Writing – Page 3 – Lori's Life and Other Stuff

Plot Twist!

Riding down the road with the family towing our new (to us)-going-to-be-the-best-summer-ever-camper, I gripped the “oh $h1#!” handle on my side as the vehicle miles in front of us tapped his brakes. My husband laughed as I told him, “I love how the dumb handle in the car gives me the illusion that I could in anyway affect the outcome of an accident.” Like my grip on this handle will somehow magically apply the brakes and save us all from plummeting to our deaths. The car was so far ahead of us, even I had to laugh at my disproportionate reaction.

I have a delusion that I am in control. Of all the things.

We recently found out we have a plot twist to the plans of the next couple of years as we transition out of active duty military life. This transition (after decades) is a big one, but also incredibly exciting. My anxiety definitely kicked up a notch or 6 as we continue to discuss what we want, where we want to live, second chapter prospects, kids’ schooling, etc. There are so many decisions to make over the coming months, and many questions that will be answered in time.

This month I celebrate 4 years of sobriety (YAY!). Pondering the plot twist made me wonder what it would be like if I was still drinking. I would likely drink AT the transition, in a feeble attempt at quelling anxiety, not recognizing that I would only be adding piles of shame, guilt and more anxiety on top of everything else. Using alcohol to not be in my head about whatever situation never makes it go away, and in fact makes it worse. When drinking, I would eventually get to an acceptance place when big things happened, but it wasn’t easy or quick by any means. Worry is like a rocking chair as they say – gives you something to do, but gets you no where. Instead of numbing out, I’m feeling ALL the things. The recognizing that one chapter is ending but a new one is beginning. Both sides of the coin, excitement tinged with a bit of sadness, as we consider options.

Feelings are nothing but currents of energy. They pass through as long as I don’t white knuckle grip them by worrying and stewing, like I’m actually in control. Staying present, taking each moment as it comes and just breathing. Everything always works out. It always has. Even hard stuff. Even the messy, emotional, exciting and terrifying stuff. It always works out one way or another. In the meantime, this will be the summer of amazing adventures, many decisions, and a BAZILLION camping get aways! Perhaps I will even learn to become less of a ~~control freak~~ backseat driver! Three of the four of us are vaccinated and we are ready to bust out of this bizzaro quarantine time and have some FUN with the peeps we love. This may be the plot twist we never knew we needed. At just the right time.

A Year

Things keep popping up on the social media feeds I’m marveling at how on one hand, while scary, there was a thread of positivity in the beginning. The “we’re in this together!” tagline attached to every commercial. It’s hard not to scoff at those sentiments, looking through the lens of hindsight. Between politics and the weaponizing of mask wearing and all of the events that happened last year, both public and personal, I’m finding myself in a place of cynicism. A coarseness or roughness that wasn’t so close to the surface last year. Like we are all just more abrasive now than we were last spring.

Seems like we did all the things; the crafts with the kids, the rock painting, mask sewing, and hanging of shamrocks and teddy bears and hearts in the windows. We “chalked the walk”. Much of it seems silly now.

Naive.

Frustrating.

I’m angry that people don’t wear masks properly – if at all. I’m angry that people downplay the severity of symptoms and think they are invincible, making excuses to travel and do whatever they like as if we are not living through a pandemic. Anger morphs into apathy. A resignation and understanding that people are generally selfish. Part of me doesn’t mind the mask wearing. People are gross, generally. Ask anyone who has worked in food service or in banking. People are gross and breathe in your face. Masks don’t bother me. I will happily wear one in public.

What bothers me most is the unwillingness of people to recognize that they are not only vulnerable, but that they can literally kill someone else and not even be aware of it.

Because they wanted to go out to eat.

A selfish desire leads to someone’s death.

Just doesn’t seem right.

I Know What You’re Thinking…

I don’t miss much about eating animals, but one thing I have missed is a really tasty BLT. Or a BLAT (bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato) on toasted sourdough. There is something about the way the crunchy bread, complete with mayo all up in the nooks and crannies blends with the savory bacon, the creaminess of a ripe avocado, the juice of a fresh Roma tomato slice and crisp leaf lettuce. It really is the perfect sandwich. I grew up with BLTs. It’s handheld comfort food.

