Brooke F.

Howdy! I don't know why I just said that. I never say Howdy in real life. What's up? I'm Brooke! I started this blog as a place for other moms to share their stories and feel supported! Don't take my posts too seriously, I really do love my kids with all my heart and wouldn't trade this crazy life for anything!

So You Think You’re Too Cool for a Minivan?

I can take my 3 kids and my niece and nephews!

I just heard a collective “yes” from moms across America.

“I’ll NEVER be a ‘minivan mom’!”

“We promised ourselves we’d never get a minivan!”

“I just can’t bring myself to drive a minivan!”

I’ve heard these phrases so many times and my answer is “Why the heck not?” You’re seriously that concerned with looking “cool” that you’re unwilling to drive the most convenient mom-mobile in existence? I’ve driven a minivan from the moment I popped out my second kid and never looked back.

OK that’s a lie. I did look back this fall when we were looking into buying a new Swagger Wagon. I wondered if I should step it up a coolness-notch and “upgrade” to a mid-size SUV. So I looked into it! I climbed into an Acadia and I felt like I was in a clown car compared to my MV! The third row had minimal leg-room and the trunk space was laughable!

“We can always use our car topper when we go on big road trips,”- Husband. “Or Costco…”- Me.

“But what about the sliding doors? I can just see our kids door-dinging everyone at Walmart!”

“We’d just have to get them out of the car every time,” we decided.

So the kids will be a little smooshed, we can use our car topper and I’ll have to open doors for my kids for the next seven years until they become trustworthy…. WHAT ARE WE DOING?!

Finally I looked at my friend who had switched from a minivan to an SUV and got her to confess that the biggest reason she switched was that she felt so much “cooler” in the Acadia. Ha! I knew it! It’s all a lie!

Now I’m not saying I’m the most confident person in the world or that I don’t have insecurities, but being seen rolling into Chuck E Cheese blaring “Kids Bop” in my minivan just isn’t one of them! Are you worried the other moms won’t share juice boxes at the playground? Worried you’ll lose Snap Chat followers? Just trying to hold on to some semblance of your “pre-mom” life? Okay, I get that one.

I just think it’s time so many of us let go of trying to be “cool.” Motherhood is hard! Driving a minivan makes it just a little bit easier. Plus, the cup holders! So many cup holders!

Turns Out My Kid is THAT Friend


Every kid has that ONE friend. The “dumper” who goes into the playroom and just dumps. toys. everywhere.  The one that causes trouble, makes messes and encourages chaos.

My 4-year-old, Piper, is not that friend. But somehow she manages to turn all of her friends into THAT friend.

For years I’ve wondered why all her friends are so dang naughty! She’s not a toy dumper or a particularly bad mischief-maker but every single friend she has is horrible!

Her very first friend was her cousin, Michael, who is a year older than her. Those two are TROUBLE together.









Once in a rented beach house they took every single board game and dumped out every piece and card into a giant pile and mixed them together.  They’ve dumped boxes of cereal on the ground and stomped in it, they went into my walk in closet and threw every single thing into a pile on the floor.


















But my favorite was when they got into a bag of nail polish, got naked (of course) and painted their entire bodies. Their “delicate areas” were meticulously covered. Super fun. My biggest regret in life is not getting pictures of the nail polish fiasco of 2016 but I was too busy calling the carpet cleaning company.

She has another friend Matthew who I adore but who I always told my husband was a serious trouble maker. These two once got into a potted houseplant, tore it apart and scattered the dirt EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t take my eyes off those two.

Recently she got a new friend, a sweet little three-year-old named Raygen.













“Surely this friend won’t cause as much mischief as every other friend she’s had over,” I optimistically thought. NOPE. They constantly also get naked in the backyard, cover themselves with sand and paint on walls.












Turns out when I left Raygen out of this picture I really was protecting the innocent.


Then it hit me. Wait…who is the “common denominator” in all these situations? It’s PIPER!! She IS that friend! I’ve been living in denial!









