Chesapeake Shores lovers rejoice.  Season three is finally here and you are going to Love it!  
     Snuggling up with a warm blanket and glass of sweet tea, I hoped to fall all over again for the storyline and welcoming characters - and they did not disappoint.     

    The series which is based on the New York Times Bestselling book, "Chesapeake Shores", by Sherryl Woods takes us back to warm summer nights and crisp autumn days as Abby O'Brien (Meghan Ory) finds her way home and back to her past love with the handsome Trace (Jesse Metcalfe).  She is sure to be tested however, by his newfound fame as a singer.
    Surrounded by the love of her family, including her father, Mick (Treat Williams), mother, Megan (Barbara Niven), grandmother, Nell (Diane Ladd), sisters, Jess (Laci J. Mailey), Bree (Emilie Ullerup) and brothers, Kevin (Brendan Penny) and Connor (Andrew Francis), Abby and the O'Brien family find their way through life's struggles and success by holding on through love and enduring togetherness. 
     Hallmark Channel's, 'Chesapeake Shores' returns for the  third season, Sunday, August 5 (9:00 pm ET/PT, 8:00 pm C) and airs each Sunday through October, 2018.

    Have you seen those advertisements saying, "We tried a meal kit and here's what happened?..."
     Let me go back a minute.
     When I went to college, I didn't know how to cook.  I mean, like - I couldn't boil water, level of non-cooking - I didn't really think about it much I guess.  Growing up in my hometown we didn't have many choices of grabbing a quick bite other than a Dairy Queen, so my parents handled every meal with two choices... 1. Take it or 2. Leave it.  
     Heading off to college meant dorm food from then on.
     It wasn't until graduate school when I realized how vast my inadequacies in the culinary arts actually were.  I think it was around the time my roommate, Amy and I looked at each other and kind of shrugged as we used a hand held can opener to crank open and eat only corn for dinner one night, when I knew it was bad.  That, or the time I called home to ask how to make spaghetti and heard the phone drop.
     That's when it hit me.  Sitting over my thousandth bowl of cereal, I proclaimed, "One day, I'm going to learn how to cook.  Really cook, not just spaghettios warmed in the microwave."
     Amy and I agreed and over the next series of years, we honed in on our inner FoodTV goddesses.
     Fast forward (ahem) several years and we both have families of our own.  We love sharing stories and try to get together as often as we can.  One of the fun things while we're apart though, is to connect through recipes of what works and what doesn't with our kids.    
     All that being said, it came as a pleasant surprise then, when for my birthday she gave the gift of one of those meal kits.  The kind where all the fresh ingredients are sent with a yummy recipe inside and you cook/put it all together.  The irony wasn't lost on me as I smiled in memory of our canned food dinner days - and I was excited to see what it was all about.
     Ordering the meals and the dates when they'd be delivered, I eagerly awaited.
     Sure enough, a big box plopped right at our front door and it was packaged amazingly with everything still cold inside.
     While looking through the ingredients and the instructions, I stopped.  Constantly, I tell Adam how I want the kids to know how to cook before they leave the house.  Sure, most kids know how to make Ramen noodles once they're gone, but I want them to know how to truly cook, from recipe to ingredients to completion.
     It was at that very moment, the cook off challenge began.
     In a house with four kids, there's no better motivation than a little competition.  
     Pairing the kids in teams, two picked one recipe and two chose the other.  All the ingredients were arranged and the challenge began.         

   Ethan and Lauren Elizabeth worked on General Tso's Chicken while Christian and Preston had grilled steak fajitas.  It quickly became a matter of controlled chaos as I realized how dangerously unfamiliar they were with the basics of everything from handling a knife, to where to stand at a grill. 

