<?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-36306985</id><updated>2011-04-21T10:53:32.232-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When You Were Young</title><subtitle type='html'>We were all there once.... YOUNG.  Now we are older and wiser.  Not OLD as our kids would lke to believe.  Not retirement age.  Butnot full of the mistakes of youth.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-3058714701613762197</id><published>2007-04-06T21:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T21:09:09.197-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Age.....</title><content type='html'>you know you are getting old when you hve the choice.... sex or sleep and you would really prefer sleep.......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-3058714701613762197?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/3058714701613762197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=3058714701613762197' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/3058714701613762197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/3058714701613762197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/04/age.html' title='Age.....'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-7227434114443279514</id><published>2007-03-24T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-24T08:52:11.661-07:00</updated><title type='text'>unhappy</title><content type='html'>There are times when it would just be easier if my husband didn't come home.  How aweful does that sound?? He just gets so stressed out over little things so I find myself back in the same spot I was when I was a kid.  My father was hot tempered and abusive.  When things got bad I kept everyone out of his path.  Stressing out over anything anyone might do to set him off. &lt;br /&gt;Now I will say it outloud that NO my husband is NOT abusive in any way not toward me or the children at all EVER.  He just doesn't have it in him.  But that doesn't mean when he starts spinning up I don't naturally go back to what I know, what I knew as a child. &lt;br /&gt;It is &lt;strong&gt;SO&lt;/strong&gt; stressful.  It is hard for me to cope with.  I am not sure how much of that past I shared with my husband.  Over the years I have told him so much but have I shared it all? I cannot honestly remember. As much as I want to deny it, my past defines who I am and how I react today. In order to deal with me maybe understanding those thing would better help my husband?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-7227434114443279514?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/7227434114443279514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=7227434114443279514' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/7227434114443279514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/7227434114443279514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/03/unhappy.html' title='unhappy'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-7662369370308359126</id><published>2007-03-20T16:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T16:29:34.224-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Working</title><content type='html'>I am making a genuine EFFORT to work on our marriage.  It isn't in the crapper or anything but it has lost a lot in these last couple of years.  I enjoy being that annoyingly affectionate "long time" married couple.  I want that back, and we will get it back.  So I am using the tools we have at our disposal to get it done.  &lt;br /&gt;So there you have it.  I am pulling MYSELF out of this damn funk! I have started taking care of myself and tada I am determined.  And when I am determined Look out!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-7662369370308359126?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/7662369370308359126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=7662369370308359126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/7662369370308359126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/7662369370308359126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/03/working.html' title='Working'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-350373837430330501</id><published>2007-03-18T14:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T14:37:37.157-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So what</title><content type='html'>do you say.  Your husband admits to something (be it insignificant to most) that he knows bothers you.  My response? Thanks for being honest.  What the hell...thanks for being honest? Yeah we all know he was ONLY honest because he knows I would catch him eventually and he cannot hide anything from me.  We are talking about smoking here not cheating or anything.  I can smell it I can taste it when he kisses me I do NOT like it.  But everytime we are apart what does he do?? Smokes! At work, while deployed while TAD it doesn't matter.  As long as I am out of sight out of mind it is fine.  Does it end with just smoking? who the hell knows.&lt;br /&gt;Hey I guess the least he can do is get more life insurance for when he gets cancer and leaves us behind right?&lt;br /&gt;That jerk brought me to tears! TEARS! It is so not worth it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-350373837430330501?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/350373837430330501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=350373837430330501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/350373837430330501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/350373837430330501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/03/so-what.html' title='So what'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-5155597236480953848</id><published>2007-03-13T14:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T14:36:09.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Along</title><content type='html'>with the whole blahness (it's a new word shoosh) of the other post I have a need to go.  I have the get p and go bug.  Maybe it is because things ARE a alittle tough right now? Who knows? I would love to travel.  Somewhere where no one knows me, no one knows I am Mom and I can just relax and unwind. &lt;br /&gt;I would even love to travel as a family.  With dh on sea duty though he wants to just come home and STAY since he is gone so much.  He gets home and I want to go go go.  LeSigh I am such a tortured soul (not)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-5155597236480953848?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/5155597236480953848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=5155597236480953848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/5155597236480953848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/5155597236480953848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/03/along.html' title='Along'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-3006950282633874950</id><published>2007-03-13T14:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T14:26:41.044-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sigh</title><content type='html'>OK there is a lot going on in my  life.  I suppose mostly in my head haha.  If I weren't so young I would swear it was a mid life crisis.  I am bored.  Not that i do not have a ton to do but there is no excitement anymore.  I love my husband but there are times I miss the passion.  We have fallen into the rut of being Mom and Dad and working and keeping the house up, well you get the point.  I wonder at times if he is truly in love with me or if it is just comfortable.  I hope that makes sense.  I guess I should KNOW he loves me.  All he wants to do is be home with the family.  He loves being home.  &lt;br /&gt;I don't know maybe it is the sea duty blues? Maybe it is the fact that I barely get used to having him home again before he leaves...This YEAR I have had him home what 3 weeks? My God that is about right.... THREE weeks. I guess I can look forward to the honeymoon period when he gets back home right?&lt;br /&gt;Not to mention I am not happy with ME.  I have gained about 40 pounds since my youngest was born.  How in the world does that work? I gain 10 pounds and give birth to an almost 10 pound baby THEN gain 40 pounds AFTER the birth??? What in the hell? &lt;br /&gt;I have a decent self image.  I love myself, but I am not happy with the way things have gone lately.  &lt;br /&gt;I am not happy with the cleanliness of my home either. I slip into a darn funk and then do not do anything around the house.  The house gets cluttered and then I feel worse and overwhelmed because of the state of the house.  Round and round I go.&lt;br /&gt;OK WHEW that was a decent vent!