Why do we live here? - Vol. 2

I'm thinking of making this a weekly feature.

No, I'm kidding. I won't pester you with tales of the largest bugs I've ever seen...except for this last one. People, I have to do it - when one goes through a traumatic experience, an outlet is needed to release all of the anxiety produced by the experience itself and now, by the memories of it. (Shudder.)

I'll spare you the dramatics, but I had an encounter with a tarantula today. (Please re-read that last sentence, shudder, clap your hand over your mouth in horror, and read on in suspense.)

It is normally Casey's responsibility to take the trash can and recycling out to the curb on the appropriate morning, but he was out of town on business and the task fell to me. I put Gavin in his high chair, loaded his tray with mandarin oranges, and set out to pull the cans to the curb. I noticed when I opened the garage door that there was a large dark shadow on the driveway. I thought little of it, thinking it was a large leaf or other foliage (looking back: a leaf? From what tree? There are leaves here?). As I strained to pull the trash can down the driveway (lest ye think I'm a total weakling or that my little try-to-be-earth-conscious family of three produces inordinate amounts of trash, I had no idea Casey had loaded the thing with two large buckets full of broken rock from when he knocked down part of our back wall. I nearly pulled my arms out of my sockets on the first yank.) and passed said "shadow," I realized to my UTTER HORROR that it was a tarantula, presumably dead, definitely hairy, too many legs, sprawled on its back in dramatic fashion, as though it had fought for its last breath by reaching one hairy leg up to the sky and falling down dead at the effort. Rather Shiz-like, if you ask me.

Let me sidestep the current story to make a comment: how many legs are appropriate and absolutely necessary for a living creature? I say the limit is definitely 4. Any remotely cute creature, human or animal, comes with a number from 2-4. (To all you devil's advocates out there, I sympathize with those who have lost limbs, were born without them, or came out of a recent surgery with one too many limbs [shout out to Brian Regan fans!]) 6 limbs are too many, which leaves the most dreaded number of all: 8 and above.

Back to the story: as I passed said dread horror and realized what it was, there were oh so many reactions. First, mental: is it really dead, or just playing dead? You might laugh at a spider who "plays dead," but I've had several experiences with such little beasts, and so has my mother. It's true - they can and do deceive us. Second, my sympathetic nervous system kicked in, initiating the fight-or-flight response. My pupils dilated, I was breathing hard, my heart was pumping very fast, and I suddenly had enough strength to chuck the trash can over that mountain, there. Sorry for the nerdy human body reference. Third reaction, which was mental again: should I ask the landscaping workers across the street if they will take care of it? I don't speak Spanish, though...how do you say "spider" in Spanish? I have to go get the other can and walk past that thing again! WHAT IF IT MOVES???

In hindsight, I really don't know what I would have done if it had moved or twitched in the slightest. I may have had a heart attack and died right there, and as I fell to the driveway I almost certainly would have tried to position my dead body as far from that thing as possible.

I had no time for dramatics, though (okay, so I lied about writing a non-dramatic treatment of the events), because I had left Gavin inside with food on the tray, and I can't do that for too long lest he choke. (Is it even possible to choke on a mandarin orange?) I scooted up the driveway, not looking at the spider and hoping that was enough to make it either lie still or disappear. Trash can number 2, which was considerably lighter than number 1, was practically shoved from the edge of the garage down to the curb without human help, and I just prayed it would stop at the curb. I ran back into the house and shut the garage door and door into the house as fast as I could, just sure that I was about to be followed.

I was shaking and sweating as I went back into the house. I was happy to see that Gavin was not choking and was in fact smiling cheerfully and waiting patiently for phase 2 of his breakfast. As I started to get his cereal ready, I called Casey because I was literally about to cry. If this experience (coupled with encounter #1 with a different, live tarantula 2 years ago) didn't show me exactly how arachnophobic I really am, I don't know what would have done it. Casey was appropriately sympathetic, but I made sure to let him know I was NOT touching that thing and he'd have to take care of it when he got home late that night. This of course had two purposes: number one, do you really think I was going to go near it?? I wasn't even going outside the rest of the day, in the back or front yards. Number two: I may have a tendency to exaggerate things for effect when the story is re-told (the size of a spider, for instance, is apparently subjective. I don't think that's true. Most are huge.) and I was darn well going to make sure that Casey saw the hairy beast in all its "dead" and poly-legged glory. He saw it all right, and I felt validated. He also may have used a shovel to chuck it back to Hades, but I did not witness that. No victim wants to face the perpetrator again.

