Monday, November 30, 2009

Chapter 1: The Miracle

I've said in the past that I belong to a select group of women called, The Grieving Mother's Club. Some belong through infertility. Some belong through infant and child loss. Some get their membership through dreams not yet realized. Regardless, we all draw strength from each other and our unique...yet not so unique...stories.

My story began...

With the challenging diagnosis of infertility. For over a year my husband and I had been trying unsuccessfully to start a family. At the prompting of our family doctor, we began seeing a very reputable specialist. He empathized and understood that for every couple trying to have a baby...each month feels like a year. It is a roller coaster of emotions in which you hurry up...and then wait.

He was also the one that told me after a series of blood tests in November that there was no way that we could have a baby. Although I've been more ambitious in my life for the Board Room over the Laundry Room...this announcement made me realize that although I hadn't considered motherhood much in the past, I couldn't imagine it absent in my future.

So when my cycle didn't start a few days later from that doctor's visit....neither my husband or I were concerned. I didn't ovulate that month and Dr. Q's solution: a progesterone shot to "reboot" my system. Since I was feeling a little blue over his news, I convinced him to wait until after the holidays. Holidays are about children and I had just received the news that we wouldn't be having any....

I was devastated.

As we returned home from a relaxing New Year in Idaho I couldn't put it off any longer so I finally showed up the doctor's office with Mr. Thompson in tow. I signed in, waited for the nurse to call my name and started rolling up my sleeve as we walked back to the lab. She surprised me by asking me to pee in a cup first but quickly let me know that this was a routine procedure, for liability purposes.

She was humming to herself as she stuck that test strip in my sample. When she pulled it out, she stopped humming. She waited a minute (or what felt like a minute) and looked at the test again. Then she took out another test from the cupboard and tried again. I'm watching her do this believing that it was "routine procedure" just like she said.

When she pulled out the other test and looked at me, I realized that it wasn't. She grabbed my chart and started flipping through it in a frantic motion. At that point, a little alarm bell went off in my head. Then she looked up at me with this strange look on her face and said, "we can't give you the shot today." The little bell turned into a bullhorn. I knew that I didn't feel right! I had secretly worried that this could be something a little more serious then ovulation (or lack there of) issues. What if it was cancer?! Then she smiled and said those two magic words....

"You're pregnant".

"What?!" I stammered.

"Congratulations, you are pregnant", she replied.

With an elevated and disbelieving voice I countered with, "But that is not possible. I don't ovulate. Dr. Q said it isn't possible!"

Again she smiled and said, "I know. According to your chart and our previous tests, that's true. But these two pregnancy tests say something different." With that she thrust the tests to me and pointed out how pink they were. A little pink...maybe. Hot pink...definitely.

They were both hot pink.

For the first time in my life, I felt the feelings of total shock. Pregnancy was honestly the furthest thing from my mind because I resolved myself to that not being a possibility. At least not according to my trusted doctor.

At this point she had a full grin on her face because of my incoherent stammers. She patted me on the shoulder and said, "Go tell your husband. Dr. Q will call you."

I walked out to the waiting room rolling down my sleeve with more than a little alarm and disbelief written all over my face. Mr. Thompson stood up to greet me and said, "you okay?"

I kept walking and said, "They didn't give me the shot".

He stopped with a "why?!"

In a daze I kept walking...straight for the elevator. This situation wasn't exactly playing out how I dreamed it would. Do I just blurt it out in an elevator, I wondered?

Which is exactly what I did.

As soon as those elevator doors closed, I blurted out in an accusing tone "that nurse says I'm pregnant!" (as if I was all her fault and not something I so desperately wanted).

That stopped him cold. "What?!" he stammered.

"She said I'm pregnant!"

He countered with, "That's not possible. You don't ovulate!"

That's when something settled in my mind. So I smiled and said, "I know...but those two pregnancy test they just gave me say something different". I explained the difference between a little and a lot pink.

Ours were (plural) a lot pink.

That's when something settled in his mind and he said, "I don't believe it". Those were the words her repeated the entire drive home...straight to the pharmacy where he insisted that we pick up 3 different kinds of tests. He said it even after we went home and each one of those tests had the same results.

Hot pink. Two lines. Pregnant.