For many, the idea of giving up bacon when transitioning to plant based eating seems to be one of the hardest things. Once I made the decision, it wasn’t hard for me personally – once you know what it does to you, the pigs, the environment and the farmers it’s not hard to make the choice. (Cheese was my hardest to give up – I did it, but it was a struggle.) Now I miss neither.

Recently I saw Tabitha Brown’s Carrot Bacon video:

I LOVE HER! I love her so much I’ve tried a few of her recipes and I have never not liked one!

So I gathered my ingredients and got to work!

I wish there was scratch and sniff to give the full aroma effect!

Now, I know what y’all are thinkin’. I’m nuts. I’ve done lost my mind. It’s like cauliflower tryin’ to be something it’s not. I know.

I know.

And yet…..

IT IS SO GOOD.

I made this and ended up crafting these tasty words while I crunched and munched on the best BLAT I’ve ever had. It was DIVINE. The flavor combo of Tabitha Brown’s “concoction” as she calls it, with the sweetness of a thin carrot slice is the marriage of the flavor gods. I don’t know what kind of culinary magic this is, but it delivers!

Tabitha – I thank YOU!

For more information about plant based eating, effects on workers, the environment and animals, please check out the following sources:

The Bigger Picture

The FOK film

7 reasons why meat is bad for the environment

Teach

“Tell me which of his classes to take! Make me love him,” the message read.

“Huh?” I thought, slightly taken aback. How do you make someone love a particular instructor? I don’t think you can.

I’ve taken classes all my life. Most of us have. Formal schooling as a kid, college, and even on the job training, it’s a life-long process regardless of whether we see it that way or not. My mom is a teacher of dance. I’ve been a teacher of sorts over the years, although not in a traditional school classroom setting. Parents are teachers. Without question, our kids will teach us things we had no idea we needed to learn.

I remember my first jobs as a kitchen assistant at a retirement center, later as a sales associate in multiple retail establishments, then as a waitress, and even as a bank teller, manager and officially a corporate trainer. All of these seemingly unrelated positions had the common thread of teaching. We may not always love every teacher or instructor we have in school or on the job, but we can learn something from each.

My son had a particularly rough PE teacher one year. They got into round after round of power struggles. (My son does have an individual learning plan for autism-related accommodations, but this teacher did not read the plan, much less follow it’s directives. It was rocky to say the least.) She was not his favorite person – teacher or otherwise. I let both kids know that while you will likely not love everything about a teacher, co-worker, or boss you will have, you can learn from them, even the not-favorites. Dubious, they questioned my logic until I explained one of my least-liked teachers.

He was a 7th grade social studies teacher that was nearing retirement. He was the quintessential monotoned-voiced, gray-haired, probably sick of middle schoolers, oldest crank I had ever seen. He looked like he must have been at least 104. (My adult self realizes he was probably in his 60’s, but aged prematurely due to his loathing of teenagers). His classroom was always just about 5 degrees warmer than was comfortable. He would drone on and on about some civilization or other, regularly dimming the lights for a bit while we watched the most ancient film (on an actual 2-reel projector) about how said civilization lived or were wiped out in battle. The merciless clock had a deafening second hand that seemed to take its sweet time moseying around the blurring numbers. “Did time actually move backward?” I would wonder when looking at it for the 18th time in 3 minutes. Having his class after lunch was a unique form of torture. We all struggled to keep from falling asleep. The fear of succumbing to the sandman was not due to the possibility of embarrassment from accidentally drooling on the desk, or even snoring in front of our peers. The poor souls who gave in to their exhaustion were met with the intense whack of a yard stick slammed on their desktop. That stick created a gust of wind it was whipped down so hard. Not only would you pucker, gasp sharply, and make you question if you had just died, it would draw the attention of everyone in the room to humiliate you. The overall lesson was this teacher was someone to be feared above all else.

Even with teachers like him, I still learned. I learned that some teachers use humiliation as a tool. If I was ever in a teaching capacity, I recognized (even if I was unable to articulate it at the time), that fear is not an effective tactic nor is shame. Fear and shame inhibit learning. Can I tell you anything I learned in that class in terms of social studies? Absolutely not. But I can in crisp detail, outline the way I felt, describe the skin-prickling heat, and the intense urgency I felt to be done with those 55 minutes each day.

