New neighbors

So we have some new neighbors. These neighbors are VERY TERRITORIAL. In fact, yesterday, I heard a VERY LOUD, high pitched screeching noise which scientists say can be heard from at least 1 mile away. Actually, the screeching noise serves two purposes: #1 a mating call #2 it warns the significant other of impending danger. I want to know who was actually in danger. "Baseball bat flinging Mateo" and "Don't Mess with me Sarah" OR, our new neighbors. If you read my sister Heather's blog, she talks about the mean girls that live in her neighborhood and terrorize Abbie.

Back to the original question, who was terrorizing who and who is really meaner? I would think that COMMON SENSE would let the 'melos (a.k.a. Mateo and Sarah) know that if you're messing with someone that is at least 3 feet taller than you and can EAT you or at least bite your hand off that maybe they should go elsewhere and play with somebody else. I have thoroughly enjoyed the last couple weeks knowing that Mateo and Sarah can go outside and play in the backyard WITHOUT escaping to the front yard. Now they can't even play in their own backyard. Our new neighbors have NO limits. I will not be able to call a neighborhood meeting OR meet with the neighbors mothers . . . since their mothers are NOWHERE to be found. What am I to do?

Empty Plate

So . . . I bet you didn't think I could do it. But I did. Or at least, I am in the process of it. Yes, I am emptying my plate. My very inspired Branch President released me from my Primary calling (1st counselor) last Sunday. I resigned from my postion as Cubmaster with Pack 15 on Monday. This Tuesday, I will turn in my Procedures manuals for my two committee chair positions with the Vista Lakes PTA. As far as my teaching Kindermusik classes, Lake Nona YMCA doesn't have space for me to teach this summer. That decision was made for me by default. So for now . . . everything is off my plate. Now I will have more time to: Be a better wife. Be a better mother. Be a better friend.

Whew . . . my branch president tells me I am like a recovering alcoholic. NO, I AM NOT an alcoholic . . . just a WORKAHOLIC and a community service-aholic. . . in the recovering phases. He could tell by my body language and facial expressions last week that it physically and mentally pains me to let things go. It's o.k. Right? Somebody else can do it all. I don't have to.