    The winner?  As you can imagine, three votes went for one meal, while three votes were for the other.  The true victory came in stepping back and letting them go.  Through their bickering, figuring out how to work things out, measuring and stirring...miraculously...two ridiculously delicious meals magically appeared and with them, their new found sense of pride in learning how to work from start to finish and from recipe to table.
    We'll keep working and trying to make it fun.  Will they open a restaurant one day?  Probably not, but if they'll be able to fix more than a frozen pizza, freshman year - I'll consider it a success.  
   Thank You, Amy for more than you'll ever know!  It wasn't just a gift of food...it was time, togetherness and love...all that from a can of corn. :)  Miss and Love You More Than Words!  XO
    Editor's note: Since the cook off challenge, our 14 year old wanted to figure out how to make his favorite meal (chicken fettucine alfredo) so he followed the following recipe.  It was smack your mama good and for one split second - there was peace and quiet in our house as all six of us inhaled our dinner and almost licked the plates.  Thank You Lord Jesus, there's hope.
​
​                 Fettucine Chicken Alfredo
Pasta- 

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 2 large eggs plus 2 egg yolks, beaten
• Pour flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Add eggs and yolks, and mix with hands or wooden spoon until the dough comes together. If dough is dry, add 1 or 2 tablespoons cold water.
• Knead the dough until smooth. Roll with a rolling pin or pasta machine as thinly as possible then cut into desired shape.

Chicken - 
     Cut into bite sized pieces or strips, then season with salt/pepper and garlic salt to taste. Cook/brown boneless, skinless chicken over medium heat in 2-3 Tablespoons of oil until cooked through.

Alfredo Sauce - 
1/2 cup butter
salt
fresh ground pepper
3 cloves garlic, very finely chopped
1 1/2 tablespoons flour
2 cups heavy cream
3/4 cup grated Parmesan, plus more for topping if desired

In a large pot, melt 1/2 cup butter over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook for about 30 seconds then reduce heat to medium-low.
Whisk flour into the butter continuously until it turns golden in color, then whisk in the heavy cream.  Continue to cook just until the sauce slightly thickened, then add 1/2 cup Parmesan into sauce, stirring until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.
Remove the pot from heat and cover until ready to serve.
Combine chicken, sauce and pasta.  Enjoy! 

      It wasn't until the night before - we asked the boys if they were packed and ready to go when we were met with three blank stares.  (Ready?  Ready for what?)
      Staying up through the wee hours of the night, Adam and I organized, packed and prayed they would actually change their underwear, but we also wondered what the house would be like once they were gone.

     The morning arrived.  Nervous energy opened my eyes as we went over the final checklists with the kids.  It became obvious we needed to let things go when one of the boys calmly explained, "Mom, don't worry.  None of this really matters.  Last year I only changed my clothes like, once."
     God help me.
     Pulling up to the camp, we lugged bag after bag out of the car and the kids eagerly looked to see which cabin they would have and who they'd be camping with.    

     Beds were made, toiletries put away and the delicate dance began of wanting to snuggle your babies like schmoopy, new born puppies, as opposed to giving them a quick fist pump to avoid complete and utter mortification in front of the other campers.

    ...and just like that, they were gone.

    Like I said before, joy and sorrow.  Taking my hand, Adam and I walked to the car together and alone.  "How will I deal with college if I can't even handle church camp?" I whispered.  Squeezing my hand, he nodded as the unnatural feeling of leaving your kids with no communication, no way of knowing if they'll have fun, get scared, get strangled by an 18 foot long, deadliest snake in the world, or simply get eaten up with mosquito bites.
    But the joy.  No kids for a week.  NO KIDS FOR A WEEK.  No fighting, no cleaning, no dishes, no laundry, no nagging, no cleaning, no cooking, no yelling, no cleaning (did I mention the cleaning?) no responsibilities of any kind, whatsoever, Good Lord, WHY hadn't we done this before?  In fourteen years I don't know if we've had an entire week without the kids. like. ever. 
    A wonderful week it was.  If we were smart, we would've planned a trip or a getaway, but we didn't.  We didn't do much of anything, but the house was blissfully quiet and calm.  Even the cat wandered the halls lost and confused.
    Within no time, the morning arrived.  We couldn't wait to wrap our arms around them and squeeze them like crazy no matter what.  We wanted to hear about everything, every adventure, every good thing, every bad, every detail down to the last S'more.
    Lauren Elizabeth was first with a running attack as she jumped into our arms. 

