<?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-7636269836995355264</id><updated>2012-02-06T22:00:28.510-08:00</updated><category term='Baseball'/><category term='Pregnancy'/><category term='Thomas the tank engine'/><category term='Smog'/><category term='Angels'/><category term='Farts'/><category term='I was right'/><category term='Diner'/><category term='Thanksgiving'/><category term='School Bus'/><category term='Bad Word'/><category term='Ex-Husband'/><category term='Cotton Candy'/><category term='Hunger strike'/><category term='Chicken Shit'/><category term='Poop'/><category term='Recall'/><category term='Antepartum Depression'/><title type='text'>The Chronicles of Raisin Boy</title><subtitle type='html'>The on going tale of Raisin Boy and his Mamma</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636269836995355264.post-8190514534355820343</id><published>2007-11-23T18:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T19:01:19.365-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thanksgiving'/><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>Of course Thanksgiving makes me think of the things I am thankful for like my health, my son, my Mother for bringing me into this world…ya know the usual stuff.&lt;br /&gt;It also makes me remember Thanksgivings past..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a small child it was being dragged unwillingly to my family in Pennsylvania.  While there my Uncle proceeded to drink himself into a stupor and yell at everyone for breathing and getting into knock down drag out fist fights with my cousin.&lt;br /&gt;When my Dad decided he wanted to see me I was brought to the country in upstate New York where I could hardly breathe due to allergy induce asthma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my teen years it was arguing with my Uncle asking him to speak kindly to people instead of yelling.  Thanksgiving with my Dad consisted of more asthma attacks, sneaking dying relatives out of the nursing home and being berated by my father for the decisions I have made and even some I haven’t made yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As an adult the Thanksgivings got better because I no longer had to be submitted to the various forms of verbal abuse that came from both sides of my family.  They became times for those of us who didn’t have family close by to get together and break bread with no familial drama to destroy the holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the Thanksgiving of 2003….my son was 3 months old and his Father was still a raging alcoholic and drug user.  We spent Thanksgiving day at his parents house with the baby, he and his dad polished off a whole bottle of Crown Royal before it was time to go home leaving me, of course, to drive, tired with my terribly infected breasts about to burst and a screaming baby in the back seat.  All the way home I was hounded by my drunken husband to take him to the bar….Where he really needed to be was home with his wife and son sleeping it off.  Arriving home after my final denial to his continued debauchery I proceeded to bring the baby upstairs to relieve my self with a hot compress and feeding.  When I came back downstairs my husband was no where to be found.  I went into the garage and there was no car, no stroller, no car seat….no way to transport my child should something happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After panicking, trying to call him and getting angry I finally fell asleep only to wake up at 8 AM to still no husband.  That is when I had had enough…it was time to get his parents involved…. I called them and told them everything…how he spent most of my pregnancy drunk, coked up or hung over; how hung over and useless he was during my labor to the point of falling asleep in my room while I labored to deliver our son; how even after the baby was born he still thought it was ok to go out on a Friday night and not come home until Sunday; how he left me stranded the night before to go out to the bar and drink some more.  It wasn’t very long after that when I consulted a divorce attorney and by July of 2004 I was done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now three years after my divorce I am back to spending Thanksgiving with my friends, collaborating on delicious turkey, stuffing and cranberry relish.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even still it is hard for me to forget the Thanksgivings past.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-8190514534355820343?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8190514534355820343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=8190514534355820343' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/8190514534355820343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/8190514534355820343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/11/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-6096326590216440996</id><published>2007-11-21T10:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T10:49:01.370-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Out of the mouth of a Raisin Boy</title><content type='html'>The other day while driving home from school out of the blue &lt;br /&gt;The Boy says:  "Tia is my girlfriend."&lt;br /&gt;Mom: "I thought Gigi was your girl friend"&lt;br /&gt;The Boy: "Yea, Tia and Gigi and Lauren are all my girlfriends"&lt;br /&gt;Mom:  "Oh really???"&lt;br /&gt;The Boy:  "Yea...and when I am done with them there will be more girls."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cracked up so hard...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-6096326590216440996?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6096326590216440996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=6096326590216440996' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/6096326590216440996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/6096326590216440996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/11/out-of-mouth-of-raisin-boy.html' title='Out of the mouth of a Raisin Boy'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-9088907730404258146</id><published>2007-09-21T20:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T16:43:44.158-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='School Bus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Smog'/><title type='text'>School bus rant</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/Rv2NAf_LxBI/AAAAAAAAACU/wkY11ZpcCWQ/s1600-h/School+bus.