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-3006950282633874950?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/3006950282633874950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=3006950282633874950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/3006950282633874950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/3006950282633874950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/03/sigh.html' title='sigh'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-9168614446377218399</id><published>2007-03-11T09:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-11T10:00:40.541-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I get the</title><content type='html'>urge to pick-up and go.  It isn't that I don't love my children, because I do.  But I remember whne I was younger I would pack-up get in the car and drive.  No destination, no plans no maps.  Just go.  I get that urge now.  If I could get a road trip partner too hell I would be good to go!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-9168614446377218399?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/9168614446377218399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=9168614446377218399' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/9168614446377218399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/9168614446377218399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/03/i-get.html' title='I get the'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-7321128358817595429</id><published>2007-01-19T14:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-19T14:53:21.537-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why doesn't</title><content type='html'>As I am checking the air in my tires today (yes the tires were low) I was asked "why don't you let your husband do that?" LOL The only thing better is they could have ended the sentence with "Little Missy" or something like that.  You know it is no ones business why I am doing it and my husband isn't.  It is also outrageous to think that because I am a woman I somehow am incapable of putting air into my tires.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-7321128358817595429?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/7321128358817595429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=7321128358817595429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/7321128358817595429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/7321128358817595429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/01/why-doesnt.html' title='Why doesn&apos;t'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-8734560653258849897</id><published>2007-01-16T17:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-16T17:53:25.844-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I am</title><content type='html'>not sure lately if the technology that keeps us connected is a good or bad thing. I was without internet for what? Two days? I was so lost.  OK not LOST but damn  I wanted the net back.  It sure as heck makes things easier.  I began to think about what DID I do before the internet.  I could come up with one answer.  I got out more LMAO&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-8734560653258849897?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/8734560653258849897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=8734560653258849897' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/8734560653258849897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/8734560653258849897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/01/i-am.html' title='I am'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-501525792750449909</id><published>2007-01-05T07:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-05T07:41:10.367-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saddam execution</title><content type='html'>You know I will add myself to the masses of people who turn their heads at car wrecks and watch the gore even though we are a bit repulsed by it.  I watched the actual hanging of Saddam.  Here is the thing I am not sure what it is exactly but I have SOOOO many doubts he is really dead.  He may very well be.  But that quality of recording and when it cut away it leaves you with a lot of doubts.  Well it leave ME with a lot of doubts.  I hear there is an 'official' tape by the Iraqi government not the shoddy cell phone video.  Maybe then I will believe it a bit more?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-501525792750449909?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/501525792750449909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=501525792750449909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/501525792750449909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/501525792750449909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2007/01/saddam-execution.html' title='Saddam execution'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-116529494635719855</id><published>2006-12-04T21:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-04T21:02:26.363-08:00</updated><title type='text'>back to</title><content type='html'>that song post.  Have you all seen that commercial where those guys are singing that "rock the casbah song by the Clash?  OMG "stop the catbox" LMAO&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-116529494635719855?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/116529494635719855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=116529494635719855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116529494635719855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116529494635719855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2006/12/back-to.html' title='back to'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-116276181273367656</id><published>2006-11-05T13:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-05T13:23:32.740-08:00</updated><title type='text'>have you ever</title><content type='html'>been in the car during your commute and you are listening to a song you belted out as a kid.  But this time you listen to the lyrics.... and think OMG I soooo did not know what this meant as a kid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-116276181273367656?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/116276181273367656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=116276181273367656' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116276181273367656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116276181273367656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2006/11/have-you-ever.html' title='have you ever'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-116197399072110599</id><published>2006-10-27T11:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-27T11:33:10.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I have</title><content type='html'>been thinking back to high school.  Man it seems I knew everything back then.  I used to laugh at it.  Now that I have a child approaching that age now, I cringe!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-116197399072110599?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/116197399072110599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=116197399072110599' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116197399072110599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116197399072110599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-have.html' title='I have'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36306985.post-116127690002341936</id><published>2006-10-19T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T09:55:00.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First post...</title><content type='html'>This is it the first post! &lt;br /&gt;Not much of a post either.  &lt;br /&gt;But I am still deciding what to make of the whole blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36306985-116127690002341936?l=youwereyoung.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/feeds/116127690002341936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36306985&amp;postID=116127690002341936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116127690002341936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36306985/posts/default/116127690002341936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://youwereyoung.blogspot.com/2006/10/first-post.html' title='First post...'/><author><name>Gina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12902685995297621398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_-n8hzxNzMG8/R4L6D_p0GEI/AAAAAAAAABw/Co0fUYfK1AY/S220/DSC00403.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