Certainly not the ideal, valuable lessons were learned. The same is true when we look at any kind of class – be it a grade school teacher, a dance instructor, or a fitness professional. Similar to story-tellers, teachers all bring their own unique something to any lesson. If someone isn’t rocking your socks off, okay. No big deal. Find someone who does. We can learn something.

Even if it’s not the intended lesson.

Obsession

Since last August when she arrived, I have rarely spent a day without getting in her saddle. I pedaled and huffed and puffed. I got a professional fitting, I joined the ~~cult~~, ahem, the Power Zone Pack. New shoes came, as well as a more powerful fan. I have cycled my legs off for about 6.5 months.

It’s been, to say the least, an obsession.

She is my Peloton bike. The bike gives me something with which to focus my training. It’s been a sanity saver in a year of crazy-making monotony. It’s anchored my days and my mind. I have become all of the Peloton memes and I don’t even care because I feel so good. This from SNL is my current favorite:

HILARIOUS!

With this type of training, power zone training specifically, the rider works within their own zones, and steadily improves over time measuring specific metrics, primarily power output. Yes, I am a stat nerd and love poring over the numbers and seeing how my average cadences have improved over time, hitting personal records, and even racing friends up the leaderboard.

This morning I took what is my 5th FTP test. This is an all-out effort for 20 minutes that calculates your FTP, or Functional Threshold Power. Everything you got, holding it steady (or not so), and leaving nothing in the tank by the end. Puking is optional. (I have never puked after the test, but I’ve been razor-thin close.) It’s a beast and if you let it, will mess with your mind. At the end of each 6-8 week challenge, there is the opportunity to take the FTP test – and update your power zones, thus making classes a smidge more challenging. Ever increasing time under tension, you get stronger, update work capacity, adapt, rinse, and repeat. It’s torture…. and addicting.

After reading many posts about strategies to attack this FTP monster, analyzing my stats and then setting goals – I climbed on and rode the plan. Complete with corny inspiration and strategy on the school whiteboard that is directly in my sightline as I ride:

Until about minute 14 when I abandon all plans and decide to just not die.

This creative cutie printed out photos of pom-poms to “cheer” for me!

Good thing my cheerleader came out during the warm up and not during the actual ride when I thought I might die!

Steady increases over time. Consistency trophies as the coaches call them. The 2nd test I was able to scratch out a 19% increase. Then 13% from test 4. The last 2 tests are holding steady at 6.5% increases each.

Annnnd in the end….I didn’t die. I did crawl away from my obsession with new zones. Not too much harder, but just spicy enough to be challenging. I will take it! My goal was to get my FTP over 200. Definitely not ready for that yet.

Yet.

It will come. Goals always do.

Perspective

Early in sobriety, the focus was on not drinking, how I was feeling and just living life without the numb. The longer time went on, the easier it became. Things would come up, I learned how to deal. The depression and anxiety that had been numbed for so many years was finally allowed to bubble up, surface and be expelled. I sought counseling. I used medication for a while. It saved my sanity. I gained new tools in my tool belt to navigate living a life in a skin I don’t always feel comfortable in.

In conversations with other sober peeps, I have gained a new understanding that only hindsight and experience can teach. When people ask questions about their own drinking I can now recognize that when I was asking those same questions – I had a problem that I did not want. But in that rearview mirror perspective I see it so much clearer than I did then – minus all the evaluating, the justifying, lets face it – the bullshitting – I was doing to myself to convince myself otherwise.

In early sobriety I wanted to be somehow NOT the thing I was afraid I was. Couldn’t I just please be a normal drinker? Couldn’t I just stop at one or two? Surely I should be able to do that. I’m an adult for God’s sake. And moms NEED wine, right? Aren’t I so sophisticated drinking my red wine? Seeking support for what I wanted came easily. You can find anything you want online – but it’s not always what you need.

I’m so grateful for sobriety, for feeling the things I don’t always want to deal with. But the thing that I’m really thankful for is the ability to not only recognize myself in others’ own journeys, but to offer advice and a shoulder from the standpoint of “I’ve been there….” Those voices and support were invaluable to me in early sobriety.

3 years makes a hell of a difference in perspective.

I am so grateful.

Scary

I have this thing: apparently I like to scare myself. I jump into things and then figure out the how. I ran track for 3 weeks in the 8th grade and then decided I hated running. When I signed up for my first running event, it was only because my friend said it was doable and dragged me along. I knew I could walk if we needed to, and we were actually doing this “let’s get fit” thing. Running races wasn’t something I thought I could do, let alone enjoy.

