Fifteen Years

Time is so weird.

It's both scientific and EmOtIoNaL.
I comprehend the passing of time by "events" in my life,
don't you?
Memories thread together the passing of time...

My earliest memory is the sting of red ants crawling up my legs,
and my mother scooping me up and running a waterhose over my legs
to wash off the ants and their terrible stings.
I asked my mom long ago if that really happened
and she said it did when I was three years old.

I don't remember being three,
but I remember those ant stings.

See what I mean?

When I was twenty, I married.
Years that are recalled by memories:
Those were the school years,
the years enveloped in diapers,
and broken-down-cars years,
miles-away-from-family years.

I happened to marry the wrong person.
We were married fifteen hard, long years
before the kids and I cut him and made him the
"free agent" he still is today.

I remarried Mr. Wonderful the next year
and soon we will be celebrating our 15th Anniversary.
Same amount of time,
totally different experience.

These have been the teenage years
which are punctuated by
driving lessons, graduations, dental braces,
proms and dating years;
the career-move years--
moving to Boise, Idaho and back to Colorado years;
The hey-our-bodies-are-falling-apart-years--
doctor appointments, knee replacement surgeries and
other bodily things that noone talks about in polite company.

Mr. W came along when my oldest yahoos were in their early teens--
he could've run down the street like his hair was on fire
to get away from the eye-rolling-death-stares,
the flippant sarcasm and/or apathetic posture that teens work so hard to perfect
when they're being rotten teenagers.
He didn't bow-out when cars were wrecked,
curfews were broken,
and grocery bills were as breathtaking as
the mountains of weekly laundry;
and he didn't let me run-for-the-hills either.

In fifteen years,
we have raised five children to adulthood.
Sent off kids on adventures and missions,
planned weddings and baby blessings.
And we brought two more yahoos to the marriage--
so on top of teens we had pregnancies (and a miscarriage),
AND diapers n' spit-up n' teething fevers n' all that goes with
toddlers and babies and teenagers.

What else?
We've had unemployment and disappointments.
Just a good mix of life-moments.
In other words, it ain't been easy!

But that's not where my memories are tied to this passing of time--
we have had opportunities to rejoice in the midst of trials;
times to laugh our guts out at and with our children;
tender moments of tears and love and gratitude
for the sweet blessings that have come along too.

It's kinda interesting how "time" is reflected in our minds, isn't it?

It's the difference of waiting in the DMV line for forty-five grueling minutes
and waiting at your favorite restaurant for the same amount of time...

Scientifically, forty-five minutes is forty-five minutes.
There's no shortcut around it.
And yet, depending on whom you're spending that time with,
makes all the difference, doesn't it?

When the best part of my day is the moment
Mr. W walks in the door,
I know.
I am one lucky woman.
And fifteen years is just a blink of time
in the speck of eternity.

A Rustic Luxe Christmas: Sneak Peek

I have been working on our first Rustic Luxe Christmas Room,
getting it ready for the "big reveal" next weekend.

My Staging Partner, Kelly, came in and helped me get the tree up,
and the rest of the team at work are helping
to bring my plans (scratched out on a piece of paper)
to life:

Here's a Peek:

 Artificial White Flocked 7 1/2 ft. tree

Burlap and newsprint garland

Variety of poinsettias

Large metal reindeer in center of tree

Two metal-tiered christmas trees on lower l and r bottom

Glittered "Merry Christmas" sign

Assortment of glittery birds

Floral picks and stems for the top

Rumpled paper balls in 3 sizes (fillers)

We added 450 additional lights to the Pre-lit tree

Plastic metallic-painted acorns and pinecones

 A small variety of large ornaments 

Jingle bells in gold

Burlap fabric as tree skirt (no sewing, please)

Blinged out Nativity

Oh and one more thing:

No Bows.

Not even one.

You're Welcome.

My Beloved Boy

It's Monday night a million days ago since I last wrote about faith and God's ever-reaching arm.

My faith is being tested.
Not that I can abandon it,
but I'm swimming in deep water here
and these past 72 hours have found me at times gasping for air,
looking
begging
for God's arm to reach down
from His heavenly spheres
into my small life and remove this
desperate pain from my heart.
Once again, I am in my own Gethsemane Garden.

