Mother Load

Finally, I'm getting the pictures I've been promising. First up, the pirate party:

Here is my pirate family, paper hook and all. Note the scary bandanas. If we were actual pirates, people would jump overboard when they saw us. Ooh. Scary.



This is my niece, Abby with the treasure map that we used to march around the neighborhood. There was a brief argument and it was determined that the map was not drawn to scale.

Josh is carrying the inflatable sword that I wisely left with him as I ran back to my parents' house. I would be writing this from the Looney Bin had I been carrying it when I happened across the four teenagers.

This is my dad sword fighting with Josh. Note: the sword is INFLATABLE, so there's probably no reason to cower. However, it does look like four year old Josh has the upper hand. Also note that my dad is not wearing any pirate gear. Party Pooper.

This is us opening our treasure chest that we found under a stranger's deck. That's my brother Eric in the blue and my twin brother, Scott, with the sword. I'm not sure if Scott pushed his two girls out of the picture or what, but they aren't shown. If you can't be slightly insane grown adults canvassing through a stranger's yard looking for a styrofoam cooler full of yard toys in front of complete strangers at a public park, then who can you be a lunatic around? Notice Wade in the background without pirate gear as well. Party Pooper.

Next up is our trip to Vegas:

Because nothing says "classy" quite like Home of the World Famous Drive Up Wedding Window

Classic family protrait in a room sitting about 5. Funny story. The shirt Wade is wearing literally came off my dad's back. Wade didn't have a Hawaiian shirt to match the theme (either did I, but oh well) and my dad brought two with him (don't ask) and so he gave the one that matched Wade's slacks the best to wear and doned the other one. Unfortunately, he was wearing the one he was giving to Wade when I asked if Wade could wear it. Graciously, he gave it up. What a dad!

This is Eric, his wife, Eliza, and their little girl Halle. Halle thought this whole experience--Elvis included--was the most exciting thing to have happen to her in a long time. Doesn't that mural on the wall with the pillar transport your right to the middle of a woody area? Uh-huh.

Josh had a great time too. Evident by his smile. He thought it was a little weird though.

Aunika was having a blast! And really, who wasn't?

Since no photography was--technically--allowed in the chapel, you will have to settle for a picture of Elvis I found online. This is the actual guy that was at our wedding, though the girl in the pink bikini and the man in the cargo shorts were, unfortunately, not. Elvis looks slightly better in this picture than he did in our ceremony, but notice that he's actually singing to the ground. Elvis's coat in our ceremony was a horrendous shade of gold too. I'm kind of digging the pink jacket over the gold one. Sadly, this picture was taken in 2007, so we know that he's been with the chapel for at least two years. Judging by the decline in appearance from this picture to now, that's like eternity in Elvis years.

And lastly, our basement:

This is the family room. The blue things hanging down are the wires for the in-ceiling speakers.

Here's our fireplace.

This is where our television is going to go. And the projector. Eventually we're going to have both but I'm not sure which one will come first.

This is Wade's mammoth audiovisual closet where all the equipment is going to go.

This is going to be Josh's room.

Kidding.

This is the cold storage area for food storage. The picture doesn't do it justice, but it's huge.

This is a shot of the slot in the ceiling where our projector screen will retract into so it's not in the way.

We just found out yesterday that Comcast is coming to the neighborhood so now we'll be able to get the football games and we should be all set to hang out and never leave the house. Perfect. And maybe people will come visit us now.

$150 and 200 Miles Later

Pictures tomorrow. I promise. It's even on my to-do list.

There are certain holidays I like to commemorate with a 5k. Especially ones that involve a lot of food.

I do a 4th of July run, a 24th of July run, and a Thanksgiving Run. One of these years, I'm going to do the New Years Eve Run too but I'm still trying to find a running buddy crazy enough to do it with me.

This year I added the Harrington Memorial 5k. I have no idea who Harrington is/was, but it was a cheap (initially) 5k that started early in the morning, leaving my day wide open to do other things. And it was located in Utah County so I could run it with my sister-in-law, who then didn't run it after all. But it's all good.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that I could sign up online, so I did. Apparently, I signed up eight times. It kept giving me an error along the lines of "items in cart does not match items in check out. Please re-enter your information". I pride myself on being able to follow most(!) simple instructions. And so I re-entered my information. Again. And again. And again. I might have done it again, and again, and again and again as well.