At 33 and post-baby #2 (over the course of 7 months while living in Hawaii) I did things I never thought possible. I ran a mile without stopping. Seems small, but it was big for me because I never thought I could.

Until I did.

It became longer. 5ks, 10ks, and even half-marathons. (That’s 13.1 miles. On feet.) It seemed insane, but when surrounded by others setting and smashing goals, the impossible seemed possible. Like, why couldn’t I do those things, too? At a get together during this time, over wine (back when I still drank), I made the slightly tipsy decision to run a marathon. I had lost weight, was working out (HARD) 5-6 days per week, and oh, why the heck not?! Never mind the fact that only a week before the marathon date, I’d already signed up for the Kualoa ranch Xterra half trail marathon. (Trail running DOES NOT equal a regular road race. At. All. Trail running is WAY, WAY harder.) But someone at the party said ‘It’s really very doable,’ as she explained a run-walk strategy. Impossible….becomes a maybe…becomes possible.

Our time in Hawaii taught me many things, including how to set goals for myself, how to dream big – even if it scares me – and that I can be a determined person when my mind is set. With 2020 being the circus it was, and the world in the chaos that it is, family, sobriety, and the bike in my living room that goes no where have been my outlet and sanity.

I haven’t run races in a few years due to injuries that get aggravated when I run over a 5k. After becoming a certified Spin instructor, my endorphin thirst was quenched on a bike instead of in running shoes. It’s been years since I participated in any events, but I still set goals and earn badges on the bike and through my fitness watch. (Side note: it’s the most trivial things like badges I find highly motivating.) The beauty of training this way is that metrics are measured which gives tangible evidence of improvement. I love improving.

Across the social pages along came the PeloFondo event. Riders set a mileage goal of their choosing, and then have 2 days to complete the miles. Thinking it would be fun and something to challenge myself before the next actual challenge begins in a week, I set my goal of 30 miles. Seemed achievable.

But…it didn’t really scare me. I’ve done 90 minute rides both indoor cycling and outdoor. So then I figured I could leave my goal at 30, but then actually ride 50 (because Garmin badges). That way I could play it safe, have a goal, but not push myself much harder.

A friend from the Hawaii days messaged years ago to say she was doing her first century ride. I remember this conversation vividly. (This was after we had all moved on to our next duty stations, but we still cheer each other on, even from across the globe.) This conversation planted a seed.

I swallowed and upped the mileage to 100.

One of the class instructors, Christine D’Ercole, often says in her classes to get curious. Instead of the mental chatter that tells us we can’t do something, that talks us out of all the things, she has this amazing motto: I am. I can. I will. I do. We change the chatter and get curious. What if I can do this thing? What if I can set a crazy-ass goal and actually achieve it? What if it takes forever? What if?

What. If.

I knew it would take me forever. I got ready and ordered the padded bike shorts and anti-chafing cream. (Somehow I missed the padded bike seat cover but my amazing husband popped out quick to the store and picked up not one, but two. He graciously fit one on while I was mid class!)

There were lots of stretching breaks between the classes. 2 peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat sammies, 3 apple pie Lara bars, 2 bananas, Nuun hydration tablets, and a LOT of water got me through. Not to mention the randomness of the post-ride feast!

Not necessarily pretty, but when you’re *hang*ry, anything edible tastes like heaven!

101.19 miles took me 6:30. Six and a half hours. (The marathon time was in this same ridiculous ballpark.) I will never win races or compete competitively, but I race me. (And…. occasionally my friend Bo. He typically creams me.)

3000 calories torched according to the watch. Four Garmin badges were earned:

(Seriously, it’s ridiculous that these little things excite me to the degree that they do.) The very last ride of the 12 completed today happened to be the 200th!

I am…..capable. I can….do hard things. I will….continue to set goals that scare me. I do…finish what I start. Thank you Christine for the words I didn’t know I needed.

It’s been a minute since I set a scary goal, let alone participated in a formal event. I missed it. I missed getting scared and pushing beyond that fear. Because really….why not? And what if?