It was the most disbelieving joyful day of my life! We had been unsuccessfully trying to start a family and had resolved ourselves to a changed family plan after some devastating news from our doctor....but this was finally our time! As I said my prayers that night I told God that I didn't know how it was possible....I was just thankful that it was.

The next day, January 7th when Dr. Q called me, he said something to me that I will never forget. He said, "J - Don't question a miracle when God gives it to you. What you have here is an unexplainable medical miracle. Take it and be happy".

Take it we did and happy we were.

The happiest.

Which will always be.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Prancer - The Sniffling Pole Dancer

Did you miss me?

I've missed you.

I took a little sabbatical because I was hanging out with my seven (yes - SEVEN!) siblings and we were all together for the first time in seven (yes - SEVEN!) years. It was glorious.

And then I got sick.


For what has to be the seventh (yes - SEVEN) time.

But at least it was only a cold this time after three glorious weeks of health.

Mr. Thompson blames it on all of the little snotty-noses around our turkey feast. My eldest pole-dancing brother (forever to be named "Prancer - The Pole Dancer) blames it on me.

Prancer called me yesterday and the conversation went something like this:

Him: "J - this is your oldest brother. (like I wouldn't know who he is or that he is in-fact my oldest brother!).....what the hell?! I am sick and going to kick somebody's butt. "

Me: (I started laughing...)

Him: "I'm serious. I'm sick. I caught this cold and I feel like crap. Next time - we are going to have an all adult party at my house because those snotty-nosed little kids got us sick! Actually....the snotty-nosed little kids got you sick because you let them cough in your face....and then you got me sick!"

Me: (Still laughing....)

Him: "So it looks like I'm going to kick your butt!"

Me: (laughing even harder....)

Him: "Stop laughing. I'm serious. I'm going to kick your butt. Just wait. Is Aaron sick too?"

Me: (laughing harder still....)

You see, Mr. Thompson left Idaho early on the day after Thanksgiving because he didn't want to get sick. He obviously didn't think his chances through very well because he left me behind... playing with all of those snotty-nosed little kids.

It was glorious.

Even if it did make me sick. For the seventh time.

As for Prancer...he seems to have forgotten that we call him "Prancer" because he was dancing with those same little people and technically germs can transfer when little people don't wash their hands.

So if you get a cold don't blame it on me.

Blame it on one of the 24 cute kids.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Disturbing The Peace

In hopes of being a better neighbor, I paid our neighbors a little visit last night. Guilt has finally overcome me. We've lived in this house for 20 months now and still don't know the people who live around us. I can't even tell you what they look like which is shameful!

So I paid them a visit.

It was purely a social call in my effort to introduce myself and get to know them better. They are cool people who have been feeling the same way. We discussed our HOA, how funny (not really!) it is that they waited until AFTER the snow arrived to put new curbs in front of our house. We also brushed up on all the neighborhood gossip including the police woman who just moved next door and the lawsuit our HOA filed against Richmond Homes for the less than poor construction on some of the homes. We were having a very nice/neighborly conversation until my neighbor Tim switched topics and asked....

"Do you know who in the neighborhood is in the band?"

Perplexed I replied, "No, I don't. I haven't seen or heard them".

"We hear them all the time." he countered. "Sometimes it's late...sometimes it's early....but it's really crazy. It's this loud beat like their playing drums or something. I think that they are having band practice. The other night I aaaaalmost called the cops because it was ridiculous".

Oh crap! I think he's talking about my bagpipes!

I quickly bid them good night and ran home to Mr. Thompson.

I. Don't. Want. To. Go. To. Jail.

Which leads to an interesting question......

Why I'm learning to play the bagpipes?

After losing our little Colton I was really sad. I mean really sad. Tears every day sad. Cry in the bathtub kind of sad. Husband not know what to do kind of sad. One day I finally had enough crying so I decided that I was going to pick myself up off the floor and find a hobby. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do. It had to be something at the top of my Bucket List.

That's where "learn to play the bagpipes" was written.

Blame it on my father who has his roots in Scotland and, since the beginning of time, has blasted bagpipe music at 6:00am in the morning to rouse the house.

Rouse the house indeed.

It apprears that I'm just doing it to the wrong house. So much for my effort to be a better neighbor!

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Deep Sigh.....

I watched Pride & Prejudice for the millionth time last night. [Sigh]

It's my favorite movie.