Finally, I got mad and called the store. I mentioned my problem and they said "oh, don't do that. It will charge you every time."

Hey, thanks for mentioning that on your website!

So I got into my car and drove the 50 miles to the store in American Fork. Paid for my entry by check. When I asked how I'd get my generous contribution to Harrington back, they said I'd have to bring a bank statement in. Oiy.

So I visited some friends in Provo and then headed home. Went to Vegas. Came back home. Finally, $135 posted on my account. Of course, now I have the added problem of strange men climbing in and out of my basement window and I don't feel all that comfortable leaving them alone to fend for themselves in my humble abode. And so I call the store. And talk to the owner. And explain my problem. I'm an hour away and I have strange men in my house. He's sympathetic and offers to refund it all. Nice guy. Even apologized for the error. Which he should, because it was his website.

This morning I got up at a time I never knew existed on a holiday and headed down to the 5k. 50 miles again.

They started the mile run before and I watched someone run a sub-4 minute mile. It was pretty spectacular. He made it look so effortless and easy, I actually thought to myself "I could do that." Uh-huh. Not with my face bright red and my huffing and puffing at a 10 minute mile. But it was nice to dream for a minute there.

The 5k started and I ran the first mile in 8:46. About 20 seconds shy of my fastest single mile since having Aunika. Of course, it did help that it was downhill. But then mile 2 came. And it was uphill the entire way. So I lost all my advantage there, but I kept trudging along.

Mile three, we ran through the cemetary. At first I thought it was going to be a little creepy, running through the cemetary. But they had lined the pathway with American Flags and it turned out to make the entire run.

I ran the third mile slightly faster than the second mile, but not fast enough to reach my goal of a sub-30 minute 5k. I clocked in at 31:10. And then I had to turn around and walk the mile back to my car. They don't tell you about that on the entry form, that's for dang sure. Of course, it was another 15 minutes to add to my time before driving the 50 miles home and rejoining Wade with the kiddos, so I took my sweet time.

While I was running down the pathway in the cemetary lined with American Flags, I was reminded of all those that have given their lives to protect this great nation. My own grandfather was killed while serving the tiny town of Downey, Idaho as sheriff 45 years ago. It would have been an honor to have met someone so willing to to put his life on the line to protect the freedoms of a town of less than 600 people. I hear he was an amazing man. As with all that have lost their lives, whether on this soil or on foreign land, it never ceases to amaze me that there are people willing to do this for freedoms that I take for granted.

There are nations on this Earth that cannot have large gatherings of people to run a local 5k because a suicide bomber could make his way into the crowd. There are places where women are forbidden from running. There are locations where the world's fastest runners have been targeted for death because they belong to the "wrong" tribe.

There are a lot of things that are wrong in this country and I may not agree with what the current administration is doing or what the last administration failed to do, but I know that this is still the best nation to live in.

Take a moment to remember those who have given their lives to make yours just a little bit easier.

God Bless America!

The State of the Basement

Roughly a bazillion years ago, if you remember, we started finishing our basement.

I haven't updated much about it because nothing was really happening there for awhile. We got it framed and then Wade took eons to run wires (though to no fault of his own. He had school, and scouts, and a new baby, and work, and a wife going crazy) and then he insulated it. Finally, we got some bids on drywall, called our chosen firm last Wednesday. They delivered the sheetrock on Thursday and since we had to leave on Friday for Vegas, they arrived Tuesday at 1:00 to hang it.

I was a little skeptical that five guys would be able to hang all the drywall in half a day. Especially after I went down there at 1:15 to tell them something that I'd missed, and they were all sitting around in a circle eating lunch. But at 6:45 that night, they packed up, climbed through the window and set off for destinations unknown, with all our walls and ceilings in place. It was truly an amazing feat.

Thursday, the mud and taper guy showed up. I was sorta expecting a crew, with a company truck. But no, just one person. Nice guy. Speaks English. Works hard. Climbs in and out of windows.

