SAN DIEGO!!

I am so behind on blogging I don't know if I will ever catch up! Let's start with Spring Break. Ry and I used some tax money and went to San Diego. I love, LOVE San Diego. I love Mission Beach. I haven't been for 9 years and when we got there I just stood on the beach and cried. The beach fills my soul like I cannot explain. And my husband does the same thing. We had the best time just relaxing on the beach and going to some places we had never been too. The best day was when we laid on the beach for 6 hours and I fell asleep on his belly. I am so grateful we go to go to my favorite place. And more importantly, so happy I could go with Ry.

Pictures are of him and I at Cabrillo National Monument (so beautiful), my Ry at the beach and a sunset picture.

If I close my eyes, I'm back there. With the wind in my hair, the salt on my lips, and no stress in my shoulders.

For Amylee, Erin, Whitney and anyone else who may be . . .

Maybe I'm Watching Atoms Order
by David Thacker
In the ultra sound I see five fingers
stretching out. Stretching and back. Expand,
contract. What are they reaching for? Is it
a game babies play-practicing for catch.
Or are they thinking of what it will
feel like to grasp hands and be
ridiculously in love. As those
fingers form, do they look forward to that?
Or maybe I'm watching atoms order.
My physics book tells me that atoms
that make up a baby originated in
stars. Hydrogen, carbon, oxygen-
all atoms waiting and hoping to be
five fingers in the ultra sound-waving
to me. Feeling small and quiet, I wave back.

Take care of yourselves my friends. I love you.

"Thank you . . . You're Welcome"

My Amylee thinks that when you say 'you're welcome,' that means thank you. So, if I hand her a drink she says,"You're Welcome." We have tried to help her switch them around, but she just cant' get the hang of it. And when she says 'you're welcome,' it sounds like 'you're welcome,' with the inflection and everything. It made me think today. She says 'you're welcome' for thank you, and maybe I should be thanking her letting me serve her. Thank you Amylee, for helping me not be so selfish, to put your needs before mine. Thank you for making me stop and read books, or play soccer in the back yard. Thank you for forgiving me when I make really stupid mistakes. Thank you for letting me sing "Winnie the Pooh" before we go to bed. Thank you for rubbing your little face all over mine when we snuggle. Thank you for screaming with happiness when I come pick you up from daycare. Thank you for growing big and strong even though you started out weiging the size of a large potato. Thank you for looking at me with your little blue eyes and saying, "Huh?" whenever I ask you a question. Thank you for putting your shoes away the minute we walk in the door. Thank you for making Grammy and Pop and Grammie Sherie so happy. Thank you my Amylee. Thank you.

You're welcome.

I am sluffing Relief Society and drowning my sorrows in cheesecake my sister Vicki made me. She makes the best cheesecake ever. It's actually not even called cheesecake. It's cream cheese pie. That just makes it sound even better, right? She makes it for me when I get way busy or stressed at work. So I got home from my show last night and it was sitting on my table. And I'm not sharing.
I am sluffing Relief Society because I'm being non-religious today and pretending I haven't just been called to be the Ward Choir Director. I have now been this three times in my life, with Ward Chorister 5. I now will do both jobs at the same time. I have bitterness. Not because they asked me to serve. I can serve. I serve. It's just that it's the same thing over and over. Lead the music. I love music. My mom taught me to lead when I was 8. It's a gift I am grateful for. But seriously, it's the same thing over and over again. I looked right at the first counselor and told him this was a calling of convenience, not inspiration. And he said, You're right. (insert cheesecake here) I changed the time of choir practice and the location and you'd have thought I shot someone's cat. The ward organist, who I deal with weekly, is also the choir accompanist. He is very special. And I don't mean 'special, we want to be around him all the time.' I mean, special, in the way you are thinking. I had to talk him through the change. I thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown. I was standing in the hallway by the primary room scheduling the chapel for practice. The clerk wished my good luck, I said, "We'll see" right at the first counselor rounded the corner. He said, "Sister Thorne is excited. She just chooses to show it on the inside." I had to run out of the building before I unloaded on this poor man because my first reaction would have produced little pieces of him and me all over the wall. I have issues about this. I know I do. It will probably end up being the best thing that's ever happened to me. But right now, I'm just irritated about the whole thing. I guess it's because a monkey could do my callings. And I love doing music, but not when I feel thrown into it because no one else can be found. I'll keep you posted. Today should be interesting.

Priceless!

For those of you who know me well, you know how I feel about my son. He has me wrapped around his finger. He has to wake up at 6:30am every day to go to school with me where he plays in the day care until I take him to afternoon kindergarten. Everyday when I wake him he says, "Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night!" He is so patient with me and my job and the fact, as he put it last night in the van, "There are too many girls in this family!" (This kid needs a brother. Be patient, little man. All in good time.) Anyway, the other day I woke him up and he got right up, put his clothes on. I was shocked. I went to get dressed and came back to see what the shoe and sock status was for the morning and found him like this. He is sitting on top of the heat vent.

Priceless.

The "S L A B's" in concert, One NIGHT ONLY . . .!

Here we are, in our first official photo shoot. This evening was inspired by stress. These three women have had some stress in their lives as of late, and there's nothing like banging away on the drums to relieve said stress. Liz is inspiringly(I don't really think that's a word, but you know what I mean) good on the guitar. Bonnie rocks the mic and Syd is our drummer. (As you can probably tell, we didn't get a whole lot accomplished with Bonnie on drums). And, we were retarded for a minute and had to do "Band on the Run" like four times before we weren't booed off stage. And the costumes, well, I went to Wally to make us shirts with our band name and ran into these. And they sparkled. And I had to buy them. I mean, you have to have glitter to be in a band for hell's sake! Big shout out to RyLeigh who helped us all night long pick songs and change our difficutly level. The average age in this group was like 43ish, (that's if you average the three former D'ettes with the young, prettier version of them all. I'm actually guessing on that average because I have no idea how to really average it). Anyway, we were stupid and RyLeigh had to help us.

I love our band! And I love my band members. "Rock on, Rock on, today!"

D'ette's? What the . . .

Three of my favorite people on this planet. We took this in honor of all three of them, at one time or another, being D'ette's. I hear endless discussions of the splits and how they could never get all the way down, blah, blah, blah. They've goe some great arm action going on though.