The last lines get me every time.....

Mr. Darcy: How are you this evening, my dear?
Elizabeth Bennet: Very well... although I wish you would not call me "my dear."
Mr. Darcy: [chuckles] Why?
Elizabeth Bennet: Because it's what my father always calls my mother when he's cross about something.
Mr. Darcy: What endearments am I allowed?
Elizabeth Bennet: Well let me think...”Lizzie" for every day, "My Pearl" for Sundays, and...”Goddess Divine"... but only on *very* special occasions.
Mr. Darcy: And... what should I call you when I am cross? Mrs. Darcy...?
Elizabeth Bennet: No! No. You may only call me "Mrs. Darcy"... when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.
Mr. Darcy: [he snickers] Then how are you this evening... Mrs. Darcy? [kisses her on the forehead]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy... [kisses her on the right cheek]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy... [kisses her on the nose]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy... [kisses her on the left cheek]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy... [finally kisses her on the mouth]

....and now you know why I call my husband Mr. Thompson.....

[Deep sigh]

Thursday, November 19, 2009

My Peep Has A Peep

My big sis broke her ankle yesterday. She stepped in a hole on her way to feed her chickens. Call me irreverent... but I can't stop laughing about it. (Sorry but it's FUNNY!).

Not the fact that she broke her ankle...or tore her tendons...and has a Loritab prescription she refuses to use. That isn't funny. So sad in fact, that I'm going to make her a pot of my much requested homemade chicken noodle soup.

And I'll even use her chickens in my recipe if she wants me to because that is the part of the story which has me laughing so hard.

My sister has chickens!

Smack dab in the middle of the city!

A whole freakin' flock!

Perhaps the funniest part of the story is that her husband adamantly refused to let her get chickens. When I mean adamantly, I mean adamantly. The whole family was working to wear him down but he stuck to his guns. Adamantly.

I hate to say it, but I knew he was going to eventually break. I knew it at dinner last spring when the four of us had date night at the infamous Maddox restaurant in rural Brigham City.

Ironically, Maddox is known for their fried chicken.

As as we were waiting our 45 minutes to be seated I remember my sister and I gazing out the window at the little farm across the street. With much longingly my sister said, "I want to get some chickens". She had Chicken Little stars in her eyes.

My bro-in-law heard her from a distance with his sonar ears and shut her down very quickly with an adamant "we are NOT getting chickens!". From there continued a most hilarious conversation (otherwise known as rant) about all the reasons why they were NOT. EVER. GOING. TO. GET. CHICKENS.

Disgusted with the whole conversation, most especially me who took it as an opportunity to push every last one of his buttons (poor chap - it's something I excel at!)...he finally walked away leaving the rest of us in his dust. At that point, I turned to my sister and said, "Let me know when your peeps arrive".

"I pick them up on Monday", she replied.

Ha. My poor brother-in-law didn't stand a chance. For that, he now has a wife with a broken ankle.

Maybe I should take it as an opportunity to remind him that it's a good thing she isn't a horse or we'd have to take her out and shoot her.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

The Devil Wears Prada...and Sometimes Gucci!

I had a funny conversation with a friend the other day. After 12 years of knowing each other he noted...."What most people don't know about you Wilson (that's what he calls me) is that you really do have a sensitive side."

Oh great - my secret is out. After 12 years of friendship DeLeon has finally figured out that I have working tear ducts.That...I'm really not Cruela Devil or The Devil Wears Prada.

Reminded me of an exit interview I did a few months ago. My first happy ending in 16 months. It was happy because I couldn't begrudge an employee I very much liked and respected because he took a new job which would earn him and his family a lot more money. The non-profit life isn't for everyone and I understand that.

This exit interview was actually...dare I! We laughed and ate cookies the whole way through it. After we sobered up from my first name discloser (that's what he wanted to know as a going away gift)....I asked him what I could do to be a better manager. His reply surprised me....

"You're a sharp woman.... and you intimidate people. They don't see your vulnerabilities. They need to see you as a real person. For example - they need to know that you play the bagpipes! Nobody even knows that."

That's what he said - I know because I wrote it down. In short, he was telling me that people are afraid of me and I need to not be so private because that's intimidating.


I think I heard this in NYC too. I remember Crazy Razy, Price and Noelle telling me that they were afraid of me before they got to know me.