Yes, apparently his preferred method of entering my home is through the basement window. Last night, and I'm not even sure of when, he must've climbed out and gone home. Shoeless. Because when I looked outside from my perch on the living room couch, I noticed that his nondescript truck--unless you're my neighbors, in which case it was a gray toyota tacoma being driven by a shoeless male in his early 30's seen climbing out of our basement window before Wade was home from work--was no longer there. When I went to investigate downstairs, I noticed that the pair of shoes he wore when he arrived yesterday morning (after Wade had left for work--I sense some explaining I'm going to have to do to the neighbors) were sitting underneath the window.

This morning, as I awaited the arrival of him again, Wade called from work asking if the mudder was there yet. When I replied no, he hung up to call the mudder to get a time estimate of when he'd be arriving. Then I heard a strange ring and a man talking in my house. Startled, I ran downstairs, and there was the mudder guy. Working.

Awkward.

Since I heard no doorbell or knock at the front door and we have no chimney for the mudder to slide down to gain access to our basement, I can only assume he climbed in through the window. Which makes for a very interesting story to tell to the neighbors.

Later, I was outside working in the yard, when he appeared from around the corner of the house, having climbed out of the basement, to ask a question.

So weird.

However, I will take photos of the progress after he leaves (even more awkward to go down there while he's working and take pictures) and post them with the promised pictures from Vegas and, if I can get a hold of my mom to email them, some pictures from our Pirate Birthday Bash, so one can truly appreciate the embarassment we endured. My next entry will be a Picture Bonanza.

Evaluator of the Night

Yeah, that's right. I'm a speaking diva.

One of the portions of a Toastmaster's meeting is to stand up and offer an evaluation of a speaker. Each speaker for the night is assigned someone to evaluate their speech based on anumber of criteria depending on what kind of speech the speaker is giving.

I had originally signed up for my first evaluation by coinciding with a speech my dad was planning on giving. What better way to be introduced into evaluating than by doing it for someone I knew really well.

Unfortunately, my father fell ill and didn't show for tonight's meeting and so I was assigned to evaluate Sherry's speech.

Sherry is a timid, shy gal...from China. Kudos to her for standing up and giving a five to seven minute speech in a language that is not native to her. However, it was hard to understand a lot of what she was talking about. I think she talked about tofu, at least that's what I gave my evaluation on, and wisely, no one corrected me. She did relatively well for having to overcome the whole language obstacle. She actually piqued my interest in trying some tofu (if the speech was indeed about tofu) dishes, but that could be because I hadn't eaten dinner and even cardboard was sounding pretty good.

My whole purpose as an evaluator was to stand up after all the speakers and give a two to three minute evaluation of the speech. This includes things that I liked and ways to improve.

Like with the speakers, each week we vote for who did the best evaluation. There were three to choose from and I got the popular vote.

Which makes me a speech diva. I'm three for three on actual speeches.

And next week, I get to speak again. Hopefully, this time I'll prepare in advance...oh, who am I kidding. Someone give me some ideas for a good speech topic. I'm only on my third speech and I've run out of good ideas.

My Thoughts on the American Idol Finale

*SPOILER ALERT. DON'T READ UNLESS YOU WANT TO KNOW THE RESULT*








hahahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahahahahahaha--gasp--hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah--gasp, gasp--hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

That was awesome!

I would like a petition started to get Jamar (Danny's buddy from the auditions) on the show next year. I'm going on the record today to say that he'll be American Idol 2010. Just to make up for the upset that was Kris and Adam this year.

It's Your Birthday

It's Wade's birthday today. I'm admitting to all my diehard fans (now up to seven, I believe) that I might have forgotten all about it until this morning.

You see, Wade is not the easiest person to buy gifts for. He doesn't have a blog that he leaves obvious gift ideas on. And so every year for every occassion, I'm at a loss. It also doesn't help that our anniversary is coming up in a few weeks either. There's always so much pressure with the two events so close together. Had I known, I would've gotten married at the end of August or something.

I ask him repeatedly what he wants and he usually just shrugs his shoulders. As we were driving down to Vegas, I asked him again and he mentioned something about camping gear for scouts. But even he couldn't come up with any specific ideas of what to get in that category either.

Arg.

So another disappointing holiday from our house and another failing to attach to my name.

They should tell you about THIS when you reach appropriate marriage age. How hard it is to play Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy to a grown man.

