Refugee

Sara asked me last week if we could have a dog.

"No" I don't know why I don't love having pets, but I don't. "No" and that's my final answer.

So of course she asked again.

Still no.

"He's been abused. The owners treat him badly. He's under nourished and his ribs stick out.The other dog they have won't let him to the food. He needs a good home."

"Ahhh, let me think....No."

The next day she looked at me with big puppy dog eyes and said, "They gave my dog away."

And still I am unmoved. (You may be thinking me cold, but we do have a cat afterall)

Like the biblical Job, there's always restoration in Sara's life....

Saturday, she got a call and was told that the other situation wasn't going to work out. Second chance....

Saturday night I received a call from Sara:

"Mom, where are you?"

"Why do you ask?" (I already know she's up to something she isn't ready to reveal)

"Just checking."

"You must be bringing home a dog."

Meet Paco

I know, they're ears that only a mother can love and you're singing "Baby Mine" as you look at these pictures and saying to yourself, "It's been a long time since I've seen that movie....Dumbo."

I'm so rude.

Don't Sell the Farm, Dude

So, quite some time ago and rather late at night, I found myself heading to WalMart for some forgotten reason. I went to the WalMart in Washington, whose clientele is not so desirable after 10pm and it was after 10pm.

There in the parking lot, taking up an entire row (including the forbidden handicap spots) was a mongo huge custom bus with a mongo huge custom trailer hitched to it and a very MONGO huge picture of some sorry looking guy painted on both of them. He looked like he needed us to remember his face, because his name had no recognition. He was grungy looking, wearing a beat up cowboy hat and dippy t-shirt. If you're going to have your portrait traveling the highways of America, wouldn't you at least shave and buy a yourself a new cowboy hat?

Sometimes, but not very often, I have critical thoughts before I have kind thoughts. On this occasion, I thought, "Don't sell the farm, Dude, you'll never make it to the big time." Then I felt badly because what if he had sold the farm and had spent all of his money on a "Hollywood or Bust" adventure and his mom and dad were now homeless and here he was in Washington Utah, shopping with the after 10pm clientele at WalMart because he was all out of his "adventure" money. So then the kind thoughts started flowing. I'll just find him in the store and give him some good mom advice and he can go back to Nebraska or Iowa and buy back the farm before it's too late.

But I chickened out once I got inside. Looking at the other "after 10pm" shoppers, I knew I needed to get my "whatever was so important it couldn't wait" item and get home. So I didn't go looking for my "return to Kansas" project. (I'm certain he was from the mid west. I could feel it as surely as I felt he'd never make it big.)

A good amount of time passed and while watching tv one night, there he was! My WalMart farm boy! But he was on some grunge tv program that I was zipping by. "Hey," I said, "That's my man!" My husband's eyebrows went up. "That's the guy I tried to save before it was too late. Now look at him. Someone has gone and gotten him involved in vulgar, low life tv, like the teenage girls that run away and end up as prostitutes or in porno flims and all of this because he spent his big adventure money before he ever got to Hollywood. Then he couldn't make ends meet bussing tables, so here he is on grunge VH1 tv and his poor mom is home in Okalhoma crying because her farm and son are lost! ...And it's all my fault because I didn't find him in WalMart and tell him to drive that bus back home. My fault!"

I am a stupid naive woman.

Here's "my man"......

You can catch him Sunday nights on the Apprentice, if you want. I understand he could buy Arkansas if he wanted. Stupid woman.

You May Think You Know the Answer, but Carson Trumps Us All

I went to Primary with Joshua, Carson and Trinity this past Sunday. During senior sharing time, the leader was teaching about the restoration of the gospel and made the comment, "To get to heaven, you must be baptized."
Joshua's eyes opened wide and with panic in his voice, said, "Grandma, I've GOT to get baptismed!"
Then during junior sharing time, the leader, teaching the same lesson, asked the question of her younger congregation, "What do you have to do to get to heaven?"
Carson, dressed in his Sunday suit complete with black silk bowtie, shot his hand in the air. The intense expression on his face must have drawn the attention of the primary leader because she called on him. "Carson, do you know what we have to do to get to heaven?"
"Yes. You have to die."