    The boys followed with smiles and hugs and endless energy, coupled with pure exhaustion. 
​     Brothers and sister were reunited after not seeing each other from different parts of the camp all week...

     ...and we all happily made our way to the car as birds sang, butterflies fluttered and families of deer stopped to lift their heads from chewing as though to wave us goodbye.  This all lasted until we pulled out of the parking lot mind you, but for one minute...one small minute...all was perfect in the world with four happy and love filled kids.
     Maybe that's what it'll be like when they eventually one day really do leave the nest.  The hardest part will be in letting them go, only to be so greatly exceeded by the joy of seeing them return again. -minus the laundry.

   Our youngest son had a lacrosse tournament in Williamsburg, Virginia over Father's Day weekend...so with my parents coming to watch...we made the best of it by going to Busch Gardens on Father's Day once the tournament was over.
   Little did I know I'd see my life flash before my eyes.  
​   It was all in good fairness to be quite honest.  The day began innocently enough with my husband, Adam and I trying to convince our four kids to ride a roller coaster called the "Loch Ness Monster".  It's an Awesome ride, not to mention a total classic.     "You'll LOVE it, trust us", became our mantra to the kids while we waited in line.  My Dad stood with us, leaving an odd number of adults to children, suddenly enabling our daughter to run back to my Mom to get out of dodge.
​     The six of us waited.  
​    Little by little the roar of the coaster seemed to grow increasingly louder as the boys watched groups of people lock themselves in, only to be whisked away - screaming off in droves.  The three boys have all ridden roller coasters before, but to them, this was a big one. 

    "You'll LOVE it, trust us." Again we tried to convince them as they quietly took every element of the ride in before taking our place at "the gate".  
​     Slowly - it opened and with no going back, each of the boys climbed into their seats - while my husband, dad and I followed to sit beside them.  
​     I grabbed the hand of our middle son, Ethan through a Houdini act between the labyrinth of roller coaster safety, giving him one last squeeze of assurance that again, "He would love it".      I hoped they would.  
​     Pushing out of the gate, the coaster pulled up a hill, gave a little "fake out" drop, then went on to plummet the six of us into screams of laughter and loops of fun.
​     Howling as they jumped out of their seats, they begged to go on it again and couldn't wait to convince their little sister of how much fun it was.  
​      They tried, she rode it with us the next time, but what's fun for a group of brothers isn't always necessarily the best time for their nine year old little sister.  
​      Needless to say, she clung to Adam's neck when they climbed into the coaster - and she grabbed onto him when they were climbing out, too.
       All in all, it truly was a thrill and we considered the experience to be a success.
       Walking away, excitingly comparing notes...that's when...we saw it.
      The Granddaddy of them all.  The biggest, craziest ride I'd ever seen and I think under my breath, I muttered..."Oh no" at the exact same moment my husband smiled in awe with his, "Oooooh yes!"
      "Nope.  No way.  Don't even think about it.  I'm not riding that.  You're not riding that.  WE'RE not riding that."
      This monster ride takes you about twenty thousand miles in the air, holds you at the top and then PAUSES.  I mean, like, literally dangles you over the side of your death and makes you sit there beside God and everybody else, while you wait for about an eternity's worth of terror.  Then, just as the story of your life flashes before your eyes, it drops you.  Drops you straight down to a never ending abyss so you may never be heard of again.  