That's my story for the day, and because I refuse to even look up a picture of a tarantula to post on this blog - no picture of a spider shall ever darken the brightness and light of this 2-legged blog - I drew a remarkably accurate representation of exactly how the thing was positioned on the driveway. You might ask how I know this, seeing as how I refused to go near it. Well, since you can see a tarantula from about a half a mile away, and since the image is burned into my brain like any traumatic experience would be, I have a very good idea of how things went down. Or at least how the little (I mean HUGE) faker would have me BELIEVE they went down:

If you will turn your attention to the red arrow, I have pointed out a leg that was draped across its body, as if it experienced some sort of great distress before keeling over. I spared you a representation of the hairiness.

Needless to say (or repeat, anyway): Why, oh WHY do we live here?

Kicked-in-the-face Humble

This post is intended to be a response to my last post, and a commentary on the commentary of others who chose to comment on my own less than cheery commentary. Get it?

I am truly humbled by the outpouring of encouraging words, sharing of deeply personal struggles, and the general concern for my mental (and physical) welfare that so many who read this blog showed in my last post. I received many a comment, email, Facebook message, and phone call regarding the mite of personal information I divulged about my prolonged sickness. Thank you, everyone, for sharing a little bit of your day to make mine better. I can't believe I know so many good people - how lucky am I!

I must reassure my caring public, however, that I am doing just fine - nay, better than fine: I feel normal! If "normal" seems like an underwhelming adjective to use, please remember that three years of "sick" followed by a fantastic onslaught of "normal" equals more than I could ask for. I used to get small doses of "normal" for a few weeks (and a whole 9 months of pregnancy) followed by months of yuck. I am so blessed to be on the mend, and so excited for the opportunities I can now participate in as a fun young mommy to the busiest and most darling child two adoring parents could ever hope for!

If I shared too much or caused my dear friends and family to think that my self-esteem was suffering, please don't think so. I just had an introspective day, and we all know that feeling ill makes everything look more bleak than it really is. I feel pretty good about myself as a wife and mother, but there are always always going to be things I can do better at. That day just happened to be a time in which my laundry list was slightly more lengthy than usual and the items on it were more pressing (get it? Pressing? Laundry? Wow, I'm back!). I may have made my more mellow self seem like an unwanted change, but if a level of maturity has reached me that has caused a mellowing, who am I to revert back to the hyperactivity of youth? I understand maturity, but not feeling well made me rather walking corpse-like at times. In the next few weeks I hope to leave the bad sort of mellowing behind in favor of returning to the random fun-ness that used to characterize my personality - only this time I'm sure it will be peppered with the wisdom of the post-college years (if any has seeped through, that is). Side note: Reed - my brother - turned 17 last week so I am suddenly feeling old. Somebody get me a walker and Dulcolax.

Here's to the fun times to come in which I am not lying on the couch watching my baby run around, but am the cause of his running at a fever pace across the room and away from the mommy monster!

Why do we live here??

No, really - WHY DO WE LIVE IN SOUTHERN ARIZONA?? This is not a trick question. I obviously understand that we technically live here because Casey has a wonderful job with great benefits that provides a lovely life for us (see? I'm grateful, right?). I only pose a whiny, half-serious question to illustrate an incident that happened just a few moments ago. (Oh, the suspense.)