Food Fun – Pita Pocket Joes

I love food, and part of my plant-based cooking excursions have been to incorporate as many healthy habits, as well as recipes, into our routine. It’s been ~~scary~~ ~~fun~~ *interesting* testing out various internet recipe finds on my family. My husband grew up eating meat and typical American fare, so finding recipes that 1. don’t scare him, and 2. he likes and 3. pulls from flavor profiles he is familiar with is always my quest.

When we were first married, I grabbed the can of Manwich to throw on some ground beef and sling onto some buns. Eric loved them. I did, too, but it wasn’t very healthy and I knew there had to be a way to get that same flavor without it being from a can and loaded with high fructose corn syrup and other crap I didn’t want in our diet. Shortly after, I found a scratch recipe for sloppy joes that we both liked and was in our regular rotation. I pulled my old recipe book today to get inspired to come up with something new, as well as something I could modify into a plant-based option. Vegan Sloppy Joes for the win!

Diced onion, fresh green peppers and garlic kick it off nicely. Bringing in bold flavors with vegan Worcestershire, mustard and cumin round out the yummy richness. In place of the meat? You could use many things. I have used bulgar wheat in the past which has a similar look and texture to fine ground meat. Tofu crumbled, air fried and then incorporated into the sauce would also work fabulously! Since we had tofu tacos last night, I used red beans and barley.

I served it up with a side of coleslaw (plant-based, of course) and dinner was served! Sounds weird, but it was quite good and filling!

RECIPE:

Whole Wheat pita pockets
4-6 leaves of lettuce or other handfuls of greens
Red kidney beans, 2 cans, or 2 cups cooked from scratch
1 cup barley, cooked
1 diced green pepper
1/2 onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbs tomato paste
2/3 cup ketchup
1 tsp mustard
2 tbs brown sugar
3/4 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp cumin
1 tbs garlic powder
1 tsp onion powder
1/2 tsp vegan Worcestershire sauce
1 tbs BBQ sauce (sugar free if possible)
1/3 cup water
Salt and pepper to taste
- If you like it spicy: add pinch of pepper flake and/or dash or two of hot sauce
- Cook barley according to package directions, set aside. Cook dried beans in instant pot, or drain and rinse if using cans.
- Sauté onion and green pepper in large skillet. Add garlic and cook over medium heat until soft and fragrant. Add dashes of water to prevent sticking. Add all other ingredients and stir until combined and saucy. I prefer adding all spices/ketchup/Worcestershire/brown sugar before adding beans and barley.
- Once sauce has come together and sugar has dissolved, add in beans and barley to coat with sauce. Adjust spices to taste.
- Stuff leaf lettuce bean/barley/sauce into pita pockets. Serve immediately!

Chickpeas could be used or canned jackfruit would make great mock pulled-pork type of sandwich!

Daughter liked it, and even liked the coleslaw – which is a win in my book. Beans aren’t Eric’s favorite, but to be fair, he liked the flavor.

Guess we’ll have to try jack fruit next!

9 Years

The notification that I’ve had this little corner of the internet for 9 years popped up today. Laughing, I joked to my husband that other than him and the kids I don’t think I’ve ever committed to anything that long. The thought took me back to where we were 9 years ago: getting ready for another heartbreaking military move from Hawaii back to Washington state. I had just finished my one (and only) marathon, but had successfully lost 40lbs attending a bootcamp class regularly. Consistently shutting down the voices in my head that said I wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t do ____________, and was letting go of fear-based decision making. I got curious about my capabilities. I climbed volcanos, pushed out of comfort zones and checked off bucket list items before we left Oahu. The kids were a lot younger, and while those days were tiring (the endless days of diapers and deployments) it was just….different. I suppose it’s a bit of hindsight/rose-colored glasses affecting my memories. It seems like a lighter time in many ways, considering where we are now.

It was roughly 9 years ago, sitting in a restaurant with friends who had facilitated change that we swore we would never travel down this path again. We would stay healthy. We would do what it took, no matter what. Never again would we become sedentary.

The path of the last near-decade has in no way been linear.

The scale has gone up, it has gone down, and up and down over and over. Exercise has been a common thread, with chunks of time more consistent than others (hello rough bouts with anxiety and depression). I adopted a vegetarian diet and gave up all alcohol. It’s been a winding road to say the least. Regardless of process, it’s been a journey worth traveling.

