The M&M Story

I'm a bad mom. I mean, I would never intentionally do anything to harm my children, unless, maybe, it had to do with Pumpkin Spice Hershey Kisses. I blame my friend Susie for introducing me to these fabulous flavor explosions. Early fall has arrived. A slight chill is in the air (at least at midnight there is), the trees are beginning to show their true colors, and pumpkin spice lattes (or martinis, if you prefer) have made their grande entrance. This year, I have Pinterest.  Oh, my. I'm a little ridiculous. My board aptly named, autumnal pleasures (notice the lower case on both--not grammatically correct by any means, but has an essence of coolness to it--I'm attempting--now that I'm, well, not young anymore) shouts of pumpkin breads, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin sauces, and plenty of pumpkin sweets, mixed and matched with the various spices of the season. So what does one do when the evening storm dances in the sky, Daddy is working late, and I'm exhausted from s

When I moved to KC this summer, I inherited a garden full of tomato plants. In their gorgeous state of rosy red, I picked them straight from the vine, sliced them for sandwiches, diced them for salsa and roasted them for marinara. But...the days of rosy red have gone to rest, and now I have vines teeming with firm green tomatoes. Okay, so....now what? I did not grow up on a farm nor am I that great at tending a garden, so at first glance, I thought, "Bummer. All those tomatoes going to waste." Yeah, well, I was wrong. After a few clicks and searches, I soon learned that September is not only famous for apples and colorful leaves, but it celebrates the approach of autumn with lots of green tomatoes. I had no interest in frying them, as that is the only thing I knew to do with them. And that was solely based on the fact that I watched the movie many, many years ago. But I love, love, love salsa verde. Like really love. Like if it came in a can, I might just pop it ope

I've been inspired. Or maybe convicted. Or maybe it's all those years of teaching writing to middle schoolers. Or maybe it's the Ben Franklin quote making its way around FB. Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. I was a single "widow" momma for almost five years.  Diapers, carpool, landscaping, car maintenance, bill paying, gift buying, to the store, to the doctor, traveling, cooking, early to bed/early to rise, and everything in between. I've often reflected that I transformed from princess to warrior in a matter of weeks. Or maybe it was more like Mother Bear and her cubs.  In any case, one of God's greatest gifts to me was making me a widow. Yes, gift. As I've watched my sweet husband assume the role of "life dad',  I realize how much I learned those years I was on my own. God's grace and power and authority and love is woven into every second of those years, commanding my moments of tears

Sometimes I think if I breathe too deeply the bottom on my life is going to fall out, and I'll start plummeting down into a dark abyss, much like Alice and her infamous rabbit hole. I only say that because right now, things are good.  Really, really, really good. And I'm not sure how I feel about that or even how to respond. Recently, we found out we were moving to a new place, like in a new city that is not St. Louis. I think it sent a rippling shock through my extended community, as I'm sure most people thought I'd never leave where I was. Too much here, roots running deep, family, a legacy to leave. But. This means a new start for my little family. An amazing job for my husband. A new house for me (no rehab, at least this time). A new community where there are no expectations of who we were in our past life....the widow, the little boys who lost their dad, a Hauser (my family name that runs through the roots of the Christian community in St. Louis). A commu

So...well...I haven't blogged in ages.  I'm full of excuses. Excuse #1:  I choreographed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat  at Westminster.  Amazing cast. Amazing dancers. Amazing fun. Hands down--one of my most favorite musical experiences. Excuse #2:  As only God would pen for our story, we found out on May 14th that Todd will be teaching College Chemistry at Liberty High School in Liberty, MO. Yes, we are moving westward. Journeying to an unknown territory, just like Lewis and Clark. Excuse #3: We thought our house would have to go on the market, but after a whirlwind few days, our house was sold before I had to pack up all my "knick knacks." Crazy awesome. Excuse #4:  I had the brilliant idea to drive...yes, drive...to NYC to see dear friends (with a quick stop in Philly) in just under a week. Yes, I saved our family lots of money by the non-purchase of plane tickets, but when I asked my children what they liked about our trip, they both piped,

I love that my children are their own unique persons. I love the way they look at the world.  I love the way they make connections and observations about people and ideas. But sometimes...well, many times....I tend to open mouth, insert my fist or my foot or whatever large piece of furniture is in reach, and am humbled greatly by their tender words. For Brian's birthday every year, we typically go out to dinner or engage in a family activity that he would choose to do.  Bowling, pizza at Dewey's, steak and Rocky Road ice cream at home. This year we went to Fitz's for root beer floats. As we perused the menu, Max piped up, "Mom, I'll have a quadzilla, please." Ahh...too cute.  I laughed.  Out loud.  It sort of escaped the filter I try so desperately to employ. Max, confused by my response, immediately said,   " Mom! Why are you laughing?  All I said was, I would like a quadzilla, please." Trying sooo hard not to keep laughing, I replied, &qu

As I little girl, I loved....wait....repeat in all caps....LOVED watching the yearly Christmas specials on television.  Right after Thanksgiving, I poured over the weekly TV guide (remember the paper version?), highlighting all my favorites.  There was The Year Without a Santa Claus .  I was definitely Team Heat Mizer.  Cold Mizer had the chill and the height, but Heat, he had the sass.  Then there was Rudolph and Charlie Brown and Frosty and the Grinch. Loooved the Grinch in all his humor and grinchiness. I marked each and every one on my mother's calendar, happily anticipating several evenings of laughter, hot chocolate, and blissful escapes to chilly claymation wonderlands.  But in all my giggly girlhood, there was always one that rather rocked my world. That little drummer boy. I think every emotion pulsed through my eight...nine...ten year old self as I watched this 22 minutes year after year.  Fear. Laughter. Joy. Tears. Those evil bandits. The persevering drummer boy. Th