Last Friday,
instead of going to Time Out for Women in Denver
I chose to take Dean to our ward's
Trunk R Treat.
You will never meet a boy who loves
Halloween more than my boy.
He longs to be more than he is,
more than his disabilities allow him to be--
Halloween provides those moments for him.
In years past,
he has been an alligator, a doctor, a Phantom of the Opera,
and on and on...
he loves dressing up.

So I gave my tickets up to someone else
for Dean's sake.

We arrived at the Church just before the event started--
meeting his respite care provider, Tom for the first time.
After I parked the car,
I was searching in my purse for a notepad and pen
so that I could get Tom's number
to call him when it was time to leave.
We'd already said we'd drive Dean to his house afterwards.
I finally found a pen
and as I walked around the back of the Suburban over to Tom's car,
I passed Dean as he made his way to the sidewalk,
I patted Dean on the back and said,
"Hey, Buddy." and kept walking towards Tom.

I heard a thump behind me
and looked to see Dean sprawled out on the pavement,
face first.
I ran to his side,
he was unconscious.
I kneeled down next to his face
and saw a fast stream of blood
pouring out of his nose and mouth
and gutteral sounds from his throat.

I lost it.
I yelled for someone to call 911.
And yelled again for a someone to get a doctor--
we have alot of doctors in our ward
and I wanted one right. now.

We rolled Dean over,
still unconscious, blood covering his face,
his brand-new Clown costume shirt,
and I cradled his head in my lap.
Cars were pulling into the church parking lot,
but were diverted around us,
by I don't know who,
and finally a dentist and a doctor came over to check out Dean.

He started to come around,
only to have a seizure and pass out again.
I was beside myself.
Apologizing over and over to Dean--
I hate seeing him hurt more than I can even say.

The EMT's got there pretty quick--
I was trying to explain to them that Dean has cerebral palsy,
that his cognitive age is between 3 and 8 years old--
that he doesn't register pain like we do.
One EMT asked Dean if his face hurt,
to which Dean uttered "un-unh" (no)...
as they loaded him on a backboard,
he said outloud,
"I love Halloween." and then had another seizure and passed out.

The EMT's loaded him into the ambulance,
and as I got into the Sub with Kent,
I finally asked about Bee--
was she OK? Who was with her?
Someone said they'd taken her into the Church because she was cold
and upset.
Bishop said his family would take care of her for the night and not to worry.

I felt guilty not being able to comfort her after she had most certainly witnessed at least
the beginning of this mess.

Still, we had to get going and follow the ambulance to the hospital.

We got there before it did...I don't know which way they had to take? but we sat in the waiting room
for a few moments before the clerk called us to go to the ER room where Dean was waiting.
I walked in to see Dean still strapped to the backboard and a neck compression brace on...
he was trembling, so I asked the nurse to bring us some warming blankets.
He didn't know why he was there, or what had happened.

Pulling a rolling chair over, I sat next to him and talked to him,
trying so hard to control the tears.
I HATE that this happened to him.
WHY?  Why would this happen to him on the one day he has been looking forward to all year??

It didn't make sense 72 hours ago and it still doesn't make sense today.

His nose is bloodied and bruised.
His front teeth are loose, one is jaggedly broken.
His lips torn up, bloodied and swollen.

Why??  Such a little joy in his life, this holiday, and this.

For the next five hours,
through the stupid waiting games of the ER,
and staff shift changes,
Dean went in and out of consciousness.
Never complaining.
Never demanding a thing.
Completely helpless.
And I cried and prayed for the outreached arms I longed for...
long for.
I texted the older kids right away;
Danielle called Dara in Alaska and told her.
They both called while we were in the ER.
Dara told me she'd sent flowers to me that morning--
she didn't know why, but felt "impressed" to do something nice for me.
(I rec'd them on Saturday afternoon...a tender mercy? yes.)
Danielle put our names on the Houston temple prayer roll.

Our Bishop and his wife and the Relief Society President all came to the hospital
 for a little while out of concern of course and to comfort us.
They don't know my amazing Dean.
I shared how much we love him
and how very brave he is...
while he laid there bloodied and bruised.
I told them what a privilege it is to be his mother.
Trying really hard not to cry.

The ER doc came in and said the test results showed
--he was severely dehydrated (thus the passing out at church),
--he has another cyst/tumor on his brain
--no broken or fractured bones in his face or mouth.