      Forget the remaining twist, turns and loops following the initial drop...I couldn't imagine being conscious for any of that, regardless.
       "We're not riding that", my heart pounded.  I knew that look in his eye and I suddenly realized the paralyzing fear our kids must've felt when we both assuredly convinced them thirty minutes prior.
      "It'll be Awesome!" he beamed.  "You'll Love it!"
      Stupid Poetic Justice.
      Dad shrugged his shoulders and was like, "I'm game!" and that was it.
      The three of us stood in line.
      Little by little the roar of the coaster grew increasingly louder as we watched groups of people lock themselves in, only to be whisked away - screaming off in droves. 
      I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't swallow.  I felt my heart pulse through my ears, but couldn't hear it over the howls of torture coming from all around as we became first in line.
      "I'm not doing this."
      "We're next.  It'll be Great!"  He winked.
      "If we live through this, I'm going to kill you."
      Have you ever felt that panic when you think your seat isn't going to lock or it isn't tight enough and you're going to fall out and assuredly die?  When your hands are shaking and you're convinced the ride will begin without you being secured?  Times that by about a hundred, knowing at any second the floor will drop out and you'll be hanging, feet dangling without a seatbelt.
       But just like that, "the guy" came around making sure we were all locked in safely, giving me one last pause to try and keep my breakfast where it belonged.
      Sitting between Adam and Dad, I didn't understand how they both seemed to look forward to this. Sticking my neck out left and right, they were both actually excited, as I literally forced myself not to cry.  
     "I hate you both", was I think the last thing I said as all too quickly, the floor fell out and the deathtrap jerked into motion.
     Grabbing Adam's hand, then dad's hand, I tried to shut my eyes, go to a happy place, remember my Lamaze breathing, but nothing mattered.  Nothing could take me from this emanate drop that would quite possibly be the end of me.  
     We clinked up the hill too quickly and somehow much too slowly at the same time.
      Please let us live.  Please let us live.    
      Around the time you start pleading to God, is when you know you're in trouble.
     The screaming was deafening.  I would've joined in, but couldn't find my breath.  We were at the top of the world with only one way to go.
     Hanging us over the edge, we locked.  Dangling and looking down, it was so steep, you couldn't see the track below us.
​     No greater love hath a wife or a daughter than to ride this atrocity of death.
    The click that signified the release and drop seemed to stop all time.  Falling, it was everything you'd imagine it to be.  Weightlessness mixed with intense pressure with the uncertainty of whether to keep your eyes open or squeeze them shut.
      It.
      Never.
      Ended.
      It felt like we would drop forever and I didn't know how much more I could take.
      I could vaguely hear both Adam and my dad laughing as we fell, but it wasn't until we caught ourselves finally at the bottom that I could find the slightest hint of my own voice to yell.
      We did it.  We survived the worst part and I didn't know if the scream I exploded out was from pure joy or just the residual of sheer and utter terror.
      No matter, the rest of the ride was actually a blast from the little I remember of it.
      In the end, it was most definitely a Father's Day to remember, sharing both the experiences with our kids and Adam and Dad as well.  
     I never need to go on that ride again, but even though I'd never believe it, I'm actually glad I did.
     Happy Father's Day to all the Amazing Dad's who push you to take that leap - and are always there to catch you when you fall.  XO
   - Video links of the "Griffon"...https://www.youtube.com/watch?annotation_id=annotation_941164205&feature=iv&src_vid=kVyxMGSdvZw&v=Urz66JI-oLohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVyxMGSdvZw
​
​https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdl8wnQOkjM
​               

    It was the last day of school.  I wasn't prepared to be so emotional to watch the busses drive off carrying seas of waving arms through pushed down windows in the North Carolina heat. 

