love, marriage and heidi klum

I feel like you guys really miss out when you’re not on my Facebook, because I’m generally pretty brilliant on there.  Now, I know, it’s not the coolest thing out there and many people have sworn off the Facebook for some seriously good reasons.  It’s just…well, I’m lazy.  And that’s the one place I can post pics of the kids for the grandparents and not have to email 14 people separately.  When every single side of your family has been divorced at least once, there’s a lot of freaking people to send this crap too.  Plus, most of the people I know are still facebooking it up and it’s just EASY.

Also, I haven’t been in a writing mood lately.  But whenever I feel a little snarky and want to get something out there, I can put it on FB and it only takes about a sentence and I feel better and you get a chuckle.  Or another reason to add me to your church’s prayer chain.  So…for those of you that swear off the book of faces, here’s what you’ve been missing:

Jimmie has decided he somehow has a shot with Heidi Klum.  {side note: that man’s laminated list grows longer every day.  should I be concerned?}  Anywho, he informs me this morning that Heidi Klum is back on the market.  {another side note: he did this as I was walking from the shower to the bed. Why was I doing this? You figure it out.  SO, not the best time to be bringing up Heidi Klum’s availability.  I digress…}

Jimmie: “I just want you to know Heidi Klum is back on the market.”
Me: *rolls eyes*
Jimmie: “Well she is. And I know I’m sexier than Seal. He looks like he’s been through a meat grinder.”
Me: “oh god.”

I gotta say, I really can’t disagree here.  That Seal is not a pretty fella.  However, I think Jimmie may be a bit deluded himself. (shh.)

Also, we recently survived “snowmageddon” of the Pacific Northwest.  Actually, I think our area was the only one really hit very hard, but we had a couple of days of snow followed by a few days of ice that nearly killed us.  The Seattle area does not handle snow.  There’s no real plowing system and this joint is full of hills and crazy people who only see sunshine every third month for approximately 14 hours.  It’s just not really a good place for snow to fall.  And then, when there’s freezing rain and ice storms which cause the trees to topple over onto power lines and we dark dwellers lose electricity to boot, it’s just no bueno.  Three days in the dark will make you crazy.  We loaded up and went to the in-laws since they have a generator, but it was still an ugly mess and I’m still recovering, mentally and emotionally.  And in the laundry department.  Holy shit I got behind.

To add to the fun, Jimmie quit tobacco (which in this case might as well have been crack for all the withdrawal issues) and I quit caffeine.  During snowmageddon.  Shit got real, folks.  Shit got really real.

I swear to you I thought we had reached that point in marriage where someone was going to have to go.  I mean, we are seriously committed to NO divorce.  We’re both from broken families, and we will kill each other before we do that to our kids.  But, for about two weeks, I really thought maybe I was fooling myself into thinking that was a possibility.  Don’t worry, we talked it out and some serious coming to know jesus was done.  And now he is back on track.   Uhhh… I mean, we are back on track. 😉

Unless, of course, that whole Heidi Klum thing works out for him.  And then? Well, just send really good alimony, pal.


a little red here and a lot of red there.

You may have noticed a little change here on the ol’ blogeroo. I decided that as much as I loved the old one, I missed my red. I’m a red kind of gal. I like to see a little spice in the action when I click on here to read your comments. I can’t for the life of me figure out where my header photo went or how to get it back. I know you guys will miss my beady little eyes staring at you.)

Also, this post is riddled with links. You should click on every single one of them because they are all awesome. And I’ll probably win an award for the most freaking links in one post.

None of this has anything to do with what I’m writing today. So, moving on…

I found this on Pinterest and can't find where they discovered it. I would give a proper photo credit if I could darnit!

A lot of you have probably heard something about The Bloggess and her Traveling Red Dress before. If not, there’s a little article on the Washington Post site that describes it, and here’s a snippit of the idea in a nutshell as written in the article.

Lawson suggested that readers who suffer from emotional pain or who want to support those who do sign on to the “traveling red dress” project she created last year. Her idea was to pass around a red dress that women could wear to remind themselves of their power, to wear at a time when they feel particularly high — or low.

You may know I’m a huge fan of the bloggess. She cracks me up and sometimes she reminds me to get my shit together. I always love reading her.

