Oh yes, and one more thing.

There was a tarantula in the house last night.  That's right, in the house.  Brian saw the cat playing with something in the entry way.  At first he thought it was a lizard, a gecko.  We see those all the time.  But no, not this time.  It was a tarantula.  He said it was just a baby.  Sure.

If you've been following my blog since we arrived you might recall the story of the tarantula on the front porch 10 days after we moved in.  I locked myself in the car screaming and, fearing I would be on the next plane, Brian killed it.  Since then we've seen several, 3 that were caught and put in a terrarium on my back porch until I couldn't take it anymore and gave the ultimatum of it being either the spiders or me. 

The boys and I are reading a book called The Wednesday Wars.  It takes place back in 1967-68, the Vietnam War is in full swing.  It's a young adult book, but I highly recommend it.  Anyway, Mrs. Sidman, one of the characters in the beginning of the book, leaves on page 26 after being traumatized by the sight of Doug Swietecks brother, still loopy after a concussion, coming down the hall with hair whitened by blackboard eraser dust, chalk sticking out of his mouth like fangs, howling, roaring and slobbering through the halls.  She comes back into the book on page 175 and, as luck would have it, Sycorax and Caliban, 2 rats that previously escaped from a classroom cage, fall on her from the tiled ceiling.  "Mrs. Sidman, who I guess had determined that nothing more was going to happen to her at Camillo Junior High School without her say-so.  She grabbed the rats by the back of their necks - which was not easy, since they were so fat - pulled them off her lap, and hoisted them into the air.  Their paws scrambled, their mouths hissed, their yellow teeth clicked, but Mrs. Sidman didn't care.  She stood and held them up, like Macduff holding Macbeth's head."

If I ever stumble across a tarantula in the house, I hope to be like Mrs. Sidman. 

Never a dull moment here in Honduras.