Our visitors left and we were getting ready to go,
as the nurse removed Dean's IV,
he had another seizure so then they had to give him a shot
of addavan,
and watch him again for an hour.
Finally ready to go,
two of the nurses shared personal feelings with me,
of how meeting Dean had blessed them and they sent us away
with hugs and prayers for a quick recovery.

We brought him home with us.
There was no way I was going to let anyone else take care of him
in this condition. No way.
We got home close to midnight,
and tucked him into bed with pain meds.
Just as I got into bed,
we heard a loud thump--
ran to his room
and found he'd fallen out of bed...
he was sweaty from head to toe--
I think he'd had another seizure,
as that is one of the things that happens.

Gave him a drink of water,
tucked him in again--
and watched him go back to sleep.

I didn't sleep that night.
I rested.
I cried.
I prayed and begged for understanding.
But I didn't want to go to sleep.

Dean spent the rest of the weekend with us.
He slept almost all of Saturday.
Waking up just for some food and drink and potty.
Never complaining.

Sunday he came around a little in the morning,
and asked to go to church.
We sent Bee but didn't go ourselves.
Kent had to work (ugh!) and Joseph stayed home to help me.

Dean took several naps off and on again,
waking up for soft foods and lots of water and juice.

He sat next to me on the sofa,
holding my hand
and my nose (his sign of affection since a baby)
and saying to me over and over,
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."

This morning, he was feeling a little better;
Asking if he could go to his day program (he couldn't),
and he had a dental appt which his HHP was going to meet up with us
and take him to, since I am an emotional trigger.
Dean sensed something was up,
and got anxious, even taking a swing at me in the kitchen.
While it was disturbing, I knew it wasn't about me.
He's scared. Heck, I'd be scared too.
I went upstairs and took a shower while Kent (who stayed home from work to help)
watched over Dean until it was time to go.
We met up with the HHP,
gave hugs and promises of meeting up again this week.

Watching Dean climb into the HHP's truck sucked.
As they pulled away.
my emotions got the best of me and I just sobbed..
for Dean. for me.
I sat in the car and just bawled.
Kent hugged me,
said he doesn't understand what the point of this whole ugly mess
is for any of us.

How is it that the child that needs me most,
cannot live with me??
I want nothing more than to be Dean's caregiver.
Why is it that he cannot live with me and be happy?
I don't understand it.

I just don't.
I want that part of his brain to be healed so that we can
be together.
I am my best self when he is home.
I love this special young man with my whole heart.
I hate missing days with him.

I love cooking for him.
Cleaning him up for the day.
Putting conditioner in his hair.
Trimming his nails.
Teaching him how to cook eggs and toast
n' seeing his big smile lights up my life!

I would gladly do this for him every day for the rest of my life.

His days are not long. I know this. And I am mourning already.

I am in Gethsemane again
and my voice is raised to my Heavenly Father
and His Son--
heal my beloved son and me.

God Doesn't Forget

God has a perfect memory.
He doesn't forget about His children like I forget about mine.
He won't forget me at the Bus Stop.
He won't forget my shoe size or my favorite color.
He remembers the last time I ate.
The last time I cried.
And what I cried about.

He won't forget that I asked for a blessing on my children
that are hundreds of miles away from my reached out hands and heart.
He isn't limited by time zones and distance.

He doesn't lose track of time like I do.
He isn't distracted by others things or people.
He has His eye on those in the eye of the storm that is churning in the deepest seas,
as well as His hands on the shoulders of those in the hospital
down the street from me.
He hears the prayers of that soldier in the submarines far beneath
the ocean's surface
and the prayers of those in jets and F-16s zipping across the world
faster than the speed of light.
He can keep up!

God knows me.
He knows my name and my birthday.
The things that give me joy and safety
and the things that bring me pain and sorrow.

I must be careful not to attribute my human limits onto His
omniscient, omnipresent Godly abilities.
He is limitless.
And I belong to Him.

Diary of a Home Stager

Last week surprised me.

It's October in Colorado and we got 5 new home listings to stage.

I thought selling season was over, but apparently,

as is often the case,

I was wrong.

The luxury home we staged in July sold finally--

in case you didn't already know this,

luxury homes take longer than regular homes--

not everyone wants  can afford a $700,000 home.

