Things I don't like.

I wouldn't say that I'm a real picky eater. I'll give most things a whirl, I guess. Generally if I don't like something there's a darn good reason for it, too. Examples:

a. Bugles. Besides clearly being the most disgusting snack food ever designed to fit on a child's sweaty fingers, I also barfed them up once. As everyone knows, once it comes back up, it takes a strong will to send it back down again, especially if it's cheddar flavored. My roommate in college and I had a solemn pact-- I wouldn't bring squash into the house if she didn't buy Bugles. In that regard, at least, we lived in harmony.

b. Celery. Stringy, first of all, and always crunching up perfectly good chicken salad sandwiches without a good excuse. Also, why does every Kindergarten teacher want to slap some peanut butter and raisins on it and call it Ants on a Log? (As a side note, sometimes I feel bad for raisins. They're like shrivled, embarrassed versions of their former plump fruit selves.) Anyway, it was gross enough before they named it after insects.

c. Beets. My coworker stained her shirt the other day with purple beet juice after having a plate loaded of them with a few wimpy pieces of lettuce underneath so she could pretend it was a salad. Plus, they were sliced with those sort of ridged knives that people cut baby carrots with to make them all rippley. Weird. Ever notice that they only do that to vegetables that don't have a normal texture? Like they're not quite soft enough to be pureed but still turn to baby food in your mouth? I've never once seen a self respecting ear of corn allow itself to be cut like that.

d. Mushrooms. Hello? Fungus? With the exception of our rose bushes and an occasional run-by with the lawnmower, our overwhelming back yard has been left largely to its own devices this year. While my petunias struggle out front, this charming little bud sprouted without a drop of encouragement from us. I'm sure many of my clients could think of lots of fun recreational activities to engage in with a little help from this:

Pizza, anyone? That's what I thought.

Memorial Day

There's nothing quite like a summer rain storm, a long weekend, and Queen's Greatest Hits. Lucky that we didn't get in an accident; with my feet up in this position, I'm fairly certain my kneecaps would win out over my eye sockets. Don't worry, I was buckled up the whole time. Click it or ticket, you know.

I love Memorial Day, and not just because it means we are (hopefully) unlikely to get more snow for a while. I love to see the cemeteries fully of flowers and flags and remember the people that have gone before us.

My sweetheart has far too many flowers to place each Memorial Day, but he never forgets to buy an extra pot for someone without any blooms on their spot. These yellow ones for his dad looked beautiful against the wet grass.

Ever wonder why life happens the way that it does? I do. I think about that a lot, especially while I carry armloads of flowers to the final resting places of so many people that love my husband.

Then I remember the person that I'm married to, and suddenly I am grateful that sometimes we get things we don't deserve.

The field is white

This is my fantastic little brother, Tommy.

Still your hearts, ladies. If you could see his hands in this picture, you'd see them clutching his recently received mission call.

If you could further see the details of said call, you'd see that beginning August 20, he'll spend the next two years of his life in this country:

He'll be in or around Angeles, which is somewhere north of Manila. He might be wearing rubber flip flops (if it's muddy) or a skirt (at the discretion of his mission president). He may or may not be even skinnier than he is now, depending on how the Lord sees fit to change his current dietary preferences. Here's hoping they have a lot of cereal in the Philippines.

We love you, Tommy, and we'll be practicing our Tagalog while you're away!

A boy and his dog

I hestitate lest I speak too soon. After all, this is Utah, and things could change at any moment. While I realize I am at risk of jinxing the entire Wasatch Front, I'm going to carefully suggest that summer may finally be on its way. My toes are beginning to regain feeling after their long hibernation, and my flowers haven't frozen in a couple of days.

Summer has not truly begun for our family until the first trip to Tanner Park. I was too chicken to go last weekend after my coworker freaked me out with stories of rattlesnake mating season. I've seen more than my fair share of the Nature Channel, and I know all about serpines and their toxic neurovenom.

Then the sun was shining on Saturday, so we went anyway.

Tanner Park from the top of the hill. Isn't it beautiful?

Ever on the look out for punctuation errors, I giggled all the way down the hill after noting this sign. What's a dog-off?

Like most humans, Lupe is usually a little hesitant to get in the water for the first splash of the day. Husband will throw her stick into the river, and she'll stand right on the bank, quivering and crying. Her labrador instincts scream get the stick, get the stick! Her self preservation instincts tell her that water is straight from mountain run off (mountain-run off?) and cold. Husband usually pushes her in once or twice, and then she's off like a fish.