Piper is the youngest child and, by nature, lives to entertain. She thrives on making other people laugh. (Her favorite joke currently is to ask people how to spell I -Cup.) Well, what is funnier to any toddler than destruction of property? The answer is nothing. Nothing is funnier. It turns out Piper is creating havoc in order to make her friends laugh, and then they do it, in turn, to crack her up! Who doesn’t love making people laugh?

In fact, one time Matthew’s mom asked him why he did something particularly naughty and his response was “because Piper thought it was funny.”  I don’t know why I didn’t realize this sooner!

We had a new friend over for a play date this afternoon and I walked into the sweet little boy hysterically laughing. Piper had overturned about five toy bins and was walking around the room hitting everything with a hammer just for the sheer joy of entertaining.










She’s basically all Three Stooges wrapped up into one tiny, adorable package.

So to every mother who I assumed had the naughty kid I say “I’m sorry.”  Sorry I always blamed them,  never assuming my sweet child was creating disaster in her wake.  And I’m sorry to every home Piper visits. Ever. For the rest of eternity.

Tales Of Real Life Goblin Sharks (And How To Avoid Them)









There exists in the wild a rare but uber-creepy predator called a Goblin Shark. The human form, however, is much more common and even more vicious.

The thing that makes the Goblin Shark so eerie is that it swims along, like a seemingly normal fish when all of the sudden it opens its mouth and a second mouth shoots forward and attacks its prey. Like it literally shows up out of nowhere and bites. If you don’t believe me, watch this video.

Ok so it might not technically be a second mouth but that’s exactly what it looks like! Then the appendage-mouth goes back inside and takes it’s normal form again.

As we were watching this Goblin Shark do it’s thang’ I realized I’ve been Goblin Sharked and maybe even been a Goblin Shark at one time or another. You know when someone says something kind of nice to you, but then it’s followed up by what you’re pretty sure is a fancily-dressed insult?

The statement starts off innocently enough but then reaches out of nowhere, spears you in the gut and goes back inside so suddenly the person has walked away before you even realize you’ve been Goblin Sharked!

Another form of Goblin Sharking is where the foe uses a sticky-sweet voice and you think you’re about to hear something nice, but what comes out is a total slam. My dad calls this a “poop-filled Twinkie.”

It’s like a passive-aggressive way of totally hurting someone’s feelings without looking like a totally bitty to the rest of the world. From the outside the Sharkette looks like a regular fish minding her own business, but it’s that moment the freakish hidden mouth shoots out that sticks with you.

I say no more! To the Goblin Sharks out there, either own up to your predator ways or keep your second mouth shut! And to those of us getting Goblin Sharked, let’s start calling them out!

To the former classmate who commented on how “nice and curvy” I’d gotten since high school I’d like to go back and say, “Hey Goblin Shark! I just had a baby six months ago and that sounds a lot more like an insult than you probably meant it to.”

And telling me my son’s hair is so “fun!” but am I planning on cutting it soon?? Obviously you don’t think it’s cute. Your second-mouth didn’t fool me there.

The real ocean-born Goblin Shark is rare in the wild but too common in the world of women. And because kids tend to learn by example, I’d bet you’d find a mini Goblin Shark in any 4th grade group of girls. So please remember, an insult dressed as a compliment is still ugly.

Germs, Worms and Parasites


I recently realized I’m “not normal.”  Actually I think I realized that in the 7th grade but just recently when it comes to germs. Specifically, butt germs.

The straight-up truth is, I’ll sit on any toilet seat, anywhere, at any time. As long as it appears dry. This has only backfired once in my life. I must have been distracted because without looking I plopped my tushie down on the seat and was COVERED in what I can only assume was male urine because it appeared the suspect had taken great care to not only mark his territory on the toilet, but all over the entire single-user restroom. I immediately went home and showered.

My sister, Heather, feels this way anytime she touches what she perceives to be a germy surface. She’ll do anything to avoid a public restroom. Recently she realized she had to “go” as she was pulling into the gym parking lot and turned around and drove home, missing the class.

“But what are you afraid of?” I asked her last night.