But I love him, and I'm too stubborn to move out, so he loves me too. And it doesn't matter what we exchange for our birthdays or anniversary or Christmas, or Valentines, just as long as I get what I want and he gets chocolate bunnies for Easter.

Campaign for a Bike

Dear Wade,

Popular opinion on Facebook states that you should use some of your winnings to buy me a bike.

Here's the one that I've been looking at should you feel so inclined to shower me with gifts. You know, besides a new basement. Because that doesn't count.

http://www.walmart.com/catalog/product.do?product_id=4698938

However, if you find a different one that you would rather bestow upon me, I wouldn't complain.

A (read: 1) plane ticket to somewhere with a secluded beach would also be acceptable as well, just so you know.

And really, I'm not out pandering for gifts or anything. Just thought you'd like to know what everyone is rooting for on Facebook. Because popular opinion matters in cases like this.

Love ya,

Snuckems

Sin City 2

Sunday morning, we woke up and preceded to get ready to leave. This involved me packing and Wade gambling.

I know, I was a little surprised too.

Up until now, in our entire time in Vegas we had yet to venture unto the floor of the casino except to pass through to find the elevator conveniently located smack dab in the middle. No one from our party even so much as put a quarter in as they were walking by. That's how boring we are in Vegas.

Wade announced after he'd gotten ready that he was going to go down to the floor with $10 and see what happens. We set some ground rules, because ground rules are important when you're gambling. The rules were that he had to come back when he was (a) out of money or (b) had doubled it to $20. We're big risk takers.

He waved goodbye and told me he'd see me in 10 minutes. I started packing in our sauna of a room and didn't pay much attention to the time. A little while later, Wade walked through the door.

"That fast, huh?" I said as I was throwing dirty clothes into open suitcases and wiping sweat that had accumulated on my brow.

"I couldn't find the cashier." Wade responded. I momentarily looked up and thought Cashier? Why would you need a cashier? But otherwise busily engaged in more pressing matters, I didn't question it further. Then he opened his wallet.

Wade pulled out a wad of cash that caught my attention, though I quickly remembered that last weekend's birthday cash--$200--ended up in his wallet. I didn't think anything until I saw the THIRD hundred dollar bill. Then I knew we were on to something.

The story went something like this:

Wade sat down at a quarter slot machine and, after figuring out where the money slot was, deposited his $10 bill. Then, thinking he was hitting the spin button to play a quarter at a time, he accidently hit the button that doubles your wager. I'm sure there's a technical name for the button, but being a gambling novice, I'm not sure what it is. Cursing himself for wasting his money, he resignedly pulled the lever and all 7's line up. Then he had to spin again to see how much to multiply his winnings by. He landed on 5 times.

At this point, he realizes he has a problem. So excited to be hitting the slot machines, Wade failed to pick up a container should he win lots of change. Leaving now to locate one, now that the machine had been buzzing for 3 minutes, would only be gambling suicide, so he waited until a casino worker was walking down the aisle. He snagged her and she, I imagine laughing really hard inside at such a amateur gambler, informed him that the payout was too much to give to him in quarters and so he would have to take his receipt to the cashier's.

Wade, abiding to our original agreement, cashed out and took the receipt to the cashier. She handed him $384.50 and he returned to our room.

All in all, it took about 30 seconds and 50 cents to pay for our trip to Vegas. Plus, since my parents picked up the rooms, we have some left over.

Sin City

It was a well kept secret that I was attending a wedding in Vegas this last weekend.


Kidding.

Here's the run down:

We left at 9 am on Friday and met my brother and his family for lunch in St. George. They continued on to Vegas while we stopped and let Josh play in a fountain thingy for a little while. The ride was long, but we had moved the carseat base to the other side of the car so Josh couldn't bug the baby when he got bored, and it all worked out good. When the baby got hungry, I'd just climb into the back seat, buckle up and give her her bottle. It made for a pretty nifty exchange.


We arrived in Vegas around 5ish and made our way the 10 miles on the freeway in bumper to bumper traffic to the Luxor, the pyramid-shaped building, where my parents had so graciously put us all up for two nights. After treking through the parking lot that was located somewhere east of Kansas, we made it to the registration desk, where we had to stand in a Disneyland-like line to check-in.