Holly and Katie said it too.


I guess I better give everyone the link to my blog so they can see that my bagpipe teacher falls asleep on me every week and that I had a black eye recently because I literally got flipped off the treadmill. Truth be told, I have at least one significantly retarded moment every week and.... I. Cry. All. The. Time. That's my reality. How's that for vulnerability?

Speaking of retarded moments....

Mr. Thompson and I have tallies that we keep on each other.

His is a curse jar. Every time he curses he owes me 25 cents. In one week alone I earned a whopping $16.25 (that's 65 curses in case you're wondering...1/2 of which were in open defiance to the jar) .

Mine is a "don't be retarded" jar. This was his way of getting back to me on the curse jar (which was HIS original idea mind you!). So every time he thinks that I do something retarded I owe him 25 cents. I vehemently disagree as it is all subjective but when I vocalize my just earns him another quarter so I've learned to shut up. During that same week he only earned $3.00.

There you go. I'm open and exposed (in a non-gay and non-naked way). What else would you like to know?

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Once Upon A Time...

An old friend asked me how I met Mr. Thompson. An interesting question indeed. The answer goes something like this....

Once Upon A a land far away called New York City....there was a beautiful princess named JaLae (this is my story so I can say what I want). She would prance around with her basket of joy helping people who suffered bad things. She would hum from disaster to disaster because she loved her job and the people she worked with.

One morning in September while she was talking with the leaders of the land about all the humming and prancing they were doing....some evil people called "terrorists" decided to hurt a lot of people. So along with the leaders and responders she stopped humming and prancing...and went to work. For three years she worked. She worked... and she worked... and she worked.

Until one day she looked around and realized that nobody was humming or prancing anymore. It seemed like everyone was dysfunctional and getting divorced from their families because of the evil people and what they had done. That made her sad. And lonely.

So she kissed the good people goodbye, listened to the lectures about committing "career suicide" and moved back to the west so she could be closer to her family. She did this even though there wasn't a huge need for humming and prancing where she was going.

One day she noticed a job in a different part of the Red Cross called Blood Services. It wasn't quite like prancing and humming from disaster to disaster but she decided to try it for a while and accepted a position to manage their regional volunteer program.

One day a bad hurricane was approaching a village called New her old friends who were working on their dysfunctions and divorces called her and asked her to travel very quickly to help the people prepare. She did, with the blessing of Blood Services. The hurricane hit and she realized she was really in Hell where she stayed for two months. She worked...and she worked... and she worked.

While she worked she could only call her family on a satellite phone until one day she could mysteriously send text messages (not calls) on her cell phone. So she did. A lot of text messages. Without cares about how much it was going to cost the part of the Red Cross which didn't really understand disasters or text message budgets.

When she returned to Salt Lake City she decided that she needed to make nice with the manager who got her cell phone bill. When she approached him she realized that it was none other than Mr. Thompson, the former manager from another department that she didn't like. He had changed jobs. She didn't like him because he almost got her killed by a mean girl who wanted to volunteer but couldn't because she had gotten into trouble for something called "drugs". Mr. Thompson knew Mean Girl's father who worked for the police department and was just trying to help. Unfortunately, he made promises the Red Cross couldn't keep and the princess had to break the news to Mean Girl and her father.

The princess barely got away unscathed from the Mean Girl who wanted to beat her up and as a result, didn't like Mr. Thompson.

But when she realized he was the keeper of her cell phone...she had to like him.

So in her effort to "make nice" she learned that he was a Boston Red Sox fan. She, of course, was a Yankees fan which gave her permission to start playing pranks and trashing talk.

So she did.

In return, he not only took care of the cell phone bill but started bringing her Mountain Dews each morning.

One night he invited her to a sports bar to watch a baseball game. She had a long day of conference meetings but turned the car around and met him for a drink.
Pranks and trash talking eventually turned into admiration and respect.

They became friends and kept it a secret.

They eventually fell in love and still kept it a secret.

They got engaged and still kept it a secret.

They planned a non-Red Cross wedding in Hawaii and still kept it a secret!

Because of that, the princess is glad she committed career suicide and Mr. Thompson is glad he handles the cell phones.

And so they live happily ever after.

The end.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Oh Hollywood....

Body language says it all. My big sister didn't stand a chance against attitude like this....