“The germs!” as if that’s the most ridiculous question she’s ever heard.

“No but what are you actually afraid is going to happen if your butt touches the toilet?” I need to know!

She looks at me as if a turkey leg is growing out of my head.

So I involve her husband, Mike, in the conversation.

“Mike. Do you sit on toilet seats?” I ask.

“I power squat.” And he immediately and unabashedly demonstrates his power squat over an imaginary toilet.

“Because I will sit on any public toilet,” I explain. “Even there is a toilet seat cover right there, I won’t use it. What’s the point?”

His jaw literally drops like a cartoon cat’s. He stares at me for at least five seconds with his mouth in that position. I can almost see his opinion of me completely transforming in that moment. He’s speechless, so I go on.

“What are you actually afraid of?”

“Feces. The feces will absorb into your buttocks and you’ll get herpes. STD’s, Chlamydia….”

“But none of my openings are touching the toilet seat! None of that can absorb through my skin!” I protest.

He then goes into hypothetical’s about “slipping” on the toilet and suddenly riding “side saddle”. It feels like this has happened to him before and I’d rather not have that image in my mind so I turn to 16-year-old Tyson, my nephew, who has been listening.

“Butt worms,” he says.

“Tyson. For the last time, those worms didn’t live in my butt, they lived in my stomach!” and I’m instantly regretting showing him my parasite that I saved in the toilet.

I recently did a cleanse in which I did pass several rope worms through my system. Heather, who immediately had to wash her hands upon viewing the parasite, had requested I save him so she could see him in person. I named him Perry.

When Tyson peered into the toilet his face turned white and I thought in that moment I was going to have to catch my 6 foot 3 football-player nephew. His eyes glazed over as he temporarily lost consciousness but was thankfully able to stay upright. He’s since referred to my “butt worms” on many occasions.

FYI- you can’t get parasites from toilet seats. I googled it just now.

As part of this parasite-passing diet I’m doing, my food choices are limited. No sugar, no grain, no processed food. Nothing that gives me pleasure. So I grew a garden. With lots of lettuce. I’m telling my girlfriend, Jessica about the lettuce garden when she gets a pained expression on her face.

“Oh no. What?” I ask.

“I grew lettuce once, and only once.”

Apparently she cut and washed her lettuce thoroughly in a sink bath. (Better than I had.) She then put the leaves in gallon ziplock bags and when she went to use it the first time noticed teeny, tiny green bugs on the bags. She freaked out and threw it all away.

“Ew! Ew! Why did you tell me that?” I’m feeling the heebie jeebies. “Mine are in those stay-fresh green bags! I never would see green bugs on them! And I’ve eaten it every day this week!”

Now it’s like I really don’t want to know if there are bugs on my lettuce but I can’t NOT look! That night I make my family tacos and I intend to eat taco salad. I stare at my lettuce, telepathically willing any bugs to disappear. I pull out the first paper towel in the bag. It’s clean.

“Thank you Lord!!”

I pull out the second one and there they are. Two itsy bitsy green bugs. Nooooo!!!!  They do exist!

But I didn’t throw it away.

I had a choice. I could literally eat only taco meat and cheese out of a bowl with a spoon for dinner or try to salvage the bug-lettuce. I know what a normal person would do. But we’ve already established my level of normalcy. I could eat a taco shell and ruin my diet… I could starve. I want a taco salad, damnit!  I have no other food in my house I can eat right now!

I washed that lettuce, ran it through the salad spinner twice and I ate it. I ate the bug-lettuce!

Before I go I should note that my two greatest fears involve bugs: spiders and lice. My fear of lice is so great that included in my emergency store is RID Lice Shampoo. If a Zombie Apocalypse happens we’ll be starving and living in the dark because I haven’t stored SPAM or batteries, but dangit, my brain-eating children will be lice-free!

It’s Not A “MomPetition”

vest(1)Why, as women, do we constantly compare ourselves to other women? Lately I’m self conscious about my clothes, my home decor and always about the size and girth of my butt. We all do it and we need to stop! Because we don’t do it apples-to-apples style. I don’t look at my strengths as a mother and compare them to my friends’ best attributes. I constantly look at my girlfriends’ most admirable traits and compare them to my weaknesses.