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/Rv2NAf_LxBI/AAAAAAAAACU/wkY11ZpcCWQ/s200/School+bus.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115399791488779282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some one is always ranting about the state of our environment and here in California it is all about the automobile emissions. You have to have your car smog tested ever other year before you can register the damn thing. You look at local news reports or newspapers and there are people dedicated to determining the healthfulness of the air on that day. We spend alot of money on trying to reduce the amount of pollution that we put into the atmosphere via out collective exhaust pipes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Raisin Boy gets older by the day and I have to start thinking about kindergarten and school districts I have been focusing mainly on, API test scores, parent involvement numbers and weather the school is accredited by one organization or another. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I have neglected to research is how long my child is going to be on the school bus. Not only will he have to deal with the typical jitters of riding the bus alone, fear of harassment by his peers and the ever scary bus driver who yells at you to sit down. He will also have to be exposed to the incredible amount of crap that comes out of the rear end of the bus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only bring this up because it never fails that I am sitting behind a school bus at a light to have it take off and smog me and my car to the point that I cant see if the light is still green.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It gets me to thinking about how fucking hypocritical our state is. You berate us for being "gross polluters" and make us spend an extraordinary amount of dough on our vehicles to bring them up to code yet there are schools being built next to some of the nastiest freeways in LA and our kids are being sent to said school in some of the worst polluting vehicles on the streets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just pisses me the fuck off!!!! So much for the preservation of our youth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-9088907730404258146?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/9088907730404258146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=9088907730404258146' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/9088907730404258146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/9088907730404258146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/09/school-bus-rant.html' title='School bus rant'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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/_g415PsFwrvM/Rv2NAf_LxBI/AAAAAAAAACU/wkY11ZpcCWQ/s72-c/School+bus.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636269836995355264.post-4935972555294617752</id><published>2007-09-11T10:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-11T10:47:45.779-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chicken Shit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bad Word'/><title type='text'>Bad Words</title><content type='html'>over the last few days Raisin Boy has been testing the limits of language.&lt;br /&gt;Sunday while at a friends house my friend came in from the garden after fertilizing his berry bushes with Chicken Manure and blurted out &lt;em&gt;"I'm covered in Chicken Shit"&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Next thing I know Raisin Boy is squawking &lt;em&gt;"Chicken Shit!! Chicken Shit"&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Great!!!!&lt;br /&gt;Then this morning I get up to take a shower leaving the Boy to sleep in my bed. When I return he has turned on the TV in my room and is watching a movie on HBO about basketball which must have had some not so appropriate language in it. When I sat down on the bed he asked me &lt;em&gt;"Mom...Can I say Crap?" &lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;OH LORD&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-4935972555294617752?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4935972555294617752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=4935972555294617752' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/4935972555294617752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/4935972555294617752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/09/bad-words.html' title='Bad Words'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-1634625489872424883</id><published>2007-08-16T15:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T15:26:02.356-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poop'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I was right'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Farts'/><title type='text'>It’s my body!!!</title><content type='html'>I think most kids Raisin Boy’s age are obsessed with their bodies.  Boys in particular are obsessed with their bodily functions and those of any living breathing creature. That coupled with the fact that both his Dad and my Boyfriend have both taught him to play “The Fart Game” &lt;em&gt;(I guess it’s a guy thing)&lt;/em&gt; have brought about a number of questions in regards to how his body works.&lt;br /&gt;So, when I was at Costco last week I bought a series of books about the body that included &lt;u&gt;Scabs,&lt;/u&gt; &lt;u&gt;The Holes in Our Nose&lt;/u&gt;, &lt;u&gt;The Gas We Pass, The Story of Farts&lt;/u&gt;, and &lt;u&gt;Everyone Poops&lt;/u&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;I figured it would be a good way to explain things in a manner that he can understand since I, obviously, have not been doing a very good job.&lt;br /&gt;Well a week later and what feels like a few hundred readings later he is even more obsessed with his poop and farts than ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“Where do the kitties poop?” “Why?”&lt;br /&gt;“Do duckies poop?...Why?”