When a recent post on the bloggess’ site stirred up the Red Dress Project afresh the other night, I really started thinking I need to do this. Then my friend Charity (you know the one that I send all the inappropriately awesome texts back and forth with) started talking about how she’s going to do it. So I figure this might be something I should stop putting on the back burner and get my shit together on it. But, it’s going to take a tiny bit more than me finding the amazingly perfect red dress and photographer. I’m giving myself till the spring thaw to get it done so that I may then take my very own Red Dress photos and know that it’s because I accomplished what I set out to do. I don’t know if the bloggess would approve, but dammit…I don’t care. (SHHHH. don’t tell her I said that.)

Here’s what I’m challenging myself with:

1) Go to the doctor. The real one that pokes needles in my arm, not the witch doctor (as my family lovingly calls him) at the homeopathic supply joint. Now, I realize I don’t love doctors and certainly don’t trust them, but I have to get my labs done and it’s kind of a “force yourself to get serious about this” move on my part. I’m not allowed to put it off anymore or reschedule or whathaveyou. Today I call and make an appointment at a new doc and if all goes as it always does, I’ll be seeing them in a couple of weeks. (Please don’t lecture me about how many times I’ve put this off, those of you who know. I promise to be good. I PROMISE! :))

2) What does going to the doc have to do with a dress? Well, I know for sure there are some wonky hormone and other issues that I need to get on top of. Some of those things don’t do me any favors in the mental health department. While depression has been an ongoing struggle for many years, I know part of that (at the very least) stems from other health issues and I can’t help one without the other. So, healthy body helps make for a healthy mind. Hopefully.

3) When I’m well on my way to taking the steps to make my body/mind healthy, I will schedule a little visit with my favorite photographers, Daniel Jay, and trek across the state for a little photo shoot to celebrate my baby steps to mental health. If they are not willing to shoot this for me I will tie them up and torture them until minds are changed. It’s really the only option. And there is, of course, a matter of finding the perfect red dress. So far, all the dresses I love are in the ballpark of “red carpet” pricing so you know, reality might come in handy here.

You may not give two shits about this, but I had to get it out there for myself today. So carry on, friend. Carry on.

boy: a noise with dirt on it.

I’m going to warn you now that as I write this I am weepy.  I know I am more than a tad hormonal.  And stressed.  Those two things basically equal disaster for me in the sanity department.  So, I weep.  Today, I weep the sappy mommy weep.  It’s okay. 🙂

I was just chatting with Jordan’s (6) very first (and most favoritest) daycare teacher about him as a 2-3 year old.  And suddenly it hit me, I miss my baby.  Now, I know, I have these moments a lot lately.  A friend was just teasing me about how I really should not have stopped having babies.  (Trust me, if time and money were in unlimited supply, I’d be adopting those little suckers like there was a shortage.)  But, truth be told, I don’t want more babies.  I just want to relive some of the years with my babies, especially Jordan.  (Well, today it’s Jordan.  A couple of weeks ago it was Elle.  So don’t listen to me.)

I missed out on a lot of little moments with Jordan.  I was there for every one, but due to the nature of life at that time, there was so much that I wasn’t there for.  I was depressed, then I was psycho, then I was working, then I was caring for other people’s kids.  Now that I’m focused on my family, I miss the parts I missed.  I can’t help it.

Sometimes it’s more of a challenge for me to think of the amazing qualities my son has, because he is also… a boy.  It’s more obvious for me to think about the shenanigans he is up to and the numerous bonks and scratches and bruises and broken bones.  It’s easy for me to concentrate on the fact that it takes him twice as long to learn things than it did his sister: talking, writing his name (and various other “school” related things) and let’s just be real here, wiping his own butt (although, CONQUERED! Thank God!)  There is but one simple fact about Jordan that stands out more than anything in the world to me: He Is A Boy to the very core of himself and then back again.  He is a boy times ten.  And I love him for every single quality that is boy.  Even though it’s easier to worry and focus on the things that I just can’t even keep up with, it’s so gratifying to stop and realize all that those things mean.