I once took a road trip with my friend Jessica’s family and when we got there her minivan was SPOTLESS. I’m not lying. I’m beginning to think she’s a witch.

But lately it’s been worse. It’s like a constant “Mother’s Day” where I feel like I can’t live up to the expectations. But the worst part has been comparing my “funny.”

My college roommate and far away best friend, Katie, is one of the funniest people I know. I still remember the day we met someone asked the room if anyone knew the phone number for the grocery store. Without missing a beat she said, “Thank you for calling information. Please state the name and address of the party you’re trying to locate.” Actually whatever she said was funnier than that. I can’t even write it as funny as she said it. But it was that moment that I knew we would be friends. We spent the next year coming up with absurdly funny life observations.

When other college girls were taking sexy selfies, we did this:

IMG_20160616_0002 (1)













And This:

















We passed inappropriate notes and doodles back in forth at church and missed hours of sleep laying in bed erupting into fits of giggles. We called it being “slap happy”- it’s what happens when you’re so tired everything makes you laugh. We laughed. A lot.

Katie hasn’t lost even an ounce of her college humor. She takes full advantage of her 5th babies wig-like hair. I’m not kidding, her newborns have hair Jennifer Anniston would envy. On Groundhog Day she posted this picture:



























I totally didn’t get permission to use this.

All my gushing over my funniest friend is all to say that I’ve recently fallen prey to comparing my funny to other people’s funny… specifically Katie’s. I’ve never been jealous of Katie’s sense of humor in my life! This is new territory here. It’s always been something we had in common but lately I keep thinking, “She has five extremely beautiful, talented kids that she’s always running hither and thither!  Yet she has time to create funny Facebook posts and Christmas cards. What’s wrong with me?!” This has resulted in me going inside my shell lately and not blogging. Someday my dream would be for her to co-write the blog with me, an attainable version of our previous dream of hosting a talk or a reality show. People would totally watch us.

Until those dreams come true, it’s time for me to put on my granny panties and realize that it’s okay if I’m not as funny or witty or creative as Katie. I should use her humor for inspiration and motivation, not intimidation. Even if my clothes and home decor aren’t as cute as hers.

The “B” Word and the “F” Word- Kindergarten Style

20160322_102935[1]Don’t the best conversations always happen in the car?

So there we were, driving in the mini van and the conversation went as follows:

“Kids were talking about the “B” word and the “F” word today.” -Deacon

“WHAT? Like on the bus??”- Me. (Thinking maybe it’s time to stop riding the bus home from school!)

“No.” -Deacon

“On the playground?” -Me

“No.” -Deacon

“In Kindergarten?” -Me

“Yes, on the circle rug.” -Deacon

“Tell me about this conversation!” -Me.

He then proceeds to tell me about how they were talking about the B word and the F word and debating which word was worse. Someone thought the B word was worse and someone else was sure the F word was worse, so Deacon wanted to know which one was actually worse!

“Well, they’re both REALLY bad, and I hope you never say either one but I think the F word is worse.” -Me. At this point I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a 5-year-old and that he knows these words!

“They’re not THAT bad mom. Brighton says them both all the time.” -Deacon.

What? My sweet 9-year-old girl?

Wait…something doesn’t seem right. So I ask him if he knows what the words are. He says yes but now he’s too scared to say them.

“The F word is…. (Deacon makes fart noise with his mouth and arm.) You have to look at me to know what the B word is…”

I glance in the back seat and Deacon points to his…. BUTT!

Oh thank the Heavens above!

Now let’s just hope he doesn’t go to school telling everyone I said the S word. “Shut up!”


It’s Her Birthday But SHHHH…don’t tell!

20151111_085051Today my BABY turns 4. FOUR! But she doesn’t know that. And I’m not telling her either.

I asked my family members to hold off on their sweet “Happy Birthday” phone calls today so as far as she knows today is just Wednesday. Actually she doesn’t even know that. She’s 4. She kind of knows it’s morning time.