&lt;br /&gt;“No!!! Duckie. Don’t. Poop. In. The. Poooooool.”&lt;br /&gt;“My tummy hurts.. I think I have to poop”&lt;br /&gt;“That man just farted in the store…”&lt;br /&gt;You farted Mommy…you stink!!!”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;The funny part about the whole thing is that my Mother was mortified by the fact that I even bought these books for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“Great….like he needs to focus more on his own farts!!!”&lt;/strong&gt; she exclaims.&lt;br /&gt;To which my response was “&lt;strong&gt;He’s a boy Ma….Boys are gross…Boys are obsessed with their bodily functions…What do you know you’ve only raised a girl!!!!&lt;/strong&gt; (&lt;em&gt;Gasp… Silence...waiting for the wrath&lt;/em&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;Then she says…Wait for it… &lt;strong&gt;“I know you’re right…I guess he is just curious.”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Yessssssssssssss…..Woo hooo hooo hooo hoooo …She actually said I‘m right…Mark this day in history!!!!)&lt;/em&gt;&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess even kids are right...sometimes ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-1634625489872424883?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1634625489872424883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=1634625489872424883' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/1634625489872424883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/1634625489872424883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/08/its-my-body.html' title='It’s my body!!!'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-3633519937630826738</id><published>2007-08-10T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-10T11:18:19.527-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ex-Husband'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pregnancy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Antepartum Depression'/><title type='text'>I hated being pregnant!!!!</title><content type='html'>This post is inspired by the post over on Strollerderby about Antepartum Depression &lt;a href="http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/strollerderby/archive/2007/08/10/antepartum-depression-not-every-pregnant-woman-glows.aspx"&gt;http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/strollerderby/archive/2007/08/10/antepartum-depression-not-every-pregnant-woman-glows.aspx&lt;/a&gt;  (Sorry I still don't know how to embed links...I'm still new at this blogging thing)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me just say this&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“I HATED BEING PREGNANT”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were two factors I believe responsible for this terrible pregnancy experience. First my own body and second my husband at the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I got prego, I was on a bunch of drugs, antidepressants and stimulants for ADD. All of which I just stopped taking when I found out I was in a family way. To top it off I was a smoker so I quit that cold turkey too!!&lt;br /&gt;You can just imagine all that plus the raging pregnancy hormones!!!! Talk about a nightmare.&lt;br /&gt;My OB was pissed when I told him I had stopped taking all the meds.&lt;br /&gt;I had one thing to say to that&lt;br /&gt;“Can you show me the studies that have been done that prove with no doubt that continuing to take those meds would do ab&lt;em&gt;s&lt;/em&gt;olutely NO HARM to my baby?”&lt;br /&gt;My OB responded “There have never been studies done on pregnant women about the dangers of taking antidepressants or stimulants…that would be highly unethical.”&lt;br /&gt;“OK so problem solved…no proof…no meds….sorry Doctor D you’re gonna have to deal with a raving, withdrawing lunatic for the next 10 months.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Just as a side note: I am a doctors worst patient because I don’t take what they say as gospel and I believe in, and work very hard at, being my own advocate…They don’t particularly like that…but that is just me…I am educated, I work in health care and if doesn’t sit right with me I am not going to do it!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In addition to these things, I was uncomfortably huge, pregnant in the summer time, couldn’t get cool no matter what I tried. Three months into the whole ordeal I was over it, I wanted my body back, I wanted to sit on the beach with a cigarette and a beer and not have to worry about anything. I wasn’t high risk, I never got sick. In fact, the first and only time I threw up was when the anesthesiologist gave me the heavy epidural to do my c-section. Kinda funny I puked grape Popsicle and ice chips all over him LOL.&lt;br /&gt;I hated being pregnant so much that I was begging my doctor to tie my tubes while he was in there just so it wouldn’t happen again.  He said NO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other factor… my husband at the time: HE WAS A DICK!!! This is why we are not married anymore. He drank too much…when he did come home he stank… Used drugs…in fact when I was bout 7 months pregnant I came down stairs to find my idiot husband and his retarded friends cutting lines of coke on my dining room table at 4 AM. Everyone including my husband felt the wrath of a 200 pound whale flipping their coked out asses out the door. This behavior continued after the baby was born…he would go out on a Friday night and not come home until Sunday…binge drinking and druggin his life away…WITH A F*&amp;amp;%$#G NEWBORN AT HOME. He was just generally unsupportive through out the pregnancy and afterwards. In fact I can safely say that most of the reason why I wasn’t as successful with breastfeeding was mainly his fault….he would pick fights with me while I was trying to breastfeed in those first few weeks….yeah I know…a dick right!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of the stress during pregnancy, I have been told have some adverse effects on the babies. Effects such as hearing loss and speech delays. Raisin Boy was speech delayed but is fine now, very smart, clever and as headstrong as his parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now would I have enjoyed pregnancy a little bit more had all these things been different? Maybe, but doubtful. Do I want to do it again…not really. Would I do it again with the right person…wouldn’t be my first choice of ways to have more kids…But I guess so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-3633519937630826738?