe we have a cheerleader in our mist). She ran after the candy and the big kids cleared the way for her to pick up those little pieces of gold. I made a haul on Tootsie Rolls so of course I have already taught my daughter well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlF8B473I/AAAAAAAAASQ/LD3ZaVhOBTo/s1600-h/vcc+031.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230338432436858738" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlF8B473I/AAAAAAAAASQ/LD3ZaVhOBTo/s200/vcc+031.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Jessica ran about a block to get Zoe an Otter Pop!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also would run out in the road to pick up the candy to close to the trucks or other moving vehicles she is definately part ME!!! ( finally, I see a spark of me in her- for a minute I was wondering if she was the mail lady's daughter).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlFHb6sFI/AAAAAAAAASA/80jbF0ctSpY/s1600-h/vcc+028.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlE279B1I/AAAAAAAAAR4/s9rJWLqmwEI/s1600-h/vcc+025.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230338413889914706" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlE279B1I/AAAAAAAAAR4/s9rJWLqmwEI/s200/vcc+025.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the parade we attended the car show and did lunch with our friends Jessica and Chad Carter. Later, that night we went up Santaquin Canyon and did a BBQ with the Carters. Why is it that little kids are mesmorized by things they shouldn't be? We were right by a river and Zoe wanted to be down there playing in the water. We were right by a pretty little water fall and I know she would have drove in and went swimming if mom and dad would have let her. If it wasnt' the fire she was attracted to the fire certainly did it for her. We watched the fireworks where the kids were in awe but fell asleep before they ended. It was a great day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXm3ZQMDoI/AAAAAAAAASg/EHuN9Mmg4-A/s1600-h/vcc+036.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230340381606678146" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXm3ZQMDoI/AAAAAAAAASg/EHuN9Mmg4-A/s200/vcc+036.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXmviPLHVI/AAAAAAAAASY/s3UPe668jSE/s1600-h/vcc+035.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230340246579387730" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXmviPLHVI/AAAAAAAAASY/s3UPe668jSE/s200/vcc+035.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXm3-HtpdI/AAAAAAAAASo/BckkcM435xQ/s1600-h/vcc+043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230340391503242706" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXm3-HtpdI/AAAAAAAAASo/BckkcM435xQ/s200/vcc+043.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Lexi and Zoe watching the fireworks! Zoe loves baby Lexi. She likes to put her fingers in Lexi's mouth and play with her baby fine hair&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I may be posting more. I have decided to print everything and say "Hey, this is my journal" ( because I am a slacker). Also it does show Zoe ( someday) that we didn't just sit home and her OCD Mom didn't just clean and read we actually did fun things as a family!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3072435603015002322-5989051295574379789?l=teresastevenson.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/feeds/5989051295574379789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3072435603015002322&amp;postID=5989051295574379789' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5989051295574379789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3072435603015002322/posts/default/5989051295574379789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://teresastevenson.blogspot.com/2008/08/orchard-days.html' title='Orchard Days!'/><author><name>Teresa Stevenson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01175129564408393175</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJXlFoSS1KI/AAAAAAAAASI/OmF0gevxRdk/s72-c/vcc+027.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3072435603015002322.post-785287130529027083</id><published>2008-08-02T07:31:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T09:16:31.633-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The almighty Warriors</title><content type='html'>The acrid smell of smoke fills the air as I head outside to witness the catatropshe that happens every two to three years to Payson's Mountains. A fire ingnited Red Mountain .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_5P0z-10D1N0/SJRkX9kyRQI/AAAAAAAAARI/RzicQ