    It's my second year working in the school system.  As a speech therapist, my previous years have been spent with patients following strokes, families working through Alzheimer's, people who have lost the ability to communicate or at times eat and drink.
​    The thought of working in the schools however...terrified me.  How would I know what to do?  How could I work with a whole group of kids at one time when all they wanted to do is talk about making slime, doing "the floss" or how they couldn't wait to get home to play, "Fortnite". 
​     Don't even get me started on Fortnite.    
​     But something happened.  Student reports and IEPs became more than just names or written documents.  Meeting the students last year with apprehension and uncertainty, grew into knowing them through their ups and downs.  Soccer championships and loss of loved ones.  Family pets and birthday parties.  The stories and love of life each child shared grew to the point where it became impossible not to revel in their successes and hurt in their pain.
​     What I've discovered however, is when you're used to dealing more often with people at the end stages of their lives, your hope is to give them as much love and comfort as possible.  You hold the hands of a 98 year old who smiles and whispers they're ready to "go home".  You hug the family members of a great grandfather who had the fastest horse in the county back in the day.  
​      It's completely different on this other side.  It's the beginning.  The beginning of life and you hope you're giving them the most you possibly can to prepare them for the future.  To give the right tools to a fifth grader who confides in you how embarrassed he gets when he stutters in front of his class as you pray to God he thrives and takes on the unknown of middle school like a rock star.
​      To hug a third grader and give high fives because they're this close to getting that 's' sound, making it easier for people to understand them when they speak.
​      It's a whole different world and it's one where you wonder and dream of what each child might become.  Deep down knowing for most however, you'll never know...so you watch as busses take them away for the last time.
​      The administration, teachers and staff at our school are amazing and we hugged and danced to "Kool and the Gang", before going back to our rooms to prepare them for hibernation.
​     Fall will come soon enough bringing back a new year of ups and downs, soccer championships, family pets and birthday parties all while hoping for the brightest futures for those students who didn't return, their lives taking different paths.
​     There's an incredibly new found respect for people in the education system who've done this their entire lives...an admiration on a level you'll never know.  Thank You for making a difference in this world one child at a time, while encouraging them to spread their wings.  I don't know how you've done it year after year, but pray sometimes you've known the joy of those who've returned...allowing you to see just how far they've flown.     

  We have a curse.  We used to joke about it years ago during those first few dates to the movies when the loudest, most obnoxious people would sit right. behind. us, or when we'd take a flight and the brother and sister evil duo would kick and beat the bloody pulp out of the back of our seats during the entire trip.
​  Over the years, our joking about "the curse" actually began to make us question if it was a reality.  Either it's a fluke that the worst behaved human beings seem to gravitate towards us, or it's simply just true.  Don't believe me?  Go to a movie with us.
​   So this takes us to last night.  Our Anniversary dinner.  It's weeks past our actual Anniversary, but it was the first night of freedom from activities, so we jumped on it...and oh how excited we were.
​    Mom and Dad had the kids, Adam and I were going to one of the fanciest restaurants in town and I even got to wear high heels. 
     The perfect trifecta.
​     The smell of gloriously juicy steaks greeted us as we entered and I don't think my feet touched the ground as we were taken to our quaint table for two.  The little candlelit one in the corner nudged in between a wedding party of about 25 with muuuch to laugh and drink about and the other table with only 8 from a different country.  An impressively loud, different country.
​    Smiling, Adam and I squeezed our hands together nonverbally agreeing to make the best of it.  It didn't matter if we couldn't hear each other speak, all we needed was the language of love, right?  
​     It had been so long since we've gone on a date, we'd forgotten how fun the curse could be, however.
​     The more the wedding party partook, the less they worried about the seven kids ranging from I'd say the ages of 4 to 12 they pushed aside at the end of their table so they wouldn't bother them.  They, instead, were about an arms length away from us and the kids were perfectly aware of the fact that none of their parents were watching them.  Screaming, laughing, under the table, over the table.  One of the boys in a blue shirt was so out of control, I think he may have had a little too much to drink himself.  Around the time our salads arrived was when he had his shoes off, smacking them together and taunting the other kids with them as they all howled.
​     Foreign country table became louder and louder and blue shirt and his posse were raising the roof.
     Adam and I were trapped in our own personal hell, wondering if take out and a movie at home would've been a better bet.
      No.
​      We never get to do this.  We're going to focus only on each other and laugh it off, even if blue shirt is about to take his clothes off and streak the restaurant.  
​     The waiter politely brought some bread, stating our dinner would arrive shortly.  
     A little while turned into a long while, and we wondered if it was all just a funny joke.  Watching mouthwatering meal after meal traverse the restaurant floor to different tables as we were wedged between two mosh pits, we began to feel hopeless.
​    One meal.  Just one, quiet, romantic meal without chicken nuggets or our own wild children is all we had hoped for.
     Then, it happened.
​     For whatever reason, foreign country table began to stand and hug as they gathered their things.  Maybe it acted as a subliminal message to the wedding party table or maybe it was simply because the kids were running laps now, but THEY began to stand as well.
​    Birds began to sing and the tension I didn't even realize I was holding began to melt away.  Just like that, as though God Himself decided to smile upon us, the gates of Heaven opened and our fabulous server magically appeared with two plates of decadent bliss.
​    Peace. Love and meat. 
​    Our server returned with an adorable miniature pound cake and a wink, smiling that our anniversary meal had been "taken care of".  
    Wait. WHAT?
​    We can hope our curse has been broken once and for all, but regardless, I know one thing for sure.
​    In the midst of the chaos, mind numbing loudness and stress of our everyday lives, there is a calm that can be found.  Faith, family and friends will get you though the flying shoes of life with the promise of better days of pure and utter deliciousness to follow.
​    Thank You, Mom and Dad and Happy 17th to the Love of my Life.  Next year we're staying in.  : )  XO   