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3633519937630826738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=3633519937630826738' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/3633519937630826738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/3633519937630826738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-hated-being-pregnant.html' title='I hated being pregnant!!!!'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-7915705765123190952</id><published>2007-07-30T20:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T20:22:29.521-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hunger strike'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diner'/><title type='text'>Hunger Strike</title><content type='html'>There come times in a Mamma's life when she is truly sure she has made the wrong decision...This is one of them&lt;br /&gt;After school I told Raisin Boy we were going to go to the grocery store to get stuff for diner. He really wanted to go to the park, I said "No Park tonight" we have to go get food for diner.&lt;br /&gt;While in the store he proceeded to battle with me about pushing the cart then hit some one with it. He then decided he wasn't going to "be my friend" and walked away from me, in the middle of the busy store. I chased, leaving my cart and my purse in the middle of another aisle. Now if this had been me 35 years ago my mother would have left me there and kept shopping...very tempting but not something I am willing to do in this age of freaks.&lt;br /&gt;Here is where I made the mistake....&lt;br /&gt;I said: "you have until I count to three to get up off the floor and come be with me by the cart otherwise we are leaving the cart, the food and your treats and going straight home &lt;em&gt;(then, it came out of my mouth)&lt;/em&gt; and you can go to bed with out diner."&lt;em&gt;(&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;uggggggg&lt;/span&gt;...as soon as I said i could have kicked my self&lt;/em&gt;). "1&lt;em&gt;-"(please get up)&lt;/em&gt; "2-" &lt;em&gt;(oh god, please don't do this...please get up)&lt;/em&gt; "3-" &lt;em&gt;(shit. shit. shit. shit).&lt;/em&gt; "That's it get up we are leaving!!!!" (&lt;em&gt;Oh great no I have to follow through on this fuck!!!)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then walked out of the grocery story with no groceries, hence no food for diner.&lt;br /&gt;Therefore, you got it, NO DINER!!!&lt;br /&gt;I have actually sent my son to bed with no diner. I have always felt this method of punishment was old-fashioned and unacceptable but what was I supposed to do??? I threatened it so there fore I had to follow through. RIGHT? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ug&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-7915705765123190952?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7915705765123190952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=7915705765123190952' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/7915705765123190952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/7915705765123190952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/07/hunger-strike.html' title='Hunger Strike'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-8621197105638882317</id><published>2007-07-30T19:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T19:35:13.118-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Angels'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cotton Candy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Baseball'/><title type='text'>Take me out to the ball game</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/Rq6eKO3zYKI/AAAAAAAAABU/11vZNRhk5D0/s1600-h/DSC02024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093182127230640290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/Rq6eKO3zYKI/AAAAAAAAABU/11vZNRhk5D0/s200/DSC02024.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I took Raisin Boy to his very first Baseball Game this weekend &lt;div align="center"&gt;Angels vs. Tigers&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Thde Angels won 12 - 4 what a blow out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093182556727369906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/Rq6ejO3zYLI/AAAAAAAAABc/YC2nhB2N46M/s200/DSC02025.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He had Cotton Candy for the very first time. Boy did I regret that one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He was spun just like the sugar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093182896029786306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/Rq6e2-3zYMI/AAAAAAAAABk/rnKP8Vvnsy0/s200/Copy+of+Julian_at_Angel_Game%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt; After the game all of the kids were invited to go down on to the field and run the bases.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I think he is hooked!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He hasnt been able to talk about anything since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&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/7636269836995355264-8621197105638882317?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8621197105638882317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=8621197105638882317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/8621197105638882317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/8621197105638882317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/07/take-me-out-to-ball-game.html' title='Take me out to the ball game'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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/_g415PsFwrvM/Rq6eKO3zYKI/AAAAAAAAABU/11vZNRhk5D0/s72-c/DSC02024.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636269836995355264.post-2338145897523475096</id><published>2007-07-26T16:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-26T16:39:15.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why?