What can I say? Sometimes kids’ birthdays just fall on days that aren’t so convenient for the rest of the family, so we float them to days that work better for US! Notice I said kidS? Plural? No, this is not even close to the first time we’ve lied to our children about what day their birthday is actually on. I mean, she knows her birthday is March 16th, but kids don’t read calendars. She’ll think Saturday is actually March 16th!

When I first married Aaron I was all about THE DAY. We had to celebrate the anniversary on THE DAY, not the weekend of. He thought I was super weird and was adamant that the actual day didn’t matter as long as you got it in sometime. I’ve started to sway his direction. Honestly, as long as you’re super stealthy, like me, your child will be none the wiser! And I don’t feel bad at all! I’m not SKIPPING her birthday, just floating it! I’m not going to be able to get away with this much longer! Teenagers probably read calendars… don’t they?

Come to think of it, we floated my middle child’s 4th birthday too! Two years ago we closed on our current house on his birthday and my husband decided we HAD to move on that day. That was also a Wednesday. So the entire day was moving day. My parents were in town helping out so we went to Red Robin the next night for his birthday and opened gifts there. Then he had his big  Pirate Party that Saturday in our new backyard using the moving boxes as pirate ships.























Oldest child’s birthday is January 2nd, which is usually a horribly inconvenient day as it’s the end of Christmas Break. SO… we typically have her birthday a day or two early while we’re with cousins for New Years. She’s cool with it. She’s 9 and she may not actually even know what day her birthday is. She just knows she had cake. Funfetti cake and frosting from a box and canister. That’s how I roll.

And about that, Pinterest has ruined motherhood for me. Well it’s at least ruined birthdays for me. That pirate ship and pirate castle was, by far, the coolest thing I’ve ever done for a birthday party. (Aaron did most of it.)

I’m just not a Pinterest mom!











Honestly, I’m more like an 80’s mom.


I wish that little blonde girl in the front was me SO bad.











Invite 20 kids over, play some old-school party games, run wild for a while, have cake from a box, open gifts and go home with your goodie bag full of dollar store prizes. The snacks don’t have fancy labels, the photo booth is a plastic table cloth and the theme is up to my kid.


My kids are happy! My kids know they’re loved and special and precious and don’t need a 5-layer birthday cake ON their birthday to know that. It’s a fine line but I think I’m balancing the tight rope well.


*Mom Confession: Even after writing this, looking at the ridiculous Pinterest parties made me feel insecure and lame.



I Just Talked My Kids Into Eating McDonalds

th Is the phrase “pink slime” in your kids’ vocabulary? It is in mine…all thanks to my stinkin’ health-nut husband.

I’m not sure if it’s been mentioned on here yet but I am a slight Diet Dr. Pepper addict. Well guess who has THE BEST fountain Diet DP? You guessed it, McDonalds. When my oldest, Brighton, was an only child I was bored. Honestly, I was. I had come from working full-time, so all my friends were my co-workers, so I was a bit lonely! So when she got old enough to toddle around the play-land at McD’s I’d take her there with my iPod touch (Before I had a smart phone) and I’d sip Diet DP and let her play. It was a glorious escape even if it smelled like toddler feet. (Or hamburgers…I’ve realized they pretty much smell the same.)

Fast forward to Brighton’s Kindergarten year. I had Deacon by then. So EVERY DAY I’d drop her off at afternoon Kindergarten and swing through the McD drive-thru for my pick-me-up and once in a while I’d get Deacon something to eat. Not excessively, but once in a while. So my point is, I was there a lot and when it was convenient I’d let the kids eat there.

About a year ago my husband started indoctrinating my oldest with the idea that McDonalds was full of PINK SLIME. I could tell she was slightly grossed out but he’s such a health-nut he thinks everything is going to kill you. We take everything he says with a grain of kosher all-natural sea salt. It’s kind of a personal joke in my house. Like if we told someone to imitate Aaron they’d say something like, “Who wants some of my green smoothie? Full of Kale!” or “Sure, eat that (insert unhealthy food here) if you want to DIE!” Literally. He’s literally that dramatic about it.