Man, I love her!

Friday, November 13, 2009

Sometimes It's The Destination

There is a phrase floating out there which says something like...."life is about the journey, not the destination".

I think that's wrong.

Sometimes it's really is about the destination.

That's how I feel about infertility.

And weight loss too.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

A Few Delilah Dedications

Uncle Tom (can I call you that?)....I'd like to formally welcome you to Viva la Vida. I don't know if I say anything interesting but you gotta know that Mr. Thompson speaks (and thinks) very highly of you. Some of his best childhood memories include you.

That's a compliment since he doesn't have many so I'm really appreciative. I love his guts and am happy to have an in-law instead of an out-law.

Welcome to our family. I can't wait to see your blog!

**** need to know that I once had lofty dreams about uniting our families through you and Cody....but I read your blog and am so happy that you got a good man too. Would you by any chance mind if I Photoshop our heads into that great black and white photo of you and Mike? I want a photo like that and Photoshop is the only way I'll get it.


Tobi...I'm not going to recant my vote and nominate you for Homecoming Queen '93 unless you become my Follower. You're on notice.


Dos Amigos....I lost two pounds because of you this week. Much love to Jillian and Bob.


Blogstalking peeps....I love you all but will love you even more when you add your beautiful face to my Follower box. I know where you live so you can run but you can't hide.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

To Dream A Dream

Bagpipe lesson didn't exactly go according to plan today. Something to do with the fact that I still feel like crum and cough a lot. That and the fact that I haven't exactly practiced for two weeks.

Ever try to blow into a bagpipe when you can't breath? Doesn't exactly work with this piggy flu thing.

I went to my lesson today with a list of excuses on why I haven't improved or couldn't even remember anything from the last lesson for that matter. No excuses needed.

Robert de Brus was surprisingly sympathetic to my cause.

(Dare I hope that I'm "growing" on him? That the ornery old Scot is losing his orneriness?)

Upon walking through the door he informed me that once upon a time... he used to be a Respiratory Therapist. My first impression was that it is sure strange to go from this....but I guess it kind of makes perfect sense.

It take a lot of wind to make music (or in my case...noise) on the bagpipes. Wind usually comes from your respiratory system. Thus, Respiratory Therapist to Drill Sergeant.

See, it makes perfect sense I say.

Do you think that means that I can go from Non-Profit Manager to Bagpipe Extraordinaire?

Where there is a will (or Wilson) there is a way!

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

To Walk A Mile In Their Shoes

I love bloggersphere (is that a word?). If you need support - there is support to be had. Oodles of it actually (is that a word?) . Strangers become friends as you walk these many miles together. Lo and behold - I have realized that many of these good souls (too many in my humble opinion) are even wearing the same pair of shoes.

As I navigate this unexpected path....these are some of my new favorite friends and their sites.

999 Reasons To Laugh At Infertility
Stirrup Queens
Taking The Statistical Bullet
I Never Thought It Made Sense Anyway
Share Your Thoughts
My Yellow Brick Road Has Potholes

I get these women and they get me. Who needs to pay for therapy with friends like these?

Not me.

p.s. I love that I have 4 new Followers! Did you add your beautiful face yet?

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Where My Peeps At?

Why isn't your beautiful face smiling at me from My Peeps window?

Click on the "Follow" link on the right and become a Viva La Vida follower. Then I can legitimately tell my mother that... I'm a leader.

Every parent's dream for their child.

(and proof that we paid attention in Primary).

Friday, November 6, 2009

Breaking News

It's official: H1N1 is the dominant illness worldwide.


That would make my house an international household. Which should make Mr. Thompson happy because he claims to be Scottish anyway. He even reads the Scottish daily newspaper every morning to prove it.

He's not of course, but since he's already endured this crap which has had me laid up in bed for seven days (Count them: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7!)...I'll let him celebrate his international status and claim to be Scottish.

I guess this technically makes us....worldly.

So what exactly have I done while I've been laying in bed for seven (yes, seven!) days?

I....learned early on that you shouldn't steal you husband's sleeping pill and mix it with a dose of Tylenol Nighttime Cough and Cold. It put me in a near coma and got me good and drunk. Yes, drunk. I stumbled around like I was finally taking a nip of my Famous Grouse Highland Game tug-o-war winnings (that's right, the Wilson sisters all proudly won bottles of whiskey).