    "And the Lord Said,"...
​    Never in my middle school years had I been so proud at my church. 
​    Our minister reserved the coveted spot of reading the Bible in front of the entire congregation for the coolest high school kids - and for some unknown reason, that week he picked me.  ME.  A lowly, braces - curly haired, measly jr. high kid.
​     I must have been something, because never before had he picked someone younger than a high school student to attain the honor.  
     I. Was. Awesome.
​    Clearing my throat, it was time.  I had all the confidence a 12 year old could muster as I placed my finger on the initial word of the scripture.  "And the Lord said..."
​     For whatever reason, I looked up.  Lifting my eyes to see the entire congregation sitting and listening politely caused that one fraction of a second to become my own personal nightmare.         I froze. 
​     I had never taken public speaking or any other type of speech class at that point in my life, so nothing had prepared me for the feeling of what seemed like thousands of people sitting and gawking at how ridiculously stupid I must've suddenly seemed.
​      The words caught like cotton in my throat and my eyes teared, making it impossible to see the blurry words I was supposed to read next.  
​      Returning my finger to where I'd left off, I tried tracing the lines of fuzzy black spots.
​      "What were the first words?  Maybe try starting over..." My head spun as my stomach knotted and all I could hear was my pulse pounding through my ears.
​       "And the Lord said", I choked out the only four words I'd remembered as a tear plopped on the page.  Some punk kid began to giggle and as I lifted my eyes, some of the adults had already begun clinging their hands to their chest with that whole, "Bless her heart", expression across their faces.
​      I was blowing it.  Blowing it!  No matter what I tried, it only got worse and before I could recover a fraction of my dignity, I squeaked out one last unearthly sound before I finally gave up and ran off, flying through the sanctuary and out to our car.  Thank God I grew up in a small hometown because my parents didn't have to lock the doors, allowing me to hide out and ugly cry in the back seat for the remainder of the hour.
​      I'll never forget that day and since then, I've never been able to speak publicly for any reason.  
​      Fast forward past weddings, conferences or any type of ceremony in life and that brings us to our eighth grade son, Christian.  He's taken confirmation classes through our church for the entire past year and has enjoyed the experience.  We've loved watching him grow in his knowledge and faith and couldn't have been happier with his walk.  
​      This past week, however, Adam and I received an email stating that a handful of the eighth graders have been selected to lead the Confirmation Sunday service as their conclusion to the year.  
​      As you can imagine, my stomach began to crawl to my throat as I followed the list of names only to find...you guessed it...our son's.  
​       This is where a normal parent begins to beam with pride, but with one look, my husband knew my thoughts.
​       "What if it happens to him?  How can I keep him from the same experience?"
​       The obvious answer was to politely decline the invitation to participate and shield him from my memories of disaster.  That's what we do.  Those are the struggles we have as parents.  We use our past experiences - both good and bad - then make it almost impossible not to project them into living through our children whether we realize it or not.  School, friends, sports, looking like a moron in front of crowds of people...
     This is where God is good and provides wisdom over fear, however.
​      I am not my son and he doesn't have the heart stopping panic of public speaking like I do.  It's my job not to put that on him.  
​     We spoke to Christian about the opportunity, he said, "Cool." so I wrote an email back to the church thanking them for the offer and "gladly" accepted.
​     Tomorrow, he has two pages he has to read during the service and I don't know if I'll take a single breath through one spoken word.
​      He won't know that though.  With one hand, I'll cling to my husband with the death grip strength only a mother can have, while with the other, I'll sneak Christian a tiny thumbs up as he walks to the front, putting the biggest smile on my face as my heart and fears go with him...all the while hoping he has the best experience as he reads his part...and praying he'll be able to carry that feeling of accomplishment with him, all the days of his life.            