He is constantly dirty.  He cares way more about discovering what is in the bottom of that mud puddle and how far he can splash it than he does about whether or not his shoes… or pants, shirt and hair for that matter… are clean for school. He devours bagels and toast and eggs without regard to how much of it is smeared across his face.  He enjoys the meal to it’s fullest and forgets the rest, even if that means he’ll be displaying his breakfast for all the bus stop to see.  You see, Mommy would wipe it off but she’s too busy chasing behind him with dropped shoes and a backpack and her hair standing on end to even notice.

He is always making noise.  He loves the sound of his own voice.  He loves the sound of his feet tapping out a beat to music only he can hear.  He loves the sound of chewing as loudly as possible for everyone else to enjoy the delicious meal he’s consuming.  He loves the sound of talking as loudly as he can so no one misses one single important thing he has to say.

He loves running and walking backward and sideways and jumping over things rather than walking around them.  He loves bouncing balls and shooting guns and flying kites.  He loves jumping in the deep end without a life jacket even though he doesn’t even know how to swim.  He loves riding fast and jumping curbs and giving me heart attacks when bones are broken and multiple surgeries are required to repair said bones.  He loves defying odds and growth charts and statistics.

He loves socializing.  He loves playing after school with friends.  He will play with a child that treats him like crap and bosses him around if that means he has someone to share his joy for life with.  He loves children that are smaller than he is (let’s face it, most of them are.) and caring for them.  He loves babies and toddlers and kids that are two years older than he is.  He doesn’t care.  As long as someone treats him with a tiny bit of kindness, he will overlook the rest of it and spend every waking minute devising a plan of how they can meet for a playdate every minute of every day.

If he knocks someone down in the middle of the basketball court, he will stop the game and go back to make sure they are okay.  He loves people.  He truly, deeply cares about them.

And he loves his Mom.  I have never felt more love from one single person or a group of people as I do my son.  I know my Elle loves me and we have such a special mother/daughter bond.  I know Jimmie adores me and would do absolutely anything within his power to show me that.  But the love from that boy is unmatched by anyone on this earth.  It just is.  I can’t explain it, I can’t rationalize it, and I can’t measure it.

When my mom found out I was having a boy, she asked me to make sure I didn’t spoil him rotten as most mothers do with their sons.  “Don’t baby him and treat him like he’s special just because he’s a boy.”  Well, oops.  I guess I’m failing because he is special.  He is my boy and I cherish him.  He drives me batty and I have to punish him twice as much as his sister to make sure he doesn’t turn out to be a criminal, but he is absolutely 100% special and I will treat him that way every single day of his life.

Elle often tells me, “I’m Daddy’s Princess and Jordan is your special boy.”  She doesn’t mind.  She will openly admit Daddy is her favorite and I’m second fiddle.  And I love every single moment of it.  Because I know she’s secure in our relationship and that she knows her daddy cherishes her.

Jordan will wrestle with his dad for hours every single day if he can.  He will annoy his sister and get into trouble six ways till Sunday.  But when I walk into a room, he melts.  And so therefore, I must melt too.  It’s simply impossible not to.

more recipes

Okay, I promised to make good on providing you the recipes so here goes.  I’ve also been working on a couple of other projects and have written 4500 words over the past couple of days, so this is going to be short and sweet and without any funny business.