I've been sick for three years, and after a different sort of sickness for the past week I finally felt better today. This is a big deal for me, because it meant that I didn't have to do the bare minimum to keep my child and husband alive with limbs intact - it meant that I could vacuum the floor (gasp!) and mop the kitchen floor (no!) and even venture to measure the panels for our bedroom window that I have been meaning to make for 2 years (amazing!). I'll admit that sickness has been really hard on my family and myself, not only because the house has been less than clean much of the time but because I haven't been able to do nearly any of the things I have wanted to do as a wife and mother. Those who knew me pre-chronic illness know that I LOVE to host parties and be a complete idiot (translation: have stinking piles of fun). My college photos are replete with messy, silly memories that may not have happened had I not been a completely immature 18-21-year-old with a penchant for making those who seemed to be a little more shy act like idiots in a puppet-on-a-string sort of way (i.e. for my own amusement, I guess...you know who you are...and I did it for your own good, right? Right??). We dressed up, we sang at the top of our lungs, we had food fights and kidnapped blow-up plastic chairs and held them for ransom; we made sugar cookies that looked like Middle Eastern countries, we had a Christmas tree up year-round that was decorated in accordance with the current season; I even wore spandex and a side ponytail for our Napoleon Dynamite night. But with the onset of my sickness, it was all I could do to go to class or work, much less make or even eat a meal. I have completely mellowed out the last three years, and some of my friends have noticed. I had big plans to decorate my home, go on fun outings, dance with my baby, play and laugh and run and do - but these events are few and far between for us.

Why do I regurgitate such seemingly uninteresting, unrelated to the topic and personal information? Today seemed to be a day of reflection, of trying to let those closest to me know that they can trust me to follow through on things I want and need to do but haven't had the strength to. My husband sort of started the ball rolling in this direction last night when I realized that he didn't ask me to do things not because I was sick and couldn't do them, but because I promised to do them and they seemed to never get done. Do you see the difference? I did, at least, and that one hurt.

I'm here to say, though, that if that is the impetus for change in an upward direction, so be it. To bring this semi-introspective discussion full circle, the aforementioned reason is why I was furiously sweeping the entryway tile this morning, and it is why I posed the question that I will now repeat: WHY DO WE LIVE IN TUCSON?? (I mean, just south of Tucson, of course...)

As I was sweeping, a tan-colored something caught my eye that was half stuck under the front door. Upon pulling it out with the broom, I realized it was a SCORPION!!! Yes, folks, a scorpion, complete with a stinger and arms and way too many horrible characteristics to spout off. It was about and inch and a half long, dead (thank GOODNESS - I wasn't sure at first), and I could not figure out how it got under our door.

Oh, so many things come to mind from such a small incident. First, yes, I have a decent enough vocabulary and skill as a writer to compose a somewhat amusing account of the mundane in my life. Second, I obviously need someone to talk to since this is the sort of thing I spend my "free" time doing. Third, which should probably be first, is that Gavin plays over by the door, and what if he had encountered this before I swept it up? Worse, what if he found a live one??

That settles it. We are never going outside again unless it is to get in the car, drive to an airport, and fly to a place where everything doesn't try to kill you, from the bugs to the foliage to the weather to the wildlife. Then again, this one was halfway inside before he kicked the bucket, anyway...

Yay for Standards!

I don't know how many of you saw this, but two New Zealand women's basketball players in the Olympics sat on the bench during their game against the U.S. on a Sunday. They chose not to play on a Sunday, even though this was possibly the biggest experience they will ever have in their sports careers. We were so impressed and excited to see these women stand up for their beliefs, even under what could have been incredible pressure. Yay for standing up for what you think is right!

http://mormontimes.com/MITN_sports.php?id=1827

Sparks Flew By

It's true - our trip to Sparks to be with my family flew by! Even though we were technically there for 13 days (well, Casey was there for only the last 4 1/2), it felt way too short. I guess time spent with family is never long enough, though. This whole growing up and living away from family thing stinks!

Gavin and I left for Sparks only 3 days after getting home from the Hardy family reunion, so the days in between were filled with lots of cleaning up after camping as well as preparing to leave again. In addition to our preparation for another vacation, Casey was preparing to take the GRE (graduate school entrance exam) that Saturday! We were a little bit stressed and anxious that everything would work out, but Gavin and I got on the plane and made it safely to Sparks. It really was fortuitous that we left days before Casey took one of the biggest tests in his life, because it meant that he had a few days to focus entirely on the test (after work, of course) without distraction from us. We want to thank everyone who was praying for him, because he feels good about the results and is just happy it is over!