After checking-in and unloading all our stuff into our room, we met up with my parents and my older brother, his wife and their little girl, Halle. Halle was born prematurely six years ago and as a result, is in a wheelchair. Over the years, this has often worked to our advantage at certain events, like concerts and theme parks. People fall all over themselves to accomodate Halle. And Vegas was no different.


We decided on dinner and started over to Mandalay Bay, which was coincidently, a bit closer than Kansas, where our car was conveniently parked, so we walked.


Now the whole marketing ploy of a casino is to keep people trapped in there as long as possible. If I were to construct a building, I would make sure that there was an elevator located close to the escalators, but that's just me. In the Luxor, it took us nearly 10 minutes to find an elevator for Halle and Aunika, in her stroller. After finding the elevator in the Luxor, we then had to walk over to Mandalay Bay and find another elevator. This would be a precursor to our weekend--finding elevators in the most obscure places.


We finally found the cafe where we were going to meet up with my cousin, his wife-to-be, her 17 year old son, and my aunt for dessert. We arrived a little early so we could eat dinner before they showed up. After our $50 meal consisting of a chicken salad sandwich, grilled cheese sandwich, corn on the cob and onion rings, the rest of the wedding party showed up.


That's right. There were only 13 of us (including the kids) at this wedding.


We ate some incredible chocolate cake and then went back to our rooms. The inner-partier in me shouted that we should at least walk a little down the strip, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, so we all just went back to our rooms and zonked out for the night.


I woke up the next morning, determined to work out. I made my way downstairs and found the map of the casino that displayed the fitness center prominently. From my best calculations, I could see that I was close to the fitness center, but for the life of me I could not find it. I looked around for about 20 minutes and finally gave up and went outside for a run.

If the sight of me running in Vegas at 8:30 in the morning when the temperature was nearing 85 did not tip people off to me being a tourist, surely me clutching my room key in one had and my mp3 player in the other was a surefire sign that I was not from around there. I settled on just running around the hotel three times. Each time I'd come around the corner I'd be blinded by the sun hitting the glass of the pyramid and felt very much like I suppose those hopeless ants we use to scorch with magnifying glasses. I gave up at three times because I was being ogled by the same people who were sitting outside the hotel. Apparently, I was in a gym sock-smelling wet t-shirt contest, and felt I needed to get inside before the masses attacked me.

I shared an elevator with an unfortunate soul who, being a local since she was a maid, looked at me like I was insane. And smelly. After cooling down and cleaning up, we headed to our destination wedding.

My parents, aunt, cousin, his fiancee and her son all rode in a limo to the Little White Wedding Chapel while my brother and I and our respective families rode in our handy new Pilot that fits eight. Well, seven, a stroller, and a wheelchair.


The wedding was sooooo tacky it was awesome. Every stereotype you've ever seen about Vegas weddings was there. It was great. When we walked into the chapel, my sister-in-law turned to me and asked "what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Mortuary?" I replied.

"Yep." she said. Then someone behind the desk corraled us into a small chapel while we waited for the limo to show up. We, of course, took the opportunity to take dumb pictures (to be posted later). Then the rest of the party showed up and we were put into a bigger chapel. There we waited for 45 minutes for Elvis. When he finally walked in, it was unbelievable. The guy looked nothing like Elvis and had the biggest hands I have ever seen. He was clearly on some personality-altering substance--perhaps, channeling Elvis in the later years--and we all had a hard time keeping a straight face. It was so bad. Much worse than I could ever describe in words on a blog, so I'm not going to even try.

We took a few pictures and then we took off for the wedding luncheon to be held at the MGM. In theory, MGM is somewhat close to the Luxor. However, once you park your car in Kansas, reassemble a wheelchair and make your way in 100+ degree temperature, all while trying to find elevators in the most obscure and random places, the distance is variable. We were unfashionably late to Emeril's Restaurant, but since the seven of us comprised of more than half of the wedding party, there wasn't much they could do.

The food was incredible and we spent a good while talking. It was a lot of fun to get caught up with a cousin I haven't seen in a decade and to meet his now-wife. Both Josh and Aunika were incredibly good.