I...realized how very nice my Mr. Thompson is as he will make repeated midnight runs to the drug store for more NyQuil and Tylenol. Ah, the things we do for love. Think it will work for ice cream?

I...finally caught the Oprah fever. I even submitted an online application for Oprah's Step Out Of Your Box challenge based upon Wednesday's great episode. So throw some salt over your shoulder for luck that they'll pick me because I've decided that I'm not going to wait until I'm 40 to go skydiving or lose 60 pounds before I go skinny dipping again (yes, again. Thank you Hyrum Reservoir). I'm going to continue my quest for living in the moment. As I proposed to Oprah, I don't want to wait until my next life until I become a race car driver. I'd like to do it today. Now.

I....also read three books. Smutty romance novels each and every one of them. All bought and paid for by Mr. Thompson. Last time I asked him to pick me up a book he grabbed a murder mystery about a pagan vampire.

No thanks.

So, I've appropriately schooled him and he is trained to pick out anything which reads "Highlander" in the title and has a photo of a strapping warrior on front. No Fabio please.

I get this from my grandmother you know. My beloved Grandma Fae was the meek women with oodles of quiet dignity....but she had a strong liking for romance novels. Even after a stroke in her 80's she had to learn to walk again, talk again, and read again. She did this , just so she could return to her Harlequins.

When she would come over for holidays she would patiently sit in the rocking chair while my momma and sisters prepared the feast. Since I can't cook worth a darn that would make me....The Reader.

Ever read a Harlaquin Romance to a 90 year old woman? It will make your face burn! I would get so embarrassed that I would stutter...stammer...and try to bridge the parts I just had to skip. I couldn't say it. Not to my grandmother!

And every time I would look up, she would smile at me in her demure little way with a twinkle in her eye.

Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess.

I hope Mr. Thompson is up for another grocery store run when he gets home. I can't wait to see what Grandma inspires him to pick out today!

If it involves a Highlander then this international illness might be worth it.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Inquiring Minds Like Yours Want To Know

I've had a few phone calls. Curiosity killed the cat...and some of you have inquired about the secret I'm keeping.

It's keeping you up at night.

The bold have just come right out and asked....

Am I prego? No.

Trust me - I wouldn't/couldn't keep that secret. I determined, regardless of what Mr. Thompson says, if we are blessed with that blessing again...I'll shout it from the rooftops and celebrate each day.

Even if it doesn't last.

Because each day is something to celebrate.

But back to the issue at hand. I'm not prego. Matter of fact, the secret I'm keeping doesn't even have anything to do with me. Well...sort of doesn't have anything to do with me. I guess if you want to get technical, it does. But who wants to be technical?

Not me.

Back to the prego issue. Just in case inquiring minds like yours want to know...I did my benefits today and put a huge chunk of change in my medical flex spending account.

We'll give IVF one more shot at the beginning of the year. After I lose at least 20 pounds.

Anybody with me?

I'm looking for a "Jillian".

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Every Good Grandma...

Every good grandma needs a dress up box.

pictured left to right: me, Clay (brother), Buster (cousin)

Monday, November 2, 2009


Flipped through the channels today in my drug induced state and ran across an interesting tidbit of advice. I think it was on Rachel Ray and the advice was by Emme (a plus-size model). She said (and I quote).

"There are two faux pas in life...
  1. Big girls who wear empire waist dresses. (oops)
  2. People who ask big girls who wear empire waist dresses if they are prego."

We're not.

I feel strangely repremanded and validated in the same statement. I won't break rule #1 if you won't break rule #2.

Thanks Emme!

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Always Faithful

I know a secret and it's killing me. Why do secrets do that? Why don't you guess it ....then technically I won't break my promise and tell anyone. :)


I'm looking for book recommendations. I want to read something....but don't know what. Suggestions?


My niece, the Halloween Hobo, asked me to put up more pics of Disneyland. Check out the bottom of the page for a big fat "I Love You"!


Mr. Thompson has been sick this week. Guess what? Now I am too. I guess that's what happens when someone coughs in your face. This flu thing STINKS! I don't do sick very well and he is going to pay.


Congrats to my momma who finally busted out of the hospital. Glad you are on the "up" Ma. Continued thoughts and prayers coming your way for a speedy recovery.