Um, God could have left spiders off his "to-make" list

I'm in Time-Out. Not the fun, uplifting, sponsored by Deseret Book, kind. The "I'm-so-mad-I-could-spit-nails-so-I'd-better-remove-myself-from-the-public" kind. Earlier this evening my husband and I were out running errands. All was right with the world. We got home, I hopped out of the car and went around back to wait for the trunk to pop so I could get our groceries out. From my peripheral vision I could see something LARGE moving across the brick on my house. It was the giganticest >yes I said GIGANTICEST< spider I have seen since moving to the Pacific Northwest! I calmly waited for Ron to get out of the car, and as calmly as I could say...trying not to freak out in front of the entire neighborhood...I told him to get some spider spray or poison or something that would kill the heck out of that thing. He (my husband) mosies on up the steps and comes sauntering on back with...(have I given you an idea how slow he's going)...a SHOE! I still have my eye on the spider 'cause I don't want him escaping so we can't kill it, and Ron brings a flippin' SHOE??? Then he tries to smash him and it's like a game of whack-a-mole. So I go and grab the first poisonous looking spray I can see which happens to be wasp spray, and I spray every inch of house, brick, siding, flower bed, neighbors dog (ok not the neighbors dog) I'm sure the spider is just laughing as he makes a clean getaway! By now I AM freaking the heck out! And I am fit to be tied! I HATE spiders. HATE. Did I make myself clear on that? They FREAK me OUT like nobodys business!! And the fact that this one got away. Grrr!

So many talents, so little time

My grandchildren make me laugh! This is Logan, age 5, he learned a new trick...from his MOMMY! Which I find hysterical!!

A good mommy lets you "DO" her hair

A GREAT mommy let's you "do" her hair with LEGOS!

It's not what you look at, it's what you see...

My Visiting Teachers came this morning. I answered the door in my robe and p.j.'s. Yeah, there, I said it. I answered the door and invited them in, and I hadn't even brushed my teeth yet. And let's call it like it is, I'm no Natural Beauty. I know. You're shocked, right? I'm sure they were thinking: "That Ron is a luck-ee man." {Insert sarcasm here}. But they were super sweet and acted like they didn't notice the gigantor cyclopse zit in the middle of my forhead, or my matted hair. But what my dear friend did notice was these little pansies growing in the seams of my driveway. They must have been blown there from last year's flower pots that were placed by the openings of the garage doors. A true friend looks past the fact that it's after noon and you're still wearing your robe that has dried egg stuck on it, you have matted hair and unbrushed teeth, and tells you you have beautiful tiny pansies growing on your driveway. I am the luckiest girl in the world!

He planted a seed in the '60's...

I've been going through boxes of old pictures and family history looking for something (anything) that might have my blood type information on it. It's crazy how the littlest bits of the puzzle can stop up the whole mission application process. While I was digging through the boxes (you should see my art room, Holy Cow!), I came across my mom's Certificate of Baptism and Confirmation, dated March 22, 1964. My mother was a convert to the Church, and she went into the waters of baptism while she was 8 months pregnant with my youngest sister. The certificate says that her baptism was performed by John Lyman Sadlier. I have often wondered about the Elders who taught and then baptized my mom. Would they know what a profound difference they made in her life and in generations after her? Because of two Elders serving in the Hawaii, Honolulu mission, I am preparing to serve a mission with my husband, 48 years later. I had to know if "Elder" Sadlier was still alive so I could thank him. With the help of the Internet, I looked up and found five people with his name. Figuring he now had to be between 67 and 69 years old helped me narrow it down to one. I got brave and dialed the number. A woman answered the phone. I asked to speak to John Sadlier. The woman on the other end said he wasn't in the office, "could she take a message?" Like the dork that I can sometimes be, I said this wasn't a business call it was more personal in nature. Realizing what that might have sounded like even as the words were leaving my mouth, I quickly asked, "Is this his wife?" I really should have brushed up on my "woman finding old missionary who baptized mom", etiquette. Sheesh! Anyway, after awkwardly explaining who I was, and extracting from her that her husband did, indeed, serve a mission to Hawaii in the 60's, we had a nice conversation and she couldn't have been more gracious. I gave her my cell number and she said she would be excited (probably relieved is more like it) to give him the message and let him know everything we had talked about. Going directly down my line...My mom was baptized, I was baptized, my mother's grand daughter was baptized and now at the end of this month, my mother's great-grand daughter will be baptized. Thank you Elder Sadlier.

Born To Run

I followed Ron (in my car, are ya kiddin' me??) on his run last Monday. He's going to run the Sound to Narrows again this year, so he wanted to do the course again...a refresher course, of course...C'mon, that made you smile a little bit, right? I do not understand what runners get out of running. I mean, yer talkin' to the girl who took a psychology class to get a needed P.E. credit her Senior year! I'll admit though, that I enjoyed observing his perfect form as I trailed behind him. The morning sunlight cast just enough shadow to beautifully define his calf muscles. The definition would disappear then reappear with each step, placing his landing foot directly under his body. His stride was even and rhythmic and he unknowingly kept time to the beat of Mindy Gledhill's Feather in the Wind, that was playing in my car. We leapfrogged part of the way. He would run ahead and I'd stay behind a bit, watching him. Then I'd drive ahead and park and wait for him to throw in, through the back window, the pungent article of clothing he'd removed as his body temperature acclimated to its environment. Occasionally he'd stop for a quick swig of Gatorade, then be off again. Between miles six and seven is the steepest part of the course, uphill. I fully expected him to slow down or stop or gag and throw up but he kept moving. I drove on past about two blocks and parked half way up the hill. I wanted to see the expression on his face when he was running up the Mt. Everest of the course. Determined was his look, but he had a smile for me just the same. "This is the worst part right here", he said, pointing to the road. Even the Honda was reacting to the gravitational pull of that hill. I'm happy to be his "support team", but I swear I'll never "get" it.