I crave spin classes and took my first of many while living in Hawaii. Loved it so much in fact, that I studied and earned my teaching certificate and eventually led classes in a big box gym for a few years. The energy of other participants is incredible and when struggling to make it through a workout, that energy can carry you through the finish line. Exercise is an apropos metaphor for life. It’s surprisingly collective. Spin in particular is also binary. You either love it….or you hate it. There is no in between.

I am in the former category, but was skeptical when hearing about friends who had ordered from Peloton. Loving spin classes and having a stationary bike at home are very different things. I had a stationary bike that I rode when crafting spin classes and playlists. It was a super useful tool gifted to me, and I rode the heck out of it. To just get on it and ride and stare at the wall, though? Kind of like a ~~treadmill~~ dreadmill that sits in the garage collecting dust. I would much rather run or bike outside. I wondered if the Peloton would be just a very expensive replacement for the floordrobe (clothes not in a drawer or hung in the closet – the clothes that are neither clean, nor dirty and end up on the floor, aka floordrobe.) What was so special about this overpriced bike that goes no where with a giant TV stuck on the front of it? The last thing I wanted was unused workout equipment collecting dust (or clothes). After discussing with friends who couldn’t stop raving about how much they loved their bikes, one friend added me to her profile to check out the app and all it had to offer.

To say I was blown away would be an understatement.

I did a few workouts, and explored the app. I loved the outdoor audio coaching for walks and runs. Great music and great coaching made minutes and miles fly by. Strength, cardio, barre, stretching, yoga – and even meditation! There were so many instructors. If one didn’t excite – another one could easily be chosen. Didn’t like that playlist? No sweat – here’s a bunch of other classes! We made the decision to order a bike. The app sold it for us. Without any equipment, the app was so robust that I was sold. I was getting itchy to workout consistently again. I couldn’t wait to ride. My body craves movement. The experience of working in a couple of big box gyms was gratifying personally, and solidified why I love working hard in the first place. I just feel better when I do.

2020 has been devastating on many fronts, but there have been cracks of sunlight in the foreboding gloom of the year’s sky. The quieting of the constant busy, the lessened need of having to go and do. It was awesome seeing so many families active and outside this summer. The bike arrived as the warmer days were winding down. In the PNW, winter cold and rain always come. Days of enjoying those outdoor dog walks were dwindling. I knew the bike had arrived at exactly the right time. This will help me stay healthy and sane not only because of covid, but though the winter months when being outside is not feasible.

And it has.

Far from being an unused clothes-catcher, it has surpassed my expectations. There are countless groups such as PeloVegans, Dog Moms of Peloton, Sober Pelo, PeloDads, PeloMoms, 50 and 60+ groups, Power Zone Pack and more! The leaderboard sits on the screen where you see others working out with you, and where you can give and receive virtual high fives. (Sounds silly until you get some of those!) Instructors during live rides give shoutouts for milestones – even a Century club t-shirt from the company when you complete 100 rides. There are challenges, song request rides, artist series, in short – there is community.

A highly motivated community.

A community that doesn’t require me to go to the gym. I go to my living room. I don’t have to pack toiletries, or in the case of this year – miss out because the gym is closed. My bike is always open. The app is just a swipe away. Motivation awaits!

Attending bootcamp classes in the Hawaiian sun some 9 years ago was more than an exercise class. My success in that program was due in large part to the community it fostered. The races and running community – far more encouraging than I had ever realized before I’d ever laced up a pair of shoes. The gyms were I worked teaching clients one on one and in group settings were fun and engaging because of our communities, these crazy people who got their sweat on for an hour – together.

Whether it’s parenting, church, sobriety, friendships, education, and of course exercise – humans are herd animals. We need each other. We are much better when we are interdependent. 9 years of commitment, community and fitness. If they have taught me anything, and 2020 especially, it’s that we aren’t meant to go through life alone. As Glennon Doyle often says, “We belong to each other.”

We most certainly do.

See you on the Leaderboard friends! #CurlyMamaof2

2020 breakdown: 1099 miles since September, over 6000 minutes of activity consisting of 156 cycling classes, 59 walks with the app, 10 runs, and 22 yoga classes.

Halloween!

We love Halloween at our house.

Like…a lot.

I laughed my head off a few years ago when I saw a neighbor’s skeletons in the yard up to all kinds of fun pushing a wagon and riding a tricycle. Made me chuckle every time I walked the dogs past the house in October.

Now we have our own skeletons that get up to no good!