<?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-1826873501541938891</id><updated>2011-12-23T21:44:15.249-06:00</updated><title type='text'>constance the fourth</title><subtitle type='html'>Moving into the Constance Building- my fancy new pink apartment in the city!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-4732646994682976167</id><published>2009-10-24T15:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T15:35:49.664-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Excellent Timing</title><content type='html'>We now have 2 sick kids in the house- one with the fever, cough, sore throat, achy body that probably means it's pig flu and the other barfing with fever.  Verdict still out on the rest of her symptoms, but likely she has the same bug as her sister.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So!  I AM still keeping track of what I've been eating and I'll update when the star align correctly.  You know how it goes!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(What a week to start a health kick!  Murphy's Law in practice, I guess.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-4732646994682976167?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/4732646994682976167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=4732646994682976167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/4732646994682976167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/4732646994682976167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/excellent-timing.html' title='Excellent Timing'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-4461360204157022445</id><published>2009-10-22T12:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T13:08:18.903-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Food Diary, Day 3</title><content type='html'>Oh, ho, ho, imagine my satisfaction when I was met with ye goode ol' aunt flo today!  Hey, maybe a (small few, I know) of those extra pounds I saw on Monday morning were PERIOD RELATED.  Oh, period, how I (suddenly!) love you!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, this could also explain the, uh, snacking, right?  Yes, I'm going with that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Breakfast:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*1 cup cheerios/honey nut cheerios mixed, sprinkled with trail mix, 1% milk&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*2 mugs coffee with cream&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snack:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*string cheese&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lunch:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*same as yesterday, ate about 2/3 of it and was full&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snack:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*Weight Watchers ice cream bar (3 pts, for those who care)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*handful of fresh, tiny, soft and squishy marshmallows&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Supper:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*very small amount mac-n-chz&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*plate-o-Brussels sprouts (sauteed with onions, garlic, lemon juice, salt and pepper)  MMMMMM&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*ANOTHER WW ice cream bar (OMG so delish!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Exercise:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*none- it was a very cold, rainy day so I was fine with staying indoors and keeping dry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-4461360204157022445?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/4461360204157022445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=4461360204157022445' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/4461360204157022445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/4461360204157022445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/food-diary-day-3.html' title='Food Diary, Day 3'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-5884994520526460039</id><published>2009-10-21T13:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T13:57:39.233-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Food Diary, Day 2</title><content type='html'>Wow, this blogging about what I eat, this keeping track and writing it down, is really making me aware of what I eat.  Day 2 was a snack-y day.  I think I have a lot of those.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Breakfast:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*1/2 cup grapenuts with trail mix, drizzle of honey, 1% milk&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*2 mugs of coffee with heavy-handed cream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lunch:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*chicken breast, cut up and mixed with (left-over) spanish rice and sweet corn and sprinkled with mozerella cheese&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*1 string cheese.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snack: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*hot chocolate (from powdered mix) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*1 sugar cookie. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* Later I ate a bunch (1/2 cup?) of drained chick peas.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dinner: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*1 1/2 slices of cheese pizza (from frozen)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*1 very delicious pear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Evening eating: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* had various snacks at book club- a (nother!) sugar cookie.  Ok, maybe TWO sugar cookies&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*some of those pastel mint things with the little white dots on them&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*small amount (maybe 4-6) chips with salsa.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Exercise: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*briskly walked (with Marin in jogger) to and from the library, about 25 minutes each way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would say overall, it was not a "diet day" I would be proud of.  However, I am not upset with myself, like, AT ALL.  For one thing, I got some exercise.  For another, I was meeting my goal for this week by being aware (and writing down) what I ate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, those book club snacks?  This is the main reason that the one time I tried Weight Watchers, it frustrated me.  How do you account for &lt;i&gt;everything&lt;/i&gt;?  And since I'm the type that wants to get it right, whenever I'd have to guess or approximate, I would feel deflated, or like I was "cheating" or like "I messed this up already, so I may as well just give up now."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-5884994520526460039?