     Almost a decade later, the day had arrived - bringing back Mimi the Clown along with the Dearest group of friends a unicorn rainbow sparkle party could dream of...

   ...and it all began with a surprise...

    Through screams and laughter, our daughter entered into a room of love and fun.  She's lucky to have the best of friends who have kept the party a secret, while I'm lucky enough to work with some of the most creative friends on earth, like Brittney and Mahalia who are party geniuses...with ideas like jumping in "Unicorn Rainbows with cotton ball clouds" and eating unicorn rainbow fruit with rainbow dip, unicorn bark, rainbow pasta salad... 

     ...and for knowing the most Beautiful Mamas like, Cristen, Jessica and Amy who came to help during the rainbowy chaos of glittery fun, bringing with them older siblings like Lily Kate and Finley to gather the troops and spray party goers with sparkles.

    My parents helped us prepare for the day, Mom making unicorn food with me and Dad filling unicorn goody bags - then the rest was up to some good old fashioned unicorn birthday party fun.

    It's nothing less than wonderful to see your children grow through the years, but days like these make the memories covered in magic and sweetness.  
​     Thank You to Friends and Family who helped make her party a surprise and success, and Love to the Adorable girls who helped in the celebration. 
​     A BIG Thank You to, Mimi!  You're Absolutely Amazing!  (Mimi's website is: www.themelodymaker.net )   
​      I don't know if Adam or I will be able to look at another ounce of "unicorns" for at least another year or so, but it sure was fun while it lasted.  
​     Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!  We Love You More than all the Glitter in the World!  XO

One of our kids came home wanting to talk about a situation, but if you're like us, walking through the door is probably one of the most impossible times to sit down for a conversation.  Car keys flying, mail everywhere, refrigerator and cabinet doors pounding open and shut between ravenous boys...not the best time for a one on one. 
​    "Mom..."  
    I heard the voice, but didn't listen.  
​    "MOM."
​    I knew that one.  The different one.  The voice that says "I really need you and would you please stop and listen."
​     How often do we do it though?  How often do we respond with a, "Hey, okay - give me a minute and I'll be right there" while we shovel on with a thousand different things.  
​     I'll never forget a story a friend of mine from Texas told.  She went on about how it was a thousand degrees outside and her girls kept running in and out of the house.  It was driving her mad as she worked on getting dinner ready, until one of her daughters ran in behind her, pulling her shirt.  "Mommy", she repeated as her mom busied herself with ingredients.  "Mommy, look!"
​     Completely annoyed, her mom spun around snapping, "WHAT?" only to find a bewildered little girl standing alone with flowers she had picked for her in the yard. 
​      It's hard.  Sometimes impossible to juggle everyday life but I strongly believe if we not only hear, but try our best to listen...it makes a difference.
​      Even the smallest things that might seem insignificant to us, can be overwhelmingly difficult for a child.
​      Kind of like the buffalo and the butterfly.  A tiny pebble isn't noticed on the back of a buffalo.  He doesn't begin to feel it's there...but put that same pebble on the wing of a butterfly and the same does not apply.
​       In this hurriedly, overwhelmingly busy thing called life, it's important to make the time to stop and listen.  Pay attention and appreciate the ones you love.  You never know when there might be someone standing behind you, with a thought, a concern...or simply holding the flowers they've picked...just for you.     

