tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post4474901957342202074..comments2024-03-28T17:29:41.606-05:00Comments on Not Just Another Mother Blogger!: A World Without LinesTMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-84256196750162527372011-12-05T23:10:30.619-06:002011-12-05T23:10:30.619-06:00I am anxious to check back in and see what boundar...I am anxious to check back in and see what boundary you decided to ignore today!Mayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-21967876947067961962011-12-05T16:31:01.087-06:002011-12-05T16:31:01.087-06:00I call my husband the Line Crosser. Draw one and h...I call my husband the Line Crosser. Draw one and he's bound to cross it. It's habitual for him now... in his world, lines are made to be crossed. In my world, lines are there for a good reason. Our worlds often violently collide!Betsyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15396590193590796633noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-82535548904398031252011-12-05T13:29:09.152-06:002011-12-05T13:29:09.152-06:00My dad taught me never to blindly accept the bound...My dad taught me never to blindly accept the boundaries placed upon us by other people. That one came back to bite him in the butt a few times.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-8293660515273042332011-12-05T10:36:01.677-06:002011-12-05T10:36:01.677-06:00muscles. . . not muscled. Stupid typo.muscles. . . not muscled. Stupid typo.Jimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11538573774184028004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-75767206882807370582011-12-05T10:35:29.888-06:002011-12-05T10:35:29.888-06:00When I was a kid we used to go with the "ski-...When I was a kid we used to go with the "ski-bus" up to Red Lodge Mountain every week during the winter and ski. I would routinely ignore the markings denoting the ski area boundary. And then I crashed, and pulled all the muscled in both legs so that I could barely stand. . . but nobody helped me, because all those dumbasses were nowhere to be found. . . skiing WITHIN the ski area boundaries. I skied out. . . very slowly. . . down the hill. . . very slowly. . . into the lodge. . . very slowly and removed my ski boots for the day. I walked funny for two weeks.<br /><br />If you have to pick a boundary. . . pick one other than "Ski Area". That's my advice.Jimhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11538573774184028004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-35239915452896220122011-12-05T05:59:06.796-06:002011-12-05T05:59:06.796-06:00Some boundaries are for poop heads!Some boundaries are for poop heads!Andreahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01294308714313220666noreply@blogger.com