And finally...

I have a good life.

House, status post 3 months of remodeling

It seems the job of a new home owner is never through. We still have lots of painting and touch ups and work to do. Hanging pictures and the like is especially challenging with our plaster walls; I have to be really sure I want that picture in that exact place before Hubbie drills an enormous hole to put an anchor into my beautiful newly painted walls. Nevertheless, here is an update on all of our progress.

The bathroom before.

And now.

Still a lot of work to be done, including painting. The delightful rosey colors will be staying until we can afford to really re-vamp it, so I gave in and bought a toilet seat cover thing that matches. When in Rome, I suppose.

The master bedroom.

Bursting with romance, don't cha think?

New ceilings, fresh paint, and a spiffy new fan to match the furniture, and we're sleeping in style.

I really miss the astounding level of hideousness happening in the old kitchen.

New hardware and a couple coats of paint on the cabinets and backsplash, and the kitchen is bearable until we can really remodel it.

The old fireplace, complete with shiny wallpaper and a broken mirror. This picture was taken in a more innocent time, before we realized there were two layers of paneling behind there, before we broke off that gross rock mantle, and before we had to drill in to the brick to replace it.

Brand new sheetrock, a pretty mantle from Madera Mill, (where Paddy slaved away through most of high school) and some fabulous art from Ikea set off our soveniers from Aruba perfectly. So what if I think they may have been carved in a factory in China.

The back window where the table is now.... and the front door.

Better?

Side note: does anyone miss the snow? I don't. Here's what the front of the house looked like before we ripped out the enormous juniper bushes--which, as it turns out, house approximately 1 million snails each.

We have yet to pull out the stumps. We'll need Brian's truck for that, I'm sure, and the muscle of anyone who wants to help. Who knew there'd be such a great hedge hidden behind there, though? Also, don't worry about the snails. They're still living in 5 foot high mountain of juniper remnants on the side of the house.

Le Nephews

Ok, so I realize that posting a picture of pictures is pretty chintzy on my part, especially when it's crooked and obviously against my wall that is a totally different color of green in real life. The point is, I wanted to showcase my cute nephews, and since I didn't edit these pictures on my own computer, this seemed the best way to show the final product. Below are the photos I took of the boys and framed for Mother's day gifts for my sisters-in-law. Be kind and ignore the glare on the glass.

Peyton, who's almost 14 months old, is on the far left and obviously unhappy at one point. (It may seem terrible that I just took a picture of it instead of comforting him, but don't worry. His mom was in on it, too. She just didn't know it was part of a present and would end up sitting on her mantle.) The other two boys are Carter (14 months) and Jordan (4 1/2). It appears I was nicer to them.

As you may have guessed, our camera is back from Inkley's in tip top shape. We picked it up just in time for the Jazz game the other night. Unfortunately for us, they check your bags for cameras and the like, and our Canon is too large to slip into a cargo pocket without it looking like a massive, camera-shaped tumor. Sadly, the only picture I have from the game is from my not-so-awesome cell phone. I"ll post it after my run.

And the Wife of the Year Award goes to...

me. Or perhaps more accurately, Marketer Jim. You see, thanks to Marketer Jim, I went to an open house at a local care facility yesterday and entered a raffle drawing. I never win raffle drawings.

Until now. The planets aligned, and I won.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I find myself clutching two Jazz playoff tickets in my sweaty little palms at this very moment. Or at least I would be clutching them if I weren't typing instead with the tickets safely stashed away in my purse.

Surprising my Jazz-fever inflicted Husband was fabulous. When I told him I had a surprise for him, he immediately began having chest pain and a panic attack: I think he thought I was going to tell him about a baby in my tummy or something. (I'm not pregnant, by the by. Just a little padded 'round the midsection. I let him sweat it out a little, though, just for laughs.)

So hip hip hooray for the Jazz, and three cheers for Marketer Jim, 2008 Wife of the Year.

Pictures to follow.

Bummer.

I'm sitting here wanting spaghetti--needing it, really--with no way to get any for lunch. Plus, it's only Wednesday.

Double whammy.

Basketball fever

There are lots of interesting things to glean from Round 1 of the playoffs. I'm sure Husband knows all sorts of statistics and whatnot from the Jazz/Rockets series. I, on the other hand, noticed a startling truth: Yao Ming looks a lot like a Lego.


Admittedly, making a convincing comparison between a human and an inanimate object is usually a hard sale. I present the following:







































I rest my case.
Bring on the Lakers.