So Brighton’s been on the edge with the Golden Arches for a while but it all went downhill when he showed her AND Deacon a YouTube video of the pink slime seen here.  That was IT. Every time we drove by they’d yell, “EW! Pink Slime!”

I should have been ecstatic! I should have bragged to the PTA moms like, “Dude, my kids are SO much healthier than yours. I bet your kids still ask for McDonalds right? Not my kids!” Okay, I kinda was. Then my friend Ashley wanted to take the kids out to dinner last week when our husbands were both out of town… to McDonalds. Her little boy had been asking to go there for two weeks and since it’s a rare treat for them she agreed. I wanted to go visit with my friend and not cook dinner, so I told my kids we were going out with friends.

When we pulled into the parking lot you would have thought I was taking my kids to a 1920’s dentist office!









“I don’t wannnaaa DIIIIEEEE!!!!” -3-year-old.

Finally I convinced my kids that eating there twice a year will NOT kill you. I even had to tell Deacon that the pink slime is in the hamburgers, so he could get McNuggets instead, which he did. (They’re actually so much worse!)

What the heck, man? I talked my kids into eating at McDonalds! What’s wrong with me? Honestly, their food totally grosses me out. Except the fries. MMM good, for about 2 minutes while they’re hot and fresh. After that they may as well be old sponges.

I don’t think we’ll be eating there for quite a while and I’m actually really glad my kids know enough about nutrition to recognize what’s real food and what’s not! It’s just so ironic!

Disclaimer: I think McDonald’s actually took the pink slime out of their food…  but may have snuck it back in while we weren’t looking. We were too busy eating McFlurries. Not entirely sure the accuracy of this. I’d kind of rather just not know.

Tears Over The Finality of it All

Me and my adorable niece, June

I’m sad. And on days  I’m sad my blog won’t be very funny. So move along if you wish. Or go ahead and read if you want to relate to someone’s sadness over infertility.

It’s over.  My child-bearing days are officially over and it feels so final. Last week I had an endometrial ablation and a tubal…something or other. They removed my tubes. My baby factory has been demolished. It also coincides with the year anniversary of when I “lost a baby” in an unconventional way and I’m still not 100% over it.

Not many people know, not even some of my closest friends, we tried to adopt a baby last year. We almost adopted a baby last year. The birth parents chose us and after a lot of ups and downs decided they would place the baby. We met the parents, one of which was a close family friend and introduced them to our kids. We were so thrilled to have our family complete.

The interesting thing about this, is that after I had Piper via IVF (my 3rd) I had the distinct impression that we would adopt a baby. I had always been open to the idea but when deciding if we should put it out there and create a profile with an adoption agency it was very clear to me that someone we knew would place their baby with us. So I waited… When this family told us it was a possibility shortly after she found out she was pregnant I just KNEW it was going to happen. I had no doubt in my mind. It felt so right.

Fast-forward to last January, about six weeks before she was due, and the birth mom changed her mind and decided to keep the baby. I know it was an incredibly hard decision for her and she had to do what she felt was right. I sobbed in my bed for 24 hours like someone had died. That’s what it felt like to me. Then had to get up and take care of the three precious babies I did have. I’d been picturing our future one way for the last four months and I had to deal with this loss. And for the first time ever had to cry with my kids over a sadness we shared. That was the hardest part.

This week I cried again with my most sensitive, middle child when I told him to be careful with my stomach. He excitedly asked if I was pregnant and I told him no, I just had surgery. I told him I would never be pregnant again and his sweet face sank as big alligator tears spilled out of his brown eyes. “You mean there will be no more babies?”

“Nope, buddy. I won’t have any more babies.” Tears. More tears.

The hard thing about secondary infertility is that it’s kind of not talked about. The support and sympathy isn’t there for moms who have one or more children, but long for more. We hear “Just be grateful for the ones you have.” I AM grateful. I’m incredibly grateful. I cherish every moment with them but I have more love in my heart for more children. And the fact is, I didn’t get to choose when to be done. I didn’t get to say, “I feel like we should have a 4th. And then have a 4th.” It didn’t happen for us and now it seems so final.