With that home sold,

we were able to get in and un-stage it

just as these other homes came to us

in full need of our inventory,

much of which was in that huge 7000 sf home.

Now, this is where I share that we nickname homes

as we stage them--

just as you probably did when you were house hunting

before buying the house you're in--

stinky cat-litter house becomes "Stinky cat house"

Oddly painted house in Air Force Blue, becomes "Air Force House"

it's a science really

as you can see.

Last week, I did an initial consultation on what is now known as

"The Poop House".

Let your mind follow the nickname and all that conjurs up in your wildest imagination.

It was, in fact, a house full of poop.

A home that I am not returning to until it is emptied.

Then, there was the "Kansas House"--

it's not really in Kansas

but, for all intents and purposes 

it might as well be.

It's sixty miles southeast of me--

heading towards Kansas

in the middle of a beige-colored prairie

off dirt roads and tumbleweeds.

Calamity Jane (CJ) is running the place.

Actually, for the first few minutes,

I couldn't tell if I was talking to a woman or not.

Awkward.

The "modular home" did not have a fleck of feminity in it.

Nothing.

Think "Bachelor Pad On The Prairie"--

in the front living room

off to the side by a green plaid loveseat--(circa 1986)--

a large mysterious square thing sat

covered by beige blanket.

"CJ" unveils it to reveal it's just a wood-burning stove.

She emphatically declares that 

"NOONE IS TO KNOW ABOUT THIS STOVE. IT WILL NOT BE IN ANY PICTURES.

NOR UN-COVERED FOR SHOWINGS."

unhunh. ok.

Turns out she/he's worried the home will be burglarized 

while at work

by. her/his. neighbors.

Okay then, we nodded our heads--

"we know nothing about nothing about a stove in the livingroom."

There was though, a beautiful Young Chang piano in a back bedroom

with work-out equipment!

I could go on and on about the "Kansas House"

but that'll do.

Next, we have the "Japanese House"--

tagged so because all the beds in the house

are on the floor, or nearly on the floor.

The masterbed is an IKEA bed--

the frame is maybe 8 inches off the floor

too small for even dustbunnies to gather,

probably just right for a hobbit.

Then there's a bed with a Japanese bed frame--

actually an inch or so of wood between the mattress

and the floor.

Thus, the "Japanese House".

We have a "70's House" coming up--

and we're stoked for that one.

The owners want to stage it in a 70's vibe--

using oranges and a bohemian theme-ish.

Groovy, man.

So, here's my parting words for the day--

if someone were to come to your house 

what would they nickname it today and why?

WANTED: An Island for 13 Year Old Boys

Wanted:
An island to accommodate the basic needs of a thirteen year old boy:
*A Bed, no, make that a hammock. Beds need to be made once in awhile, so a hammock would be better.
* Fully-Stocked Fridge of gatorade, chocolate milk, cheese sticks, go-gurts, ketchup, mayo, lunch meat, ice cream, corn dogs, hot pockets, pizza rolls, ranch dressing (to go on everything, naturally), and leftover fried chicken.  That is all.  Oh and leave the door off the fridge, it won't be shut anyway.
*WIFI
*TV
*Wii

Please send details of availability to this Momza's email. Thank you.

Behind the Scenes

"Mom, can we go to Fox Run to take some pictures today?"

"Sure."

Outfit#1(black knit dress): "How's this?"

"Nice."

"No, I can't find shoes to go with it." {pout}

Outfit#2: (jeans and pink plaid shirt): "Does this look 'fall-ish'?"

"Yes. Looks nice."

Outfit#3 (blue plaid shirt and jeans): "How's this? I didn't like the other one."

"That's cute."

Outfit#4 (final one): "I like this one."

"Oh, yes, that one's cute too."

***

"Ok so let's just take a few n' see how it goes, k?

Joseph, no heckling."

"Mom, tell Joe to shut-up."

"Joseph, be kind."

{his mouth keeps running...I have no idea what he's saying because I stopped listening.}

"Mom! Tell Joe to go away."

"Joseph, what are you doing? Go take a walk around the pond for a minute. Be nice."

{he doesn't leave.}

"OK, let's get some of you then. 

Stand over there.

No, over there. The aspen. By the edge. Just stand there. Cross your legs.