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/5884994520526460039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=5884994520526460039' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/5884994520526460039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/5884994520526460039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/food-diary-day-2.html' title='Food Diary, Day 2'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-1519891311151424873</id><published>2009-10-20T08:27:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T09:09:35.008-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Food Diary, Day 1</title><content type='html'>Breakfast:  &lt;div&gt;*1/2 cup &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;grapenuts&lt;/span&gt; with a handful of trail mix (raisins, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;craisins&lt;/span&gt;, almonds, and walnuts), drizzle of honey, and 1% milk&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*2 mugs of coffee, heavy of the cream (fat-free french vanilla)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snack:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*big handful of trail mix&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*string cheese&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lunch:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*salad:  lettuce, cooked boneless, skinless chicken strips (a little less than 1 breast), crumbled feta, and a squirt of lemon juice&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snack*:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*a tiny cup of Cold Stone cake batter (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;OMG&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;YUMMO&lt;/span&gt;!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Supper*:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*Sandwich with mayo, lettuce, provolone, sprouts, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;avocado&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*3-4 chips &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* 1/3 of a coke&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Exercise:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*20 minute quick walk, squeezed into a atypically busy day for us.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*Yesterday was a very different than normal day for us.  I ended up leaving for B1&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;gger&lt;/span&gt; Town around 2 pm and not getting home until around 10:30pm.  We rarely eat out, and even more rarely twice in one day (snack at Cold Stone and dinner at sandwich shop), but that's how yesterday went down.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You know?  Even though eating ice cream and a big sandwich does not qualify as a "good" Day One for a "diet", I am very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; with it all.  My goal this week was to write down what I ate (and hopefully make good food choices, sure), but I feel like just making conscious decisions about food is part of the success.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, sudden and severe deprivation for me is not going to work.  I could have skipped the Cold Stone, YES, but chances are later I would have felt weak and dove head first into something &lt;i&gt;else&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-1519891311151424873?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/1519891311151424873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=1519891311151424873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/1519891311151424873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/1519891311151424873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/food-diary-day-1.html' title='Food Diary, Day 1'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-6507134247199626926</id><published>2009-10-19T13:39:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T13:58:17.645-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Diet Train... UGGG</title><content type='html'>I headed up the cool wooden stairs to our attic, in search of something that fit.  &lt;i&gt;Where are those size-bigger jeans?  I do have size-bigger jeans, right?  &lt;/i&gt;I rummaged and rummaged and found... the box of maternity clothes.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I paused.  I currently only have 2 pairs of pants that fit, both of which were dirty.  And there I was, standing in a chilly attic in only underwear, desperately searching for something, &lt;i&gt;anything&lt;/i&gt; to wear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After a moment's hesitation, I opened the lid and dug around a little bit.  I found my favorite, most comfy-yet-also-somewhat-dressy maternity pants.  I slipped them on.  They fit!  (Um, this is a victory?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wore them downstairs.  Brushed my teeth.  Put on a little lip gloss and rouge.  Glanced in the full length mirror.  It was true that no one would notice that they were maternity pants!  And they fit!  And were so comfortable!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the end I couldn't bring myself to wear them.  Instead I pulled a wrinkled and dirty pair out of the hamper and put them on.  There was no noticeable odor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next morning, naked, I stood on the scale.  I was dismayed to see that I currently weigh &lt;i&gt;more&lt;/i&gt; than I did when I was full-term pregnant with TWINS.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, I knew I had been gaining weight.  But... REALLY?  That much???  On my other blog I &lt;a href="http://lifeinatinytown.blogspot.com/2009/09/detoxing.html"&gt;recently wrote&lt;/a&gt; about wanting to go off &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;zoloft&lt;/span&gt; because I suspected that was part of the problem.  In 3 or 4 weeks that have followed since I wrote that post I have gained 10 more pounds and have just recently (2 days ago) started weaning myself off &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;zoloft&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(It was a busy couple of weeks in which I just was not ready to start the weaning when also hosting a steady stream of house guests.  After all, I want it to be a successful weaning process, so I didn't want outside factors causing me more stress than necessary.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, today, I proclaim that I am on a diet.  Not any particular diet, but rather a health-kick for the purpose of loosing weight, feeling better, and having more energy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Goals for Week 1:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  I am going to write down- on this blog- everything I eat.  I like how &lt;a href="http://www.bodiesinmotivation.com/2009/10/fresh-start-day-13/"&gt;Linda&lt;/a&gt; has been doing that, and I hope it will help hold me accountable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I am going to get exercise as many days this week as possible, with a minimum of 5 days.  Each exercise session will be no shorter than 20 minutes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  I am going to try to connect the dots between what I eat and how I feel.  