Artichoke/Cheese Stuffed Chicken Breasts. (I think… what?  What the hell.  My dang font won’t stop italicizing without my permission!  GAH! I don’t have time for this! WHAT THE SHIT?!?!?!)  Anyway, I’m sorry but this is how it will be.  I think I got a version of this recipe from Cooking Light or one of those years ago, but I have changed it so many times it probably isn’t even close to the same.
1 Can Artichoke Bottoms (not the marinated artichokes.  Also, bottoms are hard to find so I end up using hearts half the time and they are good too.)
1/2-3/4 c feta cheese (I remember this originally calling for goat cheese, but I like feta better.)
1/4 ish cup chopped chives (I rarely remember this, and also regularly have used shallots)
1-2 t chopped fresh thyme (dried is good too)
2 t lemon zest (or just a zest of one lemon)
4-6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (if small- this will do 6 easily)
Olive Oil
1 t cornstarch
2T lemon juice
Drain artichokes with a colander over a bowl.  RESERVE the liquid! (it totally sucks when you forget and lose the liquid!)
Coarsely chop the chokes.
Combine chokes, cheese, around 2T chives, some thyme, half the lemon zest in a bowl.
Cut a horizontal slit through the thick part of the chicken boobs  to make a pocket.  (I try to challenge myself each time to make the biggest pocket possible without poking through the meat anywhere.  Who wants to cut into “stuffed” chicken and find no stuffing.  Not me. Duh.)
(Dude, this italicized business is getting annoying.  It’s so hard to read!)
Stuff those babies full of the filling.  Close with a toothpick if you so choose. (I’ve never had too many problems with leaky boobs- HA!  unless I over fill them.  *Never mind.  I am TOTALLY funny today.*
Sprinkle chicken with some pepper and put in a med-high pan of olive oil.  Cook until done.  I’ve heard it’s about 6 mins on each side, but I don’t time this stuff.
Move all the chicken to one side of the pan and give yourself a little space to make the sauce. (Or take it out, Overachiever.)
Add reserved artichoke liquid, some more thyme and the rest of the lemon zest to pan.  Combine the cornstarch and lemon juice in a bowl (as thoroughly as possible!) and then whisk into the sauce.  This will thicken it.  Not a fan of cornstarch? Use flour.  Bring to a boil.  Move the chicken back into the sauce and coat it.
Serve with some chives on top if you so choose.

I like to serve this with CousCous or whole wheat pasta with a little brown butter and parm.

Listen carefully:  I have also been known to totally take the lazy route, slice up some chicken breasts and cook them with some thyme and pepper on them, and then make the sauce in the pan with it and throw in the feta at the end with just a little time for it to melt a little.  It was still totally good and I didn’t have to feel up any chickens.  You’re welcome.
BBQ Chicken Pizza (Not a healthy recipe)

Do (AHHHH! the italics are gone! yahoo.  Now how did I do that?  CRAP!)  Anyway,

Do you have a bread machine or a stand mixer?  If so, you NEED to make your own pizza dough.  It takes five minutes, sits for an hour and then you can make around 3 pizzas on the cheap and so much better than domino’s!  Follow the recipe that came with your machine.  Or email me, I’ll tell you mine.  I use whole wheat crust usually and it takes just slightly less flour than the recipe calls for with all-purpose.  I use a stand mixer with the dough hook for mine.

If you don’t have a way to easily make your own crust then you can ask your local pizza joint for some (or papa murphy’s) or buy the refrigerator kind at the market.

Make your dough.  While it sits, bake your chicken breasts in the oven with some BBQ sauce.  (Or buy a rotisserie chicken at the store and pick off the meat.  I would NEVER do this!  I am such a hard worker in the kitchen!)  If you go the rotisserie route, I highly recommend pouring some BBQ sauce on the meat you’ve shredded or whatever and stirring it around.  It’s just better if the chix have a good BBQ sauce flavor.

Also, while dough rises: carmelize a sweet onion, roast some garlic cloves and make some crumbled bacon (you can also use those “real” bacon bits from the salad dressing aisle.  The stuff that really truly is bacon.  Not Bacos.)

Making the pizza sauce:  I take my favorite sauce (which right now is Sweet Baby Ray’s original) and mix in a splash or two of balsamic vinegar and some cilantro.  Trust me.

Put a thin later of sauce on your crust (which I never roll to be round.  where’s the fun in that?  Make it Rustic.) 🙂

Place the chicken, then onion, then bacon, then roasted garlic, then a small layer of cheese.  Just a sprinking.  (I use a pizza blend- mozarella and cheddar) I’m serious here, the cheese is SO not the point of this pizza.  It more just holds all the other stuff on there.

That’s it.  Bake it on 450 (or whatever your recipe tells you) till the crust is crisp (or at least not raw) and dig in.  This will literally make you want to slap your mama it’s SO good!


are you sure you want to be here?

So, the past few days I’ve really changed things up around here as far as topics go.  It must be all my fantastic New Year Goals coming into play.  Yep, I am reaaaaly making good on all my goals, especially the eating healthier ones and the being more productive and exercising regularly.  I am totes knocking those out of the park!  (but, ummmm….could you call before you come over? because Christmas is still alive and kicking in my house what with the tree AND STOCKINGS still proudly displayed.  And pay no attention to that empty jar of marshmallow cream in the bottom drawer of my night stand.  WHAT? I’m OVULATING?!)