The rest of the day we spent at M and M World and then back at the hotel. We decided on a buffet for dinner and then walked down with the rest of humanity to the Bellagio for the two minute water show. When we got there, Josh announced that he had to go to the bathroom and he missed the whole thing. So we had to wait around for the next one. Then we turned back and trudged our way back to our hotel. At one point, Josh looked down and said "Daddy, someone dropped their pictures on the ground." It took all our power to keep him from bending down to get a better look.

The most exciting thing happened on Sunday, but since this post has lasted forever, you will all have to wait for the next installment to find out what happened.

Upcoming Blog Events

For all six of my diehard readers, I plan on returning next week with a slew of blog posts. It's shaping up to be an interesting week, like:

• How I ended up paying $150 to run a 5k (I'll get it all recouped or there'll be hell to pay on the homefront.)
• A weekend in Vegas attending a wedding featuring Elvis with 12 (count 'em!) other people. Had I chosen to run my half marathon instead, I would've cut the wedding party by a third. I had no idea I wielded that much power.
• The unique opportunity to evaluate my dad's next speech at Toastmasters.
• The effects of being homebound because the sheetrock people are coming in to HANG OUR BASEMENT WALLS.
• The exciting adventures of picking out paint colors and carpet
• How fast I can truly run a mile
• And of course, what lame gift did I get Wade for his birthday this year?

Stay tuned for a week of Pulitzer-worthy entries.

Conspiracy Theorist

Okay, I admit. I'm a conspiracy theorist.

Sometimes.

But really, more with like American Idol, than say who shot Kennedy.

I want to believe that America truly picks their Idol, but I just can't swallow it completely. If that were true, then why the judges? And how can it be statistically probable for me to be so completely wrong in 7 of the 8 seasons? Clearly, it must be that the show is rigged and not because I am completely tone deaf and wouldn't be able to sing my way out of a paper bag.

But, I digress.

If American Idol is rigged then there is no hope for the rest of the world's top issues, like global warming and world hunger.

And when I say rigged, I don't mean rigged in the traditional sense. No, I don't think there's any vote swapping or hanging chads or misplaced votes. I think it's much more subtle than that.

See, for the first few seasons, the judges didn't do the talk show circuit. They didn't hit every day time and late night talk show to profess their undying love for a particular competitor.

(Well, maybe they did, but I had a life back then and so I can't be sure. I don't think they did though.)

So it really was every competitor for themselves.

However, over the last few years, the judges (and when I say judges, I mean Simon because no one really cares what the other three have to say) have come out heavy for particular competitors. Ones that he feels he can market.

How can you possibly have an unbiased competition for the next superstar if they aren't even given a fair chance.

Now some may say that they are all give fair chances, and true, they are all given the same opportunity to pick dippy songs and sing them for one and a half minutes. But, when the week leading up to the final three showdown, the judges have all but written two of the three competitors out of the game by using mass media, than it's not a fair competition.

I'm well aware that this year, the final two had been chosen from the first week of the competition and was only slightly shocked when it didn't come out exactly as was predicted from the onslaught. I mean, that doesn't bring in ratings, does it? And really, when you give one competitor a virtual no-name song and the other two well known and beloved songs, what do you expect. But with the judges love affair with Adam, they could've just crowned him tonight the winner and saved us all another wasted week of American Love Fest.

Whether the kid can sing (he can't) or not is immaterial. He was practically crowned from the first week and the judges haven't wavered at all in their undying admiration. Though it looked like Danny was going to give Adam a run for his money, the judges made sure that the comments given at the end of each week skewed heavily towards their golden child. I'll even go out on a limb and say that the week Adam landed in the final two was merely a PR stunt used to bring in ratings and generate buzz.

Aside from who may or may not be in the finals--
(quick, name three songs Kris Allen has sung?)
(Kris who?) --
the bottom line is that the show has become less about finding a superstar as it's become an amplified stage show. And a forum to help Simon and Paula work out their personal differences.

By next season, the winner will be crowned the first round and the next 15 weeks will be spent watching Paula, Simon, and Kara dish out criticisms at each other while Ryan and Randy run interference.

As for next week, I'm hoping for an upset of biblical proportions. Just so I can laugh at the judges when their golden child falls short.