No, it's not weird. Fix your shirt."

"Smile."

{waiting}

"Smile?"

"No smile?"

"Fine."

{noticing his suntan lines from his glasses--

he went on a 15 mile hike the day before.}

"Are you going to smile? Wait. I'm not done."

nevermind.

"Yes, Ok Bee. Go ahead and stand right there too.

Shoot. outta focus."

Where are you going?

"Stand next to each other n' act like you like each other.

Put your arm around her. No, really. Just. Just. Put. YOUR. ARM. Around HER."

"guys.

Guys.

GUYS--

c'mon!"

"Can we just get one normal looking picture

of the two of you together?

OK, let's just have you sit down together.

Can we do that?"

Whew. OK.

One more?

Wait. 

 Ok. Done.

And Now A Word About "Hoarding"

I stage homes for the sales market.

That means, I get paid to go into someone's home

and tell them how to prepare their home to sell.

It starts with an Initial Consultation appointment.

Most people, and I mean 99% of the homes I am invited into

are

typical

family

homes.

A little 'lived-in' mess here and there,

nothing that looks 

out 

of 

control.

I've seen many "collections" in these homes:

roosters

dolls

trophy animals

sports trophies

and the like.

Human nature is to be a "gatherer"--

some more than others--

this, I am used to.

I've seen piles of laundry, bills, toys

stuffed here and there where space will allow.

Being a mother of seven myself,

I like to think I've got a realistic grip

on what a lived-in house hold looks like.

I get it.

My house is not in 

"staging-to-sell" condition, either.

But after an incident today,

I think it might be a public service if I share

some stuff about the differences between a

"Collector" 

and a

"Hoarder".

The house I went today was a broken house.

On the outside, it appeared as a normal house

on a regular street in a normal neighborhood.

I knew it wasn't normal when the door opened,

and 

Whoa.

Whoa!

WHOA!

The smell hit me first.

Then I saw 3 pomeranian dogs vying for attention

with their yippy barking...

as my eyes scanned the floor

following the trail of the smell

I saw little piles of dog mess 

all.

over.

the floor.

Dried up, smeared all over the carpet.

The homeowner casually said,

"Oh yeah. We have five dogs.We're giving a carpet allowance."

A carpet allowance to a potential buyer

if they can look past the kennel-like scene

and want to put money into a pit?

As I tip-toed around the stained carpet,

watching my every move,

I also noticed the clutter...it wasn't just clutter though,

it was like this:

Only,

the homeowner had a running "theme" throughout

the entire house.

Themed homes generally translate very poorly.

This house was no exception

with this theme:

yep.

Howling wolf.

everywhere.

On the walls,

in the halls,

on the switchplates

in a box

on a fox

in a boat

on a goat--

just like Visa

everywhere you wanna be.

I am not kidding.

Her life has gone to the dogs.

literally.

I went thru the house with this obviously damaged woman--

she kept blaming the mess upon her "ex"--

come to find out he's been gone for three and half years.

I suggested this move might be healing for her--

she can start fresh and encouraged her to purge things now

before she moves.

OK, so here's the "Take Away"--

don't buy your home decor in bulk.

If you like to collect things,

keep it in good taste.

Like roosters?

Buy a couple for the kitchen and that's it.

People will know you're keen on roosters.

Like dolls?

Buy a couple for your daughters, granddaughters,

or nieces.

You may put one, possibly two

in a display case in a guest room.

That's it.

If you really must buy dolls,

consider donating them to halfway homes for families

or similar charities.

Don't use them to decorate your house.

Same thing goes for "themes"--

used in good taste and sparingly,

you can express your love of say,

wolves in the moonlight

with a picture and an accessory or two.

Just like booze,

know when to say when, my friends.

And, a word to friends of friends who over-buy themes,

roosters, baby dolls, Nascar chicken buckets,

sports teams and yes, howling wolves

accessories--

do not enable them.

Friends don't let friends drive drunk.

Neither do they support poor taste in home decor.

Be a real friend,

give a true answer when your rooster-babydoll-howling-wolf-hoarding friend

asks you,

"Isn't that nice?"

"What do you think?"

Tell them the truth.

Blame me-- I don't care.

Say it simply and firmly,

"Put down the rooster-babydoll-howling-wolf-Nascar-chicken-bucket

and step away."