</title><content type='html'>Mamma:  "Why do I have to yell at you to get you to do something?  Or ask you to do it 15 times?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Juju B &lt;em&gt;(with the most serious look on his face and hand on my knee trying to soothe me cuz I am so upset) &lt;/em&gt;"Because I'm a Boy"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True Dat Raisin Boy!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-2338145897523475096?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2338145897523475096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=2338145897523475096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/2338145897523475096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/2338145897523475096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/07/why.html' title='Why?'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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-7636269836995355264.post-8286491660166848161</id><published>2007-06-14T13:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T14:09:54.614-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Recall'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Thomas the tank engine'/><title type='text'>James is banished from Sodor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/RnGsbdHPgCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/XhTnYALIFHs/s1600-h/180px-JamesTTTE1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076027842694709282" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/RnGsbdHPgCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/XhTnYALIFHs/s200/180px-JamesTTTE1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; There is a new recall on Various Thomas &amp; Friends™ Wooden Railway Toys. Particularly James.&lt;br /&gt;That &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;arrogant &lt;/span&gt;little red engine who thinks he is better than everyone else Just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; he is red.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently this was the last naughty deed for James the Tender Locomotive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sir &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Toppum&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Hatt&lt;/span&gt; was cross with James and banished him from the Island of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Sodor&lt;/span&gt; for his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;indiscretion&lt;/span&gt; and putting the children in harms way by having a very high lead content in his 'shiny red paint'&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What a jerk he deserves it.&lt;br /&gt;Here is the link to the recall information with forms &lt;a href="http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml07/07212.html"&gt;http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml07/07212.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am going to have the pleasure of wrestling this damn toy away from the train obsessed Raisin Boy....ugggggg...there is going to be some serious trouble in the apartment universe tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-8286491660166848161?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8286491660166848161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=8286491660166848161' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/8286491660166848161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/8286491660166848161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/06/thomas-recall.html' title='James is banished from Sodor'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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/_g415PsFwrvM/RnGsbdHPgCI/AAAAAAAAAA0/XhTnYALIFHs/s72-c/180px-JamesTTTE1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636269836995355264.post-5616951972722877619</id><published>2007-06-14T07:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T07:58:13.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy's Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/RnFWh9HPgBI/AAAAAAAAAAs/R2dn8ka3HLg/s1600-h/DSC01898.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075933396363870226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/RnFWh9HPgBI/AAAAAAAAAAs/R2dn8ka3HLg/s200/DSC01898.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; What ever happened to that unspoken rule of be nice to your Mother on special days especially her birthday?&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have a well defined recollection of it but I think I was usually less of a pain in the ass to my mother on her birthday.&lt;br /&gt;This morning started well, with a very sweet little serenade from Raisin Boy of “Happy birthday Mommy” The morning song and cuddle session on the couch ended and what started was the usual toddler bullshit&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The constant repetition of the morning mantra of&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;“Please eat your breakfast”&lt;br /&gt;“Please brush your teeth”&lt;br /&gt;“Please get dressed”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then came the bribery&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“If you eat your breakfast like a good boy, brush your teeth and get dressed by your self Mommy will give you a sticker”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then came the threatening&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“If you don’t go and sit down and finish your breakfast I am going to take your bowl away.”&lt;br /&gt;“If you are not up on this stool brushing your teeth by the time I count to 3….”&lt;br /&gt;“We can either do this the hard way or the easy way..It’s your choice”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then came the frustration&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ugggggggggggggggg get in your car seat”&lt;br /&gt;“Ugggggggggggggggg get out of the car we are late for school and I am late for work”&lt;br /&gt;“We do the same thing every morning, why do you have to give me such a hard time?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then came my own guilt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;“Was I too hard on him?”&lt;br /&gt;“Was I too demanding?”