     I worked my way through graduate school at an awesome restaurant back home called, Damon's.  I can still smell their ribs to this day.
​     At the time, I didn't know how to boil water - so I would study and find it fascinating to watch how fast (and how mouth wateringly) the cooks made everything look.  From potato skins to buffalo wings, it was hard not to drool as I delivered each plate.
​     Fast forward and it was probably the best job I ever could've had in learning how to quickly tend to a pack of ravenous wolves - all while keeping a thousand things going at once - and while carrying piping hot plates up my arm.
​     That being said, some of the best items off the menu - tie the cornucopia of heavenly appetizers into the Greatest Super Bowl party deliciousness on earth.  
                       Potato Skins
Potatoes
Oil
Shredded Cheddar cheese
Bacon
Sour Cream
Chives
Salt
Wash and pierce potatoes, then bake in 400* oven for approximately one hour, or until tender inside.
Cool to handle
Fry bacon and crumble when cooled.
Slice potatoes in half, lengthwise, then scoop out inside of potatos, letting some remain. 
Heat oil in large pot or deep fryer, fry skins in batches.
On lined baking sheet, arrange skins, filling inside with shredded cheddar cheese and crumbled bacon.
Set oven to broil, place inside oven for approximately 4-5 minutes.
Sprinkle salt, sour cream and chives to taste.

                      Buffalo Wings
5 pounds chicken wings
1 cup hot sauce (we like Frank's Red Hot)
2/3 cup melted butter
oil
Heat oil in deep fryer or deep pot until approximately 375* (when the handle/back of a wooden spoon bubbles when you put it in, then it's ready)
Add batches of wings in hot oil for approximately 10-15 minutes then remove.  (Check the inside for pinkness)
Combine hot sauce and melted butter in large bowl, add wings to bowl.  Cover wings with sauce and serve with ranch or bleu cheese dressing and celery. 
​Editor's Note: You can bake wings at 400* for approximately 40-50 minutes instead of frying, then coat with buffalo sauce, BBQ, teriyaki, etc.  

                 Mozzarella Cheese Sticks
2 (16 ounce) blocks of Mozzarella cheese, cut into sticks
1 1/2 cups Italian bread crumbs
1 1/3 cups grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 eggs, beaten
oil
Marinara Sauce

Combine bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese and salt in bowl.  In another bowl, stir eggs.
Cut cheese into sticks, dip sticks into eggs, then coat with bread crumb mix.
Place breaded sticks on baking sheet, cover and freeze at least one hour.
Heat oil over medium heat.
Working in batches, fry the cheese until golden brown.
Serve with Marinara sauce.

​The next two items weren't at the restaurant, but are a Super Bowl favorite.

Buffalo Chicken Dip
2 cups shredded cooked chicken (canned)
1 (8 ounce package) cream cheese
1/2 cup hot sauce
1/2 cup ranch or blue cheese dressing
1/2 cup crumbled bleu cheese or your favorite cheese

Pre-heat oven to 350*
Combine all ingredients and place in shallow 1 quart baking dish.
Bake 20 minutes and serve with Pita Chips.

Crock-Pot Meatballs​
2 (12 ounce) bottles Chili Sauce
1 (32 ounce) jar grape jelly
1 pinch cayenne pepper (optional)
3 to 5 pounds of frozen cocktail meatballs
Combine the first three ingredients and stir into Crock-Pot. Dump meatballs in crockpot, turning with spoon and coating with sauce. Cook on low 3-4 hours.