What was I talking about? Ohhh Right.  New Friends!  So the past few days, what with all my new subject matter, I’ve had lots of new subscribers to the blog.  Most people would be super excited and grateful for new traffic (which I am.)  I love new friends.  But, I’m also a little concerned and possibly intimidated.

You see, one such new friend writes a faith-based blog.  It seems very successful and full of enriching information if you’re into that sort of thing.  But, uhhhh…they are reading THIS blog.  Now, we’ve established, I’m a lover of the Jesus.  He has my heart.  But have you read this blog?  I’ve been accused of corrupting a gay man that lives in UTAH who happens to love boobs ( I know, I’m confused too.)  I tried to force my husband to wear assless chaps for our family Christmas Card Photo.  I have a friend who regularly says “Christ on a Crouton.”  I’m not even sure what that means.  I just didn’t expect to be followed by someone who writes things like “Walking with Jesus Requires Good Shoes.”  Are we talking Nike’s here?  My running shoes are Adidas and I only really ever jazzercise in them.  Nevertheless, welcome.  And sweet baby Jesus I hope I don’t offend you too badly.

Also, my posts regarding my menu plan and the recipes you asked for, has a huge handful of new followers landing here.  Followers who happen to write super yummy looking Foodie Blogs all over the interwebz.  Okay Betty Crockers.  I get it.  I know I’m a kick-ass cook in the kitchen.  My husband and I weigh about a ton to prove it.  But, in six years of blogging, I have only posted a recipe once- yesterday.  You guys are going to be so disappointed!  There are (according to the goog) upwards of 2000 food blogs out there.  And, I think that was written before The Pioneer Woman came into play.  I bet there’s 5000 easy.  Are you sure you want to be here?  I mean, I’m not complaining.  I’m not!  But I may not post another recipe for another six years.  (ok, that’s already a lie because I owe some people two more recipes.  Later?  Today.  I hope.)

I haven’t been this nervous since the diaper sewing divas became regular followers of the blog.  Why would ladies who sew diapers make me nervous?  Because I refused to breast feed my second born based on the HORRORS of my first born and there’s a landfill somewhere chucked full of my babes’ shitty diapers.  That’s Why.

Nevertheless, I’m happy making new pals for the blog (and for me.  because I’m lonely and live in the dreariest city in the world.)  I just hope you won’t be too disappointed when I write more about how much my husband and kids drive me batshit crazy and less about food and the baby Jesus (or the adult Jesus for that matter.)

Okay, I’m done chasing off all the newbies.  Carry on.

recipes, by popular demand.

Dammit, you guys are totally going to turn me into a Mommy Blogger.

Because you asked for them, I shall post recipes for you.  These are the most requested recipes I got over the past couple of days.  If you want others, just let me know.  I’m posting here because multiple people asked and I’m lazy.

Hear me now: I am not the pioneer woman.  I do not take amazing photos that make your mouth water and your eyes green with envy.  I do not have a momographer dsl Canon camera that makes everything look Amahzing.  I have a point and shoot that adequately records awesomeness from my children.  Also, I did not invent these recipes.  I took recipes I found online and changed them to be better.  to me.  you may have liked the originals better.  In which case you should have just googled some recipes and gone with whatever Better Homes and Gardens listed.

Let’s begin, shall we?

Farfalle with Spinach and Mushrooms (and bacon if you want, which is obviously not the healthiest version)