&lt;br /&gt;“He is going to be with his dad for the next few days I am going to miss him, I didn’t want the last few minutes we spent together to be like that”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This 3 and a ½ year age is so challenging for me between the constant dawdling, the lack of communication skills and inability to understand the importance of time I am going insane. I have also come to the conclusion that the be-nice-to-your-mother-on-her-birthday rule doesn’t apply to 3 year olds. I wonder when it will apply…. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-5616951972722877619?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5616951972722877619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=5616951972722877619' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/5616951972722877619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/5616951972722877619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/06/mommys-birthday.html' title='Mommy&apos;s Birthday'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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/_g415PsFwrvM/RnFWh9HPgBI/AAAAAAAAAAs/R2dn8ka3HLg/s72-c/DSC01898.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636269836995355264.post-6772409938798041504</id><published>2007-06-06T21:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T22:38:55.143-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What kind of animal are you today?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/RmeKfNHPf-I/AAAAAAAAAAU/O2rCQdgcT5Y/s1600-h/DSC01858.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073175773956767714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_g415PsFwrvM/RmeKfNHPf-I/AAAAAAAAAAU/O2rCQdgcT5Y/s200/DSC01858.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I never know what the day has in store for me when I wake up to Raisin Boy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In this case it is more like what kind of animal Mommy am I going to get to be today. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night before bed I was a Frog Mommy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This morning I was a Duck Mommy...I got to teach Raisin Boy about &lt;em&gt;"quack quack waddle waddle"&lt;/em&gt; (yes I know dating myself here)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After school and at the park I got to be a Kitty Mommy&lt;br /&gt;Tonight before bed I was a Bear Mommy...Just like the book &lt;em&gt;"I love my Mommy"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder what kind of Animal I will get to be tomorrow&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope it is something exotic like a PeaHen or a Parrot.&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/7636269836995355264-6772409938798041504?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6772409938798041504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=6772409938798041504' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/6772409938798041504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/6772409938798041504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/06/what-kind-of-animal-are-you-today.html' title='What kind of animal are you today?'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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/_g415PsFwrvM/RmeKfNHPf-I/AAAAAAAAAAU/O2rCQdgcT5Y/s72-c/DSC01858.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636269836995355264.post-7363121818903575262</id><published>2007-06-06T12:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T21:47:24.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who is Raisin Boy?</title><content type='html'>Name: Raisin Boy&lt;br /&gt;Rank: Junior Super Hero&lt;br /&gt;Age: 3.5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aliases: Juju B, BooBoo, Germ&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Likes: Long baths, swims in the pool, eating, anything on the Disney Chanel, construction sites. Raisins of course.&lt;br /&gt;Dislikes: Monsters, hand washing, nap time, leaving the park&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Raisin Boy is 3.5 years old and is the light of Mamma's life.  He eats enough rasins to keep &lt;em&gt;sunmaid&lt;/em&gt; in business and would eat nothing but raisins if I let him.  But the creation of Raisin Boy happened about 6 months ago when the boy wouldn't get out of the tub. So i let him freeze his butt off for as long as he wanted to and by the time he "wanted out" I said his fingers looked like Raisins.&lt;br /&gt;That night the superhero leaders of the world knighted the boy into their superhero world and bestowed upon him his superhero cape-towel. Feeling so proud of his elevated station in life he donned his cape with self-confidence and proceeded to fly naked through our tiny little apartment&lt;br /&gt;"dun dun dun - Raisin Boy!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;That fateful night Raisin Boy performed heroic duties through out the apartment universe .&lt;br /&gt;He rescued at least 10 boats and "guys" from the perils of the freezing cold bath water.&lt;br /&gt;He put him self in harms way to save the kitties from the trail of ants that found their way in through the patio door.&lt;br /&gt;And He heroically agreed to sleep with the teddy-bears from closet town in a effort to prevent them from being consumed by the monsters that sometimes frequent the small dark town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk about sacrifice...What a hero&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636269836995355264-7363121818903575262?l=raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7363121818903575262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636269836995355264&amp;postID=7363121818903575262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/7363121818903575262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636269836995355264/posts/default/7363121818903575262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raisinboychronicles.blogspot.com/2007/06/who-is-raisin-boy.html' title='Who is Raisin Boy?'/><author><name>Raisin Boy's Mamma</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04107468446793151826</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></feed>