I KNOW, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;intellectually&lt;/span&gt;, that these two are related, but I think I have a fair amount of disconnect between how what I eat makes me feel.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  I will loose 1 pound this week, thus getting a bit closer to being able to wear my clothes again.  (See also:  thank god for yoga pants!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  I will make an appointment this week for a check-up to make sure nothing else is behind the weight gain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll be back later to enter what I ate today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-6507134247199626926?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/6507134247199626926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=6507134247199626926' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/6507134247199626926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/6507134247199626926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/diet-train-uggg.html' title='Diet Train... UGGG'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-1925715064636115528</id><published>2009-10-16T14:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T15:00:58.617-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Explination</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I received a couple of emails and comments as to why I removed the post (below) from my other blog.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I suddenly became nervous that somehow that post would get back to Dr. J0key, or at least back to one of the many people that work in that clinic/hospital and know him, and that it could cause me to loose my job.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;While working as a d0ula, I work directly for my clients.  HOWEVER, when I am teaching ch1ld b1rth classes I work directly for that doctor.  And that doctor is part of a practice of 6 other doctors, all of whom support our work as d0ulas within the hospital/clinic setting.  They even pay for our business cards and advertising, as well as speak kindly about us to any of their patients that ask about d0ula services.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sooo, while loosing my job* would really suck, I'm even more worried about jeopardizing the work of d0ulas in Bigger Town.  I would really hate to be the one that gave d0ulas a bad name, or worse, the one who caused d0ulas to loose many of the privileges that we currently enjoy (such as being able to attend c-sect1ons, along with the pregnant mom's partner- many hospitals do not allow this).  It would suck for us, as d0ulas, but it would really suck for the birthing women too, to not have our services as an option.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;*my job as a ch1ld b1rth educ@tor is very part time- I work every M0nday night and two Thursd@y nights a month.  So it averages to be around 10 hours/week or less.  But teaching those classes allows us (most of the other teachers are d0ulas, too) to meet 30-40 pregn@nt women every 5 weeks, which is how many of our clients come to hire us.  It's a perfect hand-in-hand combination of interests that is unique.  Most d0ulas are nearly 100% on their own when it comes to finding clients.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-1925715064636115528?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/1925715064636115528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=1925715064636115528' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/1925715064636115528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/1925715064636115528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/explination.html' title='Explination'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-8378430113197872427</id><published>2009-10-15T20:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T20:20:02.482-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Had To Delete This At My Other Place</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;When I first started writing here, I thought having twins and being a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "&gt;d0ula&lt;/span&gt; would be oft-frequented topics. Turns out, not so much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Having twins is, at this point in our life, just very normal. And the adventures that unfold at the hospital with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "&gt;d0ula&lt;/span&gt; clients are not my stories to tell.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Yesterday I spent the day at the hospital with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "&gt;d0ula&lt;/span&gt; client. The mysteries our bodies hold while we are in labor- the fast and slow progress, the emotional ups and downs, the way our body tells us exactly what it needs, if only we listen, made an impression on me once again.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also got to see a family- a beautiful, loving, healthy family- that was not traditional&lt;i&gt; at all&lt;/i&gt;. It consisted of:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~ a pregnant, intelligent, well-read, gentle-mannered, single mama&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~her mom- a gruff voiced, permed and bleached, graduated from the school of hard knocks grandma-to-be&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~an aunt who is married but never had any children of her own, had never been in a delivery room, and was so tender to pregnant mama that it made my heart swell&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~pregnant mama's 15 year old sister, who watched her sister endure so much, always adjusting pillows and offering ice chips to help&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had the honor of being part of their tribe for a day, for seeing their family in all it's glory, welcome a new member. I always learn so much about labor, hospitals, women's bodies etc during a birth. But these people taught me about what it means to be family. Four woman, working together for hours upon hours, to celebrate a very special baby boy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He's a lucky baby.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;***********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dr. J0key.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I found out this was her physician, my heart sunk. I have personal, past experience with Dr. J0key. I liked him. He was very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;personable&lt;/span&gt; and witty. He was confident. He made me feel like I didn't have to be in charge because he was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we did not see eye to eye on many things, specifically how my babies were to be born. At 23 weeks, upon learning I was carrying twins, he got out his calendar to schedule my surgery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wanted to labor, to bring my babies into the world without having to nurse an abdominal incision as well as care for TWO BABIES. I felt strongly that this was a reasonable request.