  • ounces dried farfalle (bow-tie pasta)
  • *4-6 slices of bacon (I like thick) cooked the way you like it (I like crisp)* (optional and perfectly yummy without)
  • tablespoon olive oil (or more, I have no idea.)
  • medium onion, chopped (I like to slice and I also use sweet onion so my kids don’t bitch- such as WallaWalla)
  • cloves garlic, minced (I like lots of garlic, this may be too much for the average person)
  • 1-2 cup sliced portobello, button and shiitake mushrooms (or any combo.  I also like it with just portos)
  • teaspoon snipped fresh thyme (or 1/2 or more dried)
  • 1/2 teaspoon pepper
  • cups coarsly sliced fresh spinach
  • zest of  around 1/2 lemon (just to “freshen up” the dish.)
  • tablespoons shredded Parmesan cheese (or more. I like MORE.) 🙂
1. Boil Pasta in generously salted water.
2. If using bacon, cut into small pieces and cook to your desired crispiness.  (If you’re really feeling adventurours, reserve the fat to cook onion, garlic and mushrooms in.  That’s totally your call.  I, personally, would neeeeeever do that.)
3. Saute onion in oil (or bacon drippings) until translucent.  Add garlic and cook for a short time (careful not too long- it’s gross if it burns!).
4.  Add all mushrooms, pepper and thyme and saute until just tender.
5. Add lemon zest and spinach and cook until spinach just wilts (about a minute.)
6.  Combine with drained pasta and drizzle with a touch of olive oil (if you use the good stuff. If you go cheap- you can omit this if you want.  I personally think cheap is fine too.  Also, if you use bacon drippings, you probably won’t need this.)
7.  Top with Shredded Parm (not the powdery stuff.  unless you want.  whatever.)

Stolen from BHG version of this recipe. Which I found lacking in flavor!

See, this is why I’m not the pioneer woman! 🙂
Spiced Chicken with Cous Cous Salad via Real Simple
(I never claimed to have written all these recipes.  Also, I’ve never followed this one to a T. or is it tee? Whatever. I don’t like the peas in this.  Also, I have been known to buy boxed cous cous in a pinch. YUMMY.)
Garlic Chicken with Sweet Potatoes
This is loosely derived from a recipe I found on  But, I don’t do whole chickens.  I don’t do meat on bones or skin and I don’t do dark meat.  I have issues.  If you’re a whole chicken kind of a cook, go with the version.  If you’re like me, here’s a version:
You’ll need:
4 regular sized chicken breasts- Costco breasts are huge. (ha.)  (when I cook, if they’re large I make 2 and we share with the kids. They are still small eaters. This “rub” should be enough for 4 regular sized breasts.)
Garlic (4 large cloves?)
2T fresh snipped rosemary (I suppose you can use dried but it feels like you’re eating tree bark.) Strip the leaves and chop.
enough salt and pepper to generously season breasts
enough olive oil to generously coat breasts.
I like to combine all ingredients and put in a large zip-lock to “marinade” for a few minutes before I put on the pan.  It also helps to equally coat all parts of the breast. *Here’s a little tip: a chicken breast will be completely marinated in 30 minutes, whatever the marinade.*
Roast breasts on 375 until done. (I use a meat thermometer). I like to roast on stoneware pans. I just do.
Here’s instructions for the potatoes the way.

Place sweet potatoes, onion wedges, garlic cloves, 1/2 tablespoon of  rosemary, and 1/4 teaspoon of salt in a baking pan. Drizzle vegetable mixture with 1 tablespoon olive oil; toss to coat. Place in oven on a separate rack and roast, uncovered, for 50 to 60 minutes or until tender, stirring every 15 minutes.
I also just like to bake my sweet potatoes, split in half, dollop a little butter, nutmeg and a small sprinkling of brown sugar on top. It goes well with this chicken. (that’s the non healthy version but YUMMY.)
I’ll post the Artichoke stuffed Chicken Breast as well as BBQ chicken pizza recipes later.  I’m tired and they actually are my own recipes so it’ll take longer.
Hope you enjoy.  Let me know how it turns out for you when you try it!


tales from the ‘hood

I’m a little cautious about writing this.  I highly doubt any of my neighbors know about my blog (except for a friend,) but if one should find out, it could be dangerous.  One never knows what kind of malice can come to her for spilling the secrets in her tales from the ‘hood.

But I’m a brave soul, so I’ll do it for you.  If I should come up missing or maimed, it was the man next door that did me in.

On a rainy morning mid-September we moved into our new home.  A skinny little old lady from across the street came over to welcome us to the neighborhood.  Despite her crazy eyes and the distinct smell of her morning cocktail lingering on her breath, she seemed nice enough.  I mean, everyone needs a morning cocktail now and then, right?  Her parting words were a warning to “Watch out for the family next door.  They, and their brood of trouble making boys are riff-raff of the worst sort.  Call the cops and CPS as much as you need to.  Everyone is used to it.”