In the last year I’ve been able to look at my family with a sense of completion. I know what our future looks like and I relish the opportunities I’ve been given. It’s only with this surgery and the finality of it all that I’m brought back to that longing for more. So to those moms who never quite felt like their family was complete, but for whatever reason had to be done having babies I say “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry you have to feel that bittersweet sadness when you hear a pregnancy announcement. I’m sorry about that twinge of envy you feel when you see a family with five kids together at the park. I’m sorry you didn’t get to make the final decision on your family size. It’s not an easy thing to go through and I’m sorry for your loss.

I Tortilla-Bombed a Mexican’s House

tortillaIf you think that title sounds completely racist, you’d be right. But wait! It was all a misunderstanding, I promise!

Let’s back up a bit.

Last week I flew to Seattle to help my sister Heather move here to Boise. Yay!!! We spent days packing,  boxing and bubble wrapping while listening to early 2000’s R&B. It was glorious. Then the night before the move Heather’s husband declared that keeping anything from the fridge would be completely disgusting. So we gathered it all up to give or throw away.

Heather has a neighbor who is probably the sweetest person on planet Earth. She’s Mexican-American and from everything I’ve heard from Heather she couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor. We decided we’d take all the non mystery-meat fridge food to this neighbor, Josi, to see if she wanted anything. There was good stuff in there! Salad dressings, cheese, olives…. tortillas.

“Josi was telling me how it drives her crazy when people assume she makes great Mexican food and asks her to bring it to parties,” Heather told me upon seeing the tortillas. “For a church function, the Relief Society president asked her to bring homemade tortillas and it really bugged her!”  Apparently Josi does make incredible homemade tortillas, but the assumption is still irritating/racist.  Then she told me a story how at a “favorite things” party at church Josi happened to open up a bag of tortillas that someone else brought and everyone (except Josi) thought it was hysterical.

So after hearing these stories I gather up two half gallons of milk, bags of cheese, some bottles and a bag of tortillas in my arms and we start walking down the street in the dark. We ring the doorbell and knock on the door but no one is home, so we head back to Heather’s. When we get close to Heather’s house I look down and my tortilla bag is upside-down and empty.

“What happened to the tortillas?!”- Me.

“Oh my gosh! I heard something fall on the doorstep but my arms were so full I couldn’t see anything and the bag of tortillas was still in your arms so I thought we were fine!”- Heather.

“You mean to tell me, we just dropped a bag of tortillas on your Mexican neighbor’s doorstep and ran?”- Me (through fits of horrified laughter.)

“Yes!” -Heather.

At this point we’re about to pee our pants from laughing so hard and our arms are still full of food.

We decide to go back into Heather’s house to unload our arms and then go back and get the tortillas off the doorstep.

We make it back to Josi’s house and upon seeing tortillas spread all over the front porch we erupt into more pee-inducing laughter. (We’ve both had 3 kids, laughing must be done cross-legged.) So we rush up to destroy the evidence and just as we’re bent over picking up the mess we see a car round the corner and suddenly we’re blinded by headlights.

We freeze.

“What are you guys doing?” – Sweet Josi.

I don’t know if I still thought it was funny or if I was so horrified I couldn’t control my emotions but I could still barely talk. I could see how this looked!

“We were bringing over armfuls of food from the fridge and we dropped tortillas on your doorstep!”- Heather.

(We had no armfuls of food.)

“You dropped tortillas on my doorstep?”- Sweet Josi asks doubtfully.

I finally compose myself enough to explain that we DID have armfuls of food and only noticed the tortillas were missing when we got back to Heather’s…. this is not looking good for us! Suddenly I feel like we’re on an episode of Seinfeld or Modern Family!

We could only explain ourselves and hope Sweet Josi bought our story but what are the odds people!?

I guess maybe it’s a good thing Heather moved? She might have potatoes hurled at her house next week.