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He teased me. He made little, j0key comments that chipped away at my confidence.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a lot of work (mentally/emotionally speaking) to do after my first birth. Sadly, much of it was caused by this friendly, jolly man who made me feel foolish and silly and stupid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dr. J0key.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was in fine form yesterday. J0king, teasing, making a laboring woman question her body, her decisions, her ability to have a baby without him swooping in to rescue her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I know you've read books. But I've read &lt;i&gt;bigger books.&lt;/i&gt;"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You may have done all this labor yourself, but you also grew a HUGE BABY. All by yourself!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wink, wink. J0ke, j0ke. Jolly, jolly old good times.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Look, I don't care at all how a woman chooses to labor. It is, after all, &lt;i&gt;her&lt;/i&gt; decision. But when a woman is listening to her body, building her confidence by trusting in her ability, wanting to put faith in the fact that she can DO THIS, I do not think it's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; for a medical professional to knock her down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You're going back 100 years by not having that epidural. Woman don't need to suffer now. Don't be silly."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Think of your partner! S/HE really suffers, watching you struggle."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"There is no prize for a medication-free birth!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listen, Dr. J0key. When a patient is wanting or needing pain medication, they look to you for validation. Any of the above comments would be appropriate, encouraging, and comforting.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But ONLY WHEN SHE WANTS PAIN MEDICATION.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is NOT appropriate to say these things as a way to persuade someone to give birth YOUR WAY. It's not your body. It's not your birth. It's not a day that you will remember always. In fact, by next week it will be dimmed in your memory, while SHE spends the next &lt;i&gt;lifetime&lt;/i&gt; playing over the ups and downs of that day, over and over, in her mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While plenty of people see things "your" way, many others do not. It's your job respect your patients' wishes no matter which group they are in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;***********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Personally, I am more of a "trust your body" kind of thinker, when it comes to labor and delivery. That said, I've "trusted my body" TWICE only to end up with 2 c-sections.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've come to terms with the fact that &lt;i&gt;my&lt;/i&gt; births were miraculous too. That I DID, in fact, give birth, albeit with the help of a scalpel. That modern medical technology has possibly saved my life and the life of my children.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If I were to have another child, I'm not sure if I would go for a surgery or a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "&gt;VBAC&lt;/span&gt;, but either way, I want a doctor to respect my body, my choices. To focus on what I CAN do, and to not make me feel silly for how I want to birth my baby.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now that I have navigated the medical world a few times, I know how to find such a provider. I know what to look for, who to talk to, and which questions to ask.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, many of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 0); "&gt;d0ula&lt;/span&gt; clients that I work with do not have experience on their side, so they go into their first birth experience bright-eyed and hopeful, and completely at the mercy of their doctor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most doctors are excellent at guiding them through the maze of Becoming Parents.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dr. J0key does not. Instead he takes advantage of their lack of knowledge. And if they do have a strong, well-read philosophy about birthing, he makes "wink, wink, j0ke, j0ke, we're all best friends and I'm here to tell you that you are wrong" kinds of comments.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shame.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-8378430113197872427?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/8378430113197872427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=8378430113197872427' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/8378430113197872427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/8378430113197872427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2009/10/had-to-delete-this-at-my-other-place.html' title='Had To Delete This At My Other Place'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-6778613772341435134</id><published>2008-03-30T21:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T21:30:24.702-05:00</updated><title type='text'>*biting fingernails* *sighing nervously*</title><content type='html'>Ok, well, that little workout plan didn't go so well.  And since my daughter has recently weaned, and I HAVEN'T been walking or jogging (read: broken toe), and I HAVE been feeling bad about that and therefore eating MORE, and I'm NOT producing milk (read: needing a gazillion calories a day)... Well, because of all of THAT, I've gained about 8 (EIGHT) pounds since I last visited our secret pink apartments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO!  I did something I've never done before.... I joined Weight Watchers!  Online!  An actual, factual goddamn DIET!  (I love how they say "it's not a diet, but a life change", and then introduce you to your new best friend, the measuring cup, while seating you next to your second new best friend- a family size bag of spinach).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can imagine, this is very traumatic for me, because a) I had to admit that I have too. much. fat. and b) I had to admit that I. need. help. with loosing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*gulping humble pie*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soooo, here we go.  But hey, at 2 lbs/week (I hope), I can be about 16 lbs lighter by June 1.  That would be cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, but wait.  I joined WW for free for 7 days, which is good, because then I got to wondering... should I be doing Bob Green's "Best Life" diet instead????  Anyone????&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-6778613772341435134?