Well thank you, Gladys.  I issued warning to the children, “DO NOT, under any circumstance, fraternize with the neighbors till Mommy has a chance to check this out!  There will be consequences if you don’t obey!”

As time went on, every single neighbor we met told us the same thing.  We live on the back street of a quiet little development for the most part.  There’s a rowdy kid here and there, some with minimal parental supervision that just annoy me, but mostly, it’s good hard working families that are normal enough.  Except them.  No one ever came out and told us they were the resident drug suppliers, but it didn’t take long to catch on.

Now, you may recall that Jim and I were reputed to be the neighborhood drug dealers in our previous neighborhood.  I ran a daycare of 6 families from home and there was constantly traffic in and out of there.  Jimmie had a funky little corner of our garage set up as a home office (because the daycare kicked him out of the spare room and there was no peace and quiet in there anyway.)  In the winter he hung a brilliant set of tarps and whathaveyou in the corner so he could keep the heat in.  It basically looked like the most ghetto grow room one could construct.  It was fabulous.  To top it off, two houses down actually was a grow house, so when it was harvest time the whole neighborhood smelled suspiciously skunky.  (I can’t even make this stuff up.  And we lived in a nice area!)  Anyway, we found out that a couple of the neighbors were convinced we were the dealers.  It was awesomely funny and really pissed me the hell off at the same time.  I digress…

So, a few weeks after living here I noticed the dad of our craptastic neighbors never left for work.  Well, everyone has their problems.  Okay.  Their house, which used to be the nicest on the street, looks like the crack house it probably is.  The back yard is basically a garbage dump.  I’m not kidding.  Jordan ran back there one day to get his friend (who was playing there) and when I followed after (to kill him for it) I almost threw up.  Not one square inch wasn’t covered in garbage.  I wanted a hazmat suit and a hot bleach shower.

Anyway, we quickly noticed an odd traffic of cars in and out of their driveway.  And I realized how easy it was to assume that we were drug dealers in the old neighborhood.  The same five or six people at the same times of day, sometimes multiple times per day, started showing up- same as a daycare drop-off/pick-up schedule.  The only difference was, the clientele was a little shadier in this pick up line.  No mommies dressed in slacks and heels.  No Daddies wearing their company’s logo golf shirts.

Nope, what we have here is a lunatic neighbor that rides her kid’s pedal powered go-cart down the hill to score her daily boost.  There’s people who leave their running cars in the middle of the street to run inside for a quick bump and then lose all track of time and leave it there until it runs out of gas.  In the middle of the road.  With children playing all around it.  Mommies in their pajamas in the middle of the afternoon (yesterday’s pajamas mind you) and Daddies that look like they’ve been beat with a golf club are my daily entertainment.

But best of all, is the bus stop drug deal.  Every morning Mr. Daddy of the Year walks his littlest child down to the bus stop just like the rest of us SAHMs.  The only difference is, every morning there’s a lady sitting in a car waiting for the bus to pull off.  And every morning, he walks over to her for his daily exchange.  And, I’m not going to lie, every morning my heart breaks a little for both of them.  And I want to bitch slap them both.  Mostly the latter.

I’ve seen the lady in question put on quite a show many a time.  One morning she was bouncing up and down in her seat so hard her whole truck was shaking violently.  The kids were all terrified.  Yesterday morning she was literally chewing on her steering wheel- I. am. not. kidding!  Today, they were so freaking obvious about it I almost said something.  I literally wanted to knock them both in the head with a crow bar and tell them to stay away from my babies’ bus stop.  I just can’t take it anymore.

Fortunately, according to the Bus Stop Chatter, foreclosure/auction will occur on Friday and we will all soon be free of this nightmare.  Please, dear baby Jesus in a manger, let it be true.  I don’t know how much more I can take.  I just don’t.  If it is true, rest assured I will provide detailed recounts of that little escapade.  I highly doubt it will go down without incident.  Oh, and can someone please watch my back? Thanks.