Follow it with a gentle but encouraging,

"You can do better."

AND, if you are wondering if you're in over your head with your "collections",

be brave and ask someone who loves you

to tell you if you've crossed the line yet into

Hoarderdom.

Don't take the truth to be hard, my friend.

Take the truth and run with it.

Oh and animals are not for "collecting" period.

What's the difference between a Collector and a Hoarder?

That's not a tricky as it sounds.

A collector is someone who can joyfully invest in people and other interests

as well as collections.

Hoarders, from what I have seen and understand to be so--

have negative emotional/co-dependency ties to their things more so than

positive emotional ties to relationships.

A hoarder needs their things.

That's a general statement and I'm not claiming to know much more than that,

hoarding is considered a mental illness that can be treated.

Here's one organization that can help,

The International OCD Foundation.

I hope this helps someone, truly.

One of the pure joys I get from being a home stager

is being invited into people's homes--

their sanctuaries, if you will,

and that is a great privilege to me.

I so enjoy helping them on their journey

as their lives transition from one stage to another.

The best compliments we get are in the line of,

"Wow! We love our home even more! It's going to be harder to leave!"

Then, we know we've done our best to show their home at it's finest

and puts them in a better position to sell the home quickly so they can move forward

to the next chapter of their lives.

SO,

don't clutter your life with stuff.

You're not a whale.

You don't need barnacles.

You were never meant to be defined by your "stuff".

You're much MORE than that.

And don't ignore the messes in your house.

It's your home. Your sanctuary. 

Treat it with care and fill it with love.

Group Menu Sharing & 2 Meatball Recipes

Remember when I was in the meal sharing group a couple of years ago?

I enjoyed being a part of it because, hey! the no cooking every night part was excellent!
I looked forward to the nights when I didn't have to cook,
and still got to serve my family a homecooked meal.
Seriously made my life easier.

At the end of the school year,
we moms decided to take a break
and that was one long break!

Flashforward to the end of Summer 2013,
and I was invited to join in again with some new gals.
Also started was a freezer meal group--
the first Saturday of the month we all bring one freezer meal recipe
to feed 7 other families.
It has been awesome!

Last month I made pasta fagoli as my offering--
it was great fresh,
but not so great after it had been frozen and heated up again
because the elbow macaroni in it expanded as it thawed
and got kinda gummy.
Won't be making that one again until I figure out how to do the pasta right for freezer meals.

Last night I made sweet n spicy meatballs.
I also made swedish meatballs to make up for the pasta fagioli;
not that anyone said I had to,
but it made me feel better.
And it was easy!
(*recipes on bottom of post)

In addition to these time saving meal plans,
I have also attended and hosted two WildTree Products 
freezer meal workshops!
So So Good!
I made 12 delicious and varied freezer meals
at each workshop--
my freezer is chock full of meals right now
and it makes my life easier.

I just pull out a couple of freezer meals
and put them in the fridge to thaw
the day before I want to cook them
then, the day OF, I plop 'em in the crockpot
before I leave for work.
Coming home to a warm meal in the evenings
simplifies my time in the kitchen,
and allows me to spend that time with my family
or just keeping a handle on the house stuff.

I highly recommend this way of feeding our families.
They get to try new recipes as a result too.

We do have some guidelines and there is one family with an aversion to onions--
so we cut those up big enough to pick out for them.
One tip I'll share is to make sure the gals you invite actually like to cook
and will be doing the cooking themselves.
This deal won't work if you have a gal who just doesn't want to cook, period.
We also have a provision that allows for a pizza to be delivered, or a rotisserie chicken to be brought over in case of an emergency--whatever that might be.
Life happens and it's OK.