To Do List

• Clean house
• Do laundry
• Clean house
• Find out what is growing in refrigerator
• Clean house
• Exercise
• Clean house
• Mow lawn
• Pull weeds
• Clean house
• Remove tools from basement so they aren't stolen by drywall people
• Clean house
• Go grocery shopping
• Find outfit for Elvis wedding
• Cure cancer
• Clean house
• Write bestselling novel
• Make dinner
• Make cookies for church event
• Clean house
• Pack for Vegas trip
• Qualify for Boston
• Travel to faraway island that has no outside communication
• Sign up for triathlon
• Train for triathlon
• Clean house
• Find a hiding place for computer paper
• Clear out garage
• Plant vegetable garden
• Clean house
• Write in journal
• Pray
• Read from scriptures
• Shower
• Clean house
• Scrub tubs
• Wash windows
• Paint walls
• Clean house

And I wonder why I feel so overwhelmed.

A Visit with Grandma

In a white house, somewhere north of main street, in Downey, Idaho, population 650, lives Grandma (but not this Grandma because that would be creepy seeing as she died 6 years ago). She has lived here all my life and most of my dad's life as well. I'm not sure of the timeline when they moved here, but my grandfather was killed in this town as Sheriff nearly 45 years ago.

Last week, my mom and I (with the kids) drove up to visit for an overnight stay. She'll be 89 this July and she still lives alone. The house still looks and smells the same as it always has, reminding me of the days we use to spend up here when we were younger.

When climbing the stairs leading to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, it's more like you are climbing a ladder and your feet don't quite fit all the way on each step. It's precarious going up and downright scary coming down. At 5 am, when I saw my mom sneak by on her way downstairs to use the only bathroom in the house, I laid in bed rigid because I was positive she was going to fall down the stairs and break her neck.

Each bedroom upstairs is decorated in 70's fashion--a snapshot of each child's bedroom the day they spread their wings and left the nest. The carpet is all different shades, ranging from burnt orange to psychadelic blue. For years, my grandma, the only inhabitant, would climb those stairs every night to her twin bed. When her brother came to live with her 20 years ago, she gave him the only downstairs bedroom and continued climbing the stairs. After he passed away a few years ago, it wasn't until someone suggested that she take the downstairs bedroom that she finally moved down. Now she rarely goes upstairs, which is good because of the state of the stairs.

When mom and I mentioned that we were interested in watching American Idol, Grandma didn't have to be persuaded. She has her favorite contestant and everything. I was quite taken back that Grandma--who I've never heard utter a swear word in my life, including the time she spilled the fruit salad minutes before Thanksgiving dinner and it splashed all over the wall and floor--has her bets on Adam, the rocker screamer. I thought for sure that she would like Danny, the church choir director. Boy, was I wrong!

We spent a lot of the evening talking about geneaology and what was going on with everyone. Even at 89, she is still as sharp as anyone. On occassion, I'll meet someone with a tie to Downey and I'll ask Grandma about it. She always knows the person and can tell you where their kids are, what they're up to, where they lived. Even if they dated one of my aunts (a funny story involving a bed and breakfast and a drunk lady that I'll save for another blog post).

I found out that they used the house as a hospital during World War I, Grandma told me about the night Grandpa was killed and I learned things about family members I never knew. There are a lot of funny things about grandma that I can't in good conscience share on a blog to all of cyberspace, but if you see me in person, ask me about it and I'll tell you.

All in all, it was a great night and I'm grateful I got to spend the time with her.

Aye Aye Matey

My parents moved from our childhood home about two and a half years ago to a posher neighborhood. Since we all had already moved out, we haven't met a lot of their neighbors. I don't think my parents have met a lot of them either. In any case, they're a different breed than the neighbors we left behind.

When we lived in our other home, the neighbors were use to us and our (read: my mom) antics. She always went all out for birthdays and other family parties. For example, one year, we were required to line up behind her in a congo-line style. As she started out the door, my brother held the rest of us back and we watched my mom do the congo half way down the street before realizing that none of us were behind her. This was right before the water fight that was orchestrated, by my mom. Keep in mind that there were no grandkids at the time and we were all grown adults. However, the neighbors would just look out their windows and nod at our family, as though they totally understood. Because, from all outside appearances, we're a pretty normal, laid-back family, but if you had 30 years to get to know us, you'd realize that we aren't what we seem.