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/6778613772341435134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=6778613772341435134' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/6778613772341435134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/6778613772341435134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2008/03/biting-fingernails-sighing-nervously.html' title='*biting fingernails* *sighing nervously*'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-9218970092389200013</id><published>2008-02-27T14:34:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T14:44:29.079-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Etc</title><content type='html'>So Bonni is still a big pain in the ass.  Nothing has changed there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm running again, and trying to loose weight.  BUT NOT DIETING.  Because that's just too much pressure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm *averting eyes, avoiding people's "looks"* actually enjoying running.  I. know.  I really can't believe it.  I'm running every other day, and walking every other day, and I'm finding that I enjoy the running days better.  I'm doing that running thing I was doing last summer, but this time it's much easier... so my body must remember SOMETHING from then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also not eating after 7 (ish) pm.  I'm HUNGRY, but I tell myself that all my "stores" will get used up this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also realizing that exercising is more of a mental challenge for me than a physical one.  When I'm running and I feel like stopping, I ask myself- does your body or your brain want to stop?  And it's usually my brain.  What the fuck?  All these years I thought my BODY was too out of shape, and here it's my MENTAL STATE that needs some work.  Huh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like to talk about dieting/trying to loose weight/exercising too much with my BrinkandMortar peeps, b/c then I feel as if they are sizing me up all the time, wondering if I'm "sticking with it".  Which is why I'm sharing this with you, my apartment sisters. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also starting to think that maybe, just maybe we are done having kids.  This is huge.  I've never thought this way before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm craving vegetables.  I usually like vegetables JUST FINE.  But now I'm &lt;em&gt;craving&lt;/em&gt; them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-9218970092389200013?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/9218970092389200013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=9218970092389200013' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/9218970092389200013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/9218970092389200013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2008/02/etc.html' title='Etc'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-1565145497107707434</id><published>2008-01-23T22:20:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T22:25:02.559-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Confession</title><content type='html'>I'm hosting playgroup at my house tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I emailed everyone sorta last minute (which is "normal" for our group).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know Bonni doesn't check her email often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't heard back from her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't call her to make sure she knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't really want to see her.  She IS invited, yes.  But I'm not going out of my way to ensure she knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels a bit catty and "typical woman"-ish to act this way towards her.  Like I said, she IS invited.  But sometimes I just can't rally.  I just couldn't make myself pick up the phone and call her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just letting the cards fall.  I'm not preventing her from being with our shared playgroup friends.  I'm not trying to exclude her.  Heck, if she came, I'd even be happy to see her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it still feels a bit... mean?  immature?  to know she probably doesn't know about it and not do anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am lame.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-1565145497107707434?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/1565145497107707434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=1565145497107707434' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/1565145497107707434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/1565145497107707434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2008/01/confession.html' title='Confession'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-4642543667782208960</id><published>2008-01-17T21:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-19T15:57:58.842-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A person who really annoys me</title><content type='html'>I don't like Bonni. She's rigid and rant-y and NEGATIVE all the time. When she talks about situations she's been in, all the other people are so &lt;em&gt;stupid, &lt;/em&gt;even though she doesn't SAY that. It's in the way that she tells her stories- NO ONE has ANY brain cells but HER. She drags me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, Bonni is EVERYWHERE. She's at my work, my church, my playgroup, my book club, my baby&amp;amp;me class... BTW, all of these places were "mine" first, except for our playgroup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She competitive with me. I always feel like she thinks she's &lt;em&gt;better&lt;/em&gt; than me, and that she wants others to see that she is better than me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's unnecessarily aggressive about certain things- at work she called our boss TWICE to say that SHE wanted to teach with me when our friend Pammy moves in February. This was not "the way" of things at work- the calendar of classes is set out, and anyone is free to sign up for any class. Most of us have classes that we usually teach, and there is an unspoken seniority rule- those of us with more experience tend to teach certain classes. SHE is the newest, therefore not the next "natural" person to teach those classes. AND she didn't&lt;em&gt; need&lt;/em&gt; to call our boss and "claim" her spot. It would have been more natural to wait and see if anyone else- WITH MORE EXPERIENCE- signed up in Pammy's place, and if not, offer to do it. Going to our boss, off hours, TWICE, was territorial and silly. (Our boss told me of these phone calls.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's controlling. Very, very controlling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like she's squeezing me out of my own life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am very secure in my friendships in all of our shared arenas. In every case, except playgroup, I've been a part of that group for YEARS longer than she, and don't feel threatened by people "liking her better" or anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet, it continues to BUG THE SHIT out of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; problem, and least to a large degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I let it bother me so much? Why do I care? What is she triggering in me that her presence makes me effing crazy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the questions that are weighing on me lately.