The following is a summary of what we did with my family: Reed and I went to the temple to do baptisms (it was youth temple night in the Sparks 9th Ward), we watched the Olympics until our eyes fell out (I think my one good eye developed a twitch), stayed up way WAY too late because of the Olympics, ate good food, had a birthday party for my Dad and Uncle Chris, I met the new puppies (Lisa and Chris have a shih-tzu puppy and Marissa and Jacob have 2 husky "puppies"), Gavin got uber spoiled by his grandparents (I hate that word, "uber"), we learned that Grandpa Adlish (it's weird to call my dad "Grandpa Adlish") is the world's worst disciplinarian to darn cute grandbabies; Gavin learned to love running on the grass barefoot; Gavin learned that grass actually exists; we got to visit with my Grandma Adlish and Grandparents Schindler (all alone, no less!), Mom and I got haircuts (Mom's haircut is DARLING! Stop doubting, Mom - different is good! Don't go back to the old ways, because this color and cut looks so good on you!), and when Casey came we went to Virginia City, went on a date to the movies (a what??) and swam at Grandpa and Grandma's. Phew. That was longer than I intended.

I took fewer pictures than I wanted to, but I was just enjoying a little bit of time to relax myself! Why don't grandmas live closer??

Thank you, family, for making our visit so lovely! We miss you all SO much! The invitation to visit us whenever you can is a standing one, so grab your hand-held spritzer fans, plenty of sunscreen, and something to kill over-sized bugs with and come on down!

Strawberry shortcake is AWESOME

Four generations!
A boy and his grandpa
I love my mommy and daddy
I love my cute husband
How is Reed almost 17??
Above: busy at Grandparents Schindlers'; below: busy at Grandparents Adlish' house

Hardy Family Reuinion

I apologize for the lack of blogginess we have exhibited for nearly a month, but we've been vacationing!

During the first weekend of August we drove to northern Arizona near Pinetop for the annual Warren E. Hardy family reunion. Warren Hardy was Casey's great-grandfather. Casey's maternal grandmother was the youngest of 13 children, and his mother, Cheryl has over 50 first cousins on her mother's side! We heard that the total number of descendants there was close to 300. Despite the number of people there, it was remarkably well-organized. There were a few provided meals, sports and games for adults and kids, a karaoke night, a talent show, and even a church meeting on Sunday.

It was our first experience camping with all of our own stuff, and our first time in our tent with Gavin. Let's be honest here, people - I didn't sleep particularly well, because Gavin didn't sleep particularly well. It's not that easy in a tent to get a busy toddler to settle down and go to sleep, and the loud teenagers outside at 2 am didn't help very much. Gavin was busy as usual all weekend, only it was a lot harder for us to keep him clean and relatively sanitary due to the lack of enclosed areas. Cleanliness went out the window, too, when it began to rain - hard - on one of the days we were there. Fortunately, Courtnee (Casey's sister) graciously allowed us all to stand miserably in her fifth-wheel, dripping wet and muddy, whenever it rained. Gavin hated to be holed up, but he LOVED the resulting lake o' mud that ran conveniently through the middle of our camp afterwards. I might not have let him get so messy had Courtnee and Seth not had a shower (and a hose) to clean him up afterward. Thank you SO much, again, Clymers - you were perfect angels!

Let's also be clear on the number of children I brought to this reunion, which was apparently two. I had no idea that Casey would revert back to his childhood when he had the opportunity to go cliff diving with his brothers, or when he pulled out the baseball glove, ball, football and Frisbee, "just in case" his brothers wanted to play. It was fun to watch them and think how much fun they must have had as kids and how they just know that they automatically have playmates when they get together.

We were pretty tired when we got home, but were grateful to spend time with family and happy to have had assistance from family members who took Gavin off our hands when we were about to bury our heads in the mud with madness. Bless you all!

As a last note, let me give a shoutout to the so-called "watermelon" bugs who graced our nightly chats and Courtnee's upper lip.

Action photo: nice dig!

Cousin Corbin

Playtime

Not the most effective way to eat pudding, I'll admit. It is a great photo-op, however.

Edible fun is my favorite. Apparently Gavin also enjoys playing with his food! Peanut butter play dough is good stuff.

Gavin is talking on the phone in these two pictures. He's a very busy guy. You should see him on his Blackberry.

This is what happens at the end of playtime! If we hadn't seen him breathing we would have thought he was dead.