Since moving into their new home, my parents' new neighbors have been witness to countless parades up and down the sidewalks for Halloween and birthday parties.

So last night we held our annual Family Birthday Party. Everyone in the family, except for two grandchildren, are born between March 18 and June 1. To make it easier on everyone, we hold one giant Family Birthday Party sometime during that timeframe.

My mom was in charge this year and she went with a Pirate theme. When we arrived we were given bandanas and eye patches. She had little games set up for the kids and we all made necklaces out of macaroni and fruit loops. She even gave us new pirate names on little name tags.

After dinner, we all headed outside with a treasure map that was found floating in the bathtub. As a family--minus my dad and Wade, who are poor sports--we marched our way through the neighborhood, enduring points and stares and laughter from the neighbors. When we had adequately embarassed ourselves, we reached the neighborhood park. Wade and my dad met us there so they wouldn't miss out on too much fun. Under the porch of a house bordering the park was a styrofoam cooler with a giant X on it--our loot. So we all scurried across the lawn to dig it out from under the stairs, ignoring the stares of complete strangers.

Inside the treasure chest were lawn games, drinks and candy. We spent the next while playing games. And then Wade started a game of Pirates and Sailors where one person, the Pirate, threw balls at the Sailors atop the little playground. As each Sailor got hit, they became pirates. We quickly pushed the little kids out of the way and got to work. It became quite apparent that the playground was much too small for six grown adults, but we tried anyways. Two little boys came riding up on their bikes, fully intending to play on the playground, but gave up when they saw there was no way they were going to infiltrate our ranks. We played three games of Pirates and Sailors before calling it a night. Apparently, we're all old and out of shape.

We packed up and left the park and I decided to run ahead to use the "Little Pirates" room. As I rounded the corner, four teenagers emerged from a house and stopped, tracking my progress with their eyes. I wanted to ask them what their problem was, but I settled for a death glare. It was only as I was locking the bathroom door I realized what the teenagers were looking at. I was wearing a bandana and eye patch, and since everyone was lagging behind me, I was by myself as I ran down the street towards my parents' house. The only thing that would've made it better would have been if I was carrying the inflatable sword that my mom had bought for the occassion.

Once everyone got home, my mom brought out a bucket full of dirt and the adults had to take turns digging through it--with their toes--to find the hidden treasures. Inside prescription bottles, my mom had rolled up money for each couple.

I'm confident that in a few years, the new neighbors won't even bat an eye when they see us all out on the front sidewalk marching, or singing, or congo lining down the street. Until then though, we'll just have to get use to their pointing and laughing.

Birthday Wishes and Miscellaneous Weekly Happenings

• Saturday I ran my 2nd 5k of the season. It was pouring rain and my jacket was not nearly as waterproof as I had thought it would be. About 1/4 of a mile in I ran right through a large puddle and had to run the remaining 2.85 miles in wet socks. That really sucked. I did alright for how "difficult" the course was and the fact that it was raining. I came in at 33:23, 2 minutes slower than the 5k I ran in March. However, the 5k in March was all downhill and this one had a lot of hills. My legs were extremely sore from bootcamp on Wednesday and I never could get them to loosen up. I'm hoping to break the 30 minute barrier on the next run, but it's going to have to take some dedication to speeding up.
• It was my birthday on Friday. Since I got my present from Wade at the beginning of April, there wasn't anything to open and no surprises. But I still had a good time. We went with some friends to Desert Star Theater. No cake or anything, come to think of it. As far as birthdays go, it's was pretty ho-hum.
• Thursday, I gave my second speech at Toastmasters. It was a crazy day and I was scrambling at the last minute to find a babysitter. Then I was off in la-la land on the drive to the meeting and wasn't paying attention to where I should turn. I was 10 minutes late and had only a 3/4 finished speech in my grubby little hands. However, I was able to pull it off and even won for speech of the night.
• Wednesday was the last night of bootcamp. Hallelujah. It has been a pain to get over to the gym at 6 pm and work out. Especially if I've run and done aerobics at the church earlier in the day. I didn't see much difference in how my clothes felt except around my thighs. And in this case, my quads increased in muscular size (I'm sure that's what it is...) and now my jeans are too tight around them. Nice. Not exactly what I had planned on. I was, however, crowned queen of the jumprope.