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-4642543667782208960?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/4642543667782208960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=4642543667782208960' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/4642543667782208960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/4642543667782208960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2008/01/person-who-really-annoys-me.html' title='A person who really annoys me'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-3754427495543901089</id><published>2008-01-15T18:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-15T18:20:31.765-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Confession about diets</title><content type='html'>I've never been on a diet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not Weight Watchers, not Slim Fast, not South Beach or Atkins. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NEVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not to say that I don't NEED to, um... diet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had "health kicks" in the past, where I've focused on physical fitness and eating better.  To be honest, I eat pretty healthy meals, but have some trouble controlling myself around sweets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also can't control myself around avocados, but whatev.  They're "good fats".  AND SO YUMMY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So um, I'm &lt;em&gt;thinking &lt;/em&gt;about trying that silly Oprah and Bob Best Life thingy.  Because I really like "programs" that have "authority" and can lead me on a straight and narrow path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, everyone knows New Year's Resolutions don't start until January 15th, right?  (I just made that up.  Besides, after how today went, I'll have to edit that to January &lt;strong&gt;16th&lt;/strong&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whadda ya think.  Should I do it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-3754427495543901089?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/3754427495543901089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=3754427495543901089' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/3754427495543901089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/3754427495543901089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2008/01/confession-about-diets.html' title='Confession about diets'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1826873501541938891.post-7546095684919076528</id><published>2008-01-14T14:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T14:46:07.072-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Crap, you guys</title><content type='html'>I think I really messed things up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to create this NEW! SECRET! blog under my old account, because I'm IMPAIRED in a way yet to be diagnosed, I guess, and I've messed everything up royally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't post comments anywhere w/o it showing up as C4, and I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't have time to mess with it. I'm going to have to stick my husband on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here I wanted a SECRET pink "all girls, no boy help needed" place, and the first thing I do is go and fuck everything up and then need to ask him for help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I can trust he won't read this, if I ask him not to...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;+++++++++++&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so you are probably wondering who I am. I want YOU to know, my fellow bloggers, just not the half dozen people I know in BrickandMortar life to know....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's a few clues:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My initials on my "other" blog are M.G.&lt;br /&gt;I have identical twin girls that will be 5 this month.&lt;br /&gt;I have a 15 month old daughter WHO DOESN'T SLEEP.&lt;br /&gt;I live in a very small town, and I miss Target and Starbucks.&lt;br /&gt;I love to read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Got it yet? Email me if you need confirmation. constancethefourth at gmail dot com.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;+++++++++++&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, since this new pink apartment has the feel of a slumber party, I'll share this with you:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband got me a vibrator for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;And he had me open it in front of my whole family!&lt;br /&gt;AND he wanted to get one that was NOT anatomical-looking, since our YOUNG CHILDREN would be looking on. So he ended up getting this SMALL aqua colored one- the least "dildo-ish" looking of the bunch.&lt;br /&gt;I started opening it, realized what it was, and tried to discreetly set it aside for later, but he was all- COME ON, OPEN IT. So I HAD to open it.&lt;br /&gt;Turns out, most of my siblings were in on the secret.&lt;br /&gt;Of course, they all thought it was SO FUNNY. I guess I did too.&lt;br /&gt;Except.&lt;br /&gt;Now my family think I PREFER it SMALL or something, since he gave me such a small one. Or they think HE'S lacking (which I guess is his bag to carry, but still).&lt;br /&gt;And I didn't feel like I could, in good taste, say No, really, I like it big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I feel compelled to tell you that he would NEVER do something like that in front of HIS OWN family, and actually, the whole situation was VERY out of character for him. Which, I guess, made it funnier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I still can't believe it. I opened a dildo in front of my whole family!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone else have any slumber party stories to share?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1826873501541938891-7546095684919076528?l=constancethefourth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/feeds/7546095684919076528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1826873501541938891&amp;postID=7546095684919076528' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/7546095684919076528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1826873501541938891/posts/default/7546095684919076528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancethefourth.blogspot.com/2008/01/crap-you-guys.html' title='Crap, you guys'/><author><name>Marie Green</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9lSte24azbc/SxYBrivj_qI/AAAAAAAAAyU/QgUVoegYbYY/S220/100_1052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry></feed>