Ok so here's the two recipes:

Sweet N Spicy Meatballs:
 1 bag fully cooked meatballs
 1 bottle honey bar b que sauce
 1/2 green and red bell peppers
 1/2 cup yellow onion
 1 tsp red pepper flakes

Swedish Meatballs
 1 bag fully cooked meatballs
 1 can cream of mushroom soup
 1 packet of dried onion soup mix
 1 can water

Here's a sample of our menu last month:

9/2 - Jen - Thai Peanut Chicken (needs rice)
9/3 - Dawn- Spaghetti w/meatsauce
9/5 - Jaimee - Hawaiian Haystacks

9/9 - Jen - Lemon Chicken Scaloppini
9/10 - Dawn- Stuffed Pork Chops
9/12 - Jaimee- chicken and broccoli casserole

9/16 - Jen - Hawaiian Pork Kebobs
9/17 - Dawn- Taco Salad
9/19 - Jaimee- curry chicken

9/23 - Jen - Crock Pot Tortellini
9/24 - Dawn- Homemade Chicken Pot Pie
9/26 - Jaimee- tacos

9/30 - Jen - Sweet & Sour Pork Chops
10/1 - Dawn- Turkey Tostadas
10/3 - Jaimee- homemade mac n cheese

So that's our weekly menu.

The next Wildtree Freezer meal workshop menu:

Spanish Style Garlic Shrimp

Jamaican Jerk Chicken

Island Pepper Steak

Onion Burgers

Lemon Rosemary Chicken with Bowtie Pasta

Zesty Lemon Salmon

Chipotle Lime Crockpot Chicken

Chipotle Lime Fajitas

Italian Medallions

Far East Pork

Adobo Chicken
***
I mean, seriously, how can I go wrong with this menu?!
We'll get together for a little over 2 hours and go home with all these meals?!

Bon Apetit!

The Smurf Blue House

We live in small neighborhood, just on the other side of the highway

from the United States Air Force Academy.

Because of our location,

many of our neighbors are in the military.

It's quiet and yet, friendly.

We've had zero drama since we've moved in

until last week.

Last week, 

our brand new across-the-street neighbors

painted their house.

When I left for work that morning,

it was a nice light celery green color

with ivory trim.

I'd always liked the colors so much

that I had often wondered what our home would look like

sporting those colors.

However, when I came home that evening,

the house had been painted

the most awful blue I've ever seen on a house.

It was an immediate eyesore

and other neighbors were outside

taking a good look at it...

people drove slowly by it as they came home from work.

All of us thinking,

"Are they serious?!"

It didn't take long for an email thread to zip through all of our households

declaring everything from "demanding they change the colors",

"our home values are dropping, somebody call someone!"

"where are the HOA covenants?!" (turns out they hadn't been enforced in ten years,

and at this point to start over would not affect the home in question.)

to

others talking about signing petitions/pleas for the new neighbors to paint over 

the awful blue house...

now accurately dubbed:

"the Smurf House".

I read the thread of emails nearly everyday

as more and more people weighed in on it.

One gal actually spoke to the new neighbors and asked about the color,

to which they replied that they'd let their ten year old daughter chose the color,

and were not going to paint over it,

even though they recognized it was not the best choice

as it is surrounded by homes painted neutral colors.

Hearing that,

I thought it's evident that nothing's going to change.

And I have this thought running through my head,

 of why would brand new people want to become ostrasized within two weeks of moving in?

I wonder what the real story is, ya know?

Was this a particularly hard move?

I noticed that the tags on their cars are not COLORADO tags,

but from Florida and California,

which makes me think they might be military folks.

Maybe their former house was painted the same color

and to make it easier to feel at home,

they let their daughter chose it?

What if she has special needs and this was something in response to that?

Yesterday evening, I pulled into my driveway,

loaded down with packages,

and noticed that the father over there,

was doing yard work...trimming very carefully around a planter.

My first thought was not kind.

"It still doesn't hide the ugly color." I thought to myself.

But later,

I thought there's gotta be more to this than meets the eye.

How awful these people must feel, to know they've won the award

for Ugliest House on the block...

because of one choice.

And I thought, what if my bad choices or my sins even,

were out in the open for any and every one to see?

To judge.

That idea made me nauseas.

 I don't want to be judged by people who don't know me,

know my circumstances or my intent.

Perhaps the same could be said of the Smurf House Family?

I want to know more about them and their obvious choice,

but at this point,

I'd bet their pretty sick of explaining themselves to outsiders.

Last week, I wanted to be rude and unkind--

thoughts of sticking a Big Blue Ribbon with the words:

"Ugliest House" written upon it,

in their yard sounded entertaining and provoked.

This week,

it sounds just as it is--

rude and unkind.

Perhaps I should just go over with some bread and say, 

"Welcome to the Neighborhood. We're so glad you're here."