Let’s chat, over a cup of tea.

Things have been changing in casa de Stecker and we’ve been busy bees the past couple months.

So, I thought, instead of keeping all this business to myself,  I’d rather make myself a cup of tea (you should make yourself one too), curl up on the couch with a blanket (because it actually snowed – A LOT – here this week) and have a little girl to girl chat.

On The House:

We worked our tails off this past year to get our house just where we want it (beautiful backyard, new granite counters, painted cabinets, fresh paint (almost everywhere), newly tiled bathrooms, new vanities, new hardwood floors/stairs….. the list could go on). And then, about a two months ago, we decided to sell. The housing market in south Denver is really hot right now (I’m talking really hot) and we would be able to get much more than we bought it for. I’ve never loved our house and even though we’d put hours upon hours (and lots of $$$) into this little abode, it felt right to try to find a place that truly felt like home.

We listed it on a Friday, had 40 showings in 36 hours, received 8 offers and after 7 hours sitting at a table evaluating all the options, we went with one that was significantly over the asking price with no closing costs, no contingencies and they even agreed to pay the difference if the appraisal came in under the purchase price. Talk about a dream scenario, right?

It all closed 3 weeks ago and we still don’t have a new place to land, which means we’re living with parents. The benefits are pretty great — dinner at night, no yard work and always having someone to watch movies with. Turns out that it is weird to not have all your stuff and to feel a bit like you’re on vacation – or a guest – all the time.

We’re extremely thankful that we have family to stay with and are doing just about everything, including crossing fingers, praying, and non-stop refreshing the search screen in hopes that we’ll find our new home soon.


The last week of April/First Week of May we went to Boston and Newport, Rhode Island for a wedding. I’d never been before and the overall verdict (and probably predictable answer from me) is that they have delicious food. I mean, really, what were you expecting me to say? Lobster rolls, clam chowder, entire Italian neighborhoods, restaurants dedicated to chocolate alone — must a say more? I’m gaining weight just thinking about it.

If the food was the highlight (which it was) then I’d have to say that the weather was the overall bummer. I was wearing 4 layers and was still fighting to stay warm — hello humid, windy, frigid weather. I’d say that Boston was about a month behind Denver as far as their “spring” was concerned and I’m now in desperate need of a HOT, beach vacation.

In Boston we toured Fenway, walked the freedom trail (and stopped for a tour of the bell tower and, get this, the crypt of the Old North Church), completed the fastest ever run through tour of Harvard, meandered through Beacon Hill and spent the rest of the time just taking it all in. And, eating. Ahem.

In Rhode Island we toured 5 of the BIG, BIG, BIG summer cottages (re: built by the Vanderbilts and other high society folks before there was income or property tax) — one of them was 138,000 square feet. Think about that for a minute. I’ll wait.

We, also, did a tour of “servant life” which made my Downton Abbey loving soul so happy. Our tour guide was up on the Downton Abbey lingo & characters which made the tour even more fun — highly recommended.

At the end of the trip we attended the wedding we went out there for, it was beautiful (albeit cold) and we were so glad we got to be there!

Queen Bed: 

As I mentioned above, we’re living with parents (currently Christian’s parents). In our home, we have a King Bed. We’re both 6′ and over, which means we (and by we I mean “I”) prefer to have more room to thrash around in attempts at falling asleep.

When we moved in with the parentals, we shifted to a Queen size. It’s been an adjustment and I’m proud to announce that I’ve only hit Christian in the face one. He may or may not complain that I leave him only six inches of room, but I say that without proof he doesn’t have a case.


I hesitate to even talk about this. Because, you see, I’ve been trying to slow down time… and the very mention of the word summer might speed things up to a pace that it will pass and I won’t even have had time to enjoy it. KnowwhatImean?

Warm spring days/Summer/Warm fall days are my favorite and I’m doing my very best to savor each and every second… I might even have to make a summer bucket list to make sure that I cross of all the “must-do” items for the next three months? Anything in particular I should add to the hypothetical list?

Sigh, tell me that I’m not the only one willing pool days, sun tea and flip-flops to linger as long as possible this year.

What’s going on with you these days? What would you tell me over a cup of tea?

So, It’s been a while.

Cough, it’s been a while. For real.

I started the year out posting regularly and then right after that last post on PCOS I just stopped caring. Which, for the record, isn’t the norm around here. Usually there’s at least some level of guilt associated with not posting (right up with “things I should be doing, but am not”). But, not this time… no guilt, not even a real sense of freedom.

Maybe it’s because I’m dealing with some things that I’d rather let play out on a private stage before releasing them to the never-ending time capsule that is the internet? Maybe it’s the stress of moving, selling a house and finding ourselves living with our parents because the real estate market in Colorado is IN-FREAKING-SANE at best. (Also, living with parents has some serious perks). Maybe.

Either way, it’s a new thing for me. This waning urge to spatter my thoughts out on a blank canvas read by strangers (and non-strangers). I don’t know where that puts me, if it leaves me here or somewhere else entirely.

If you do still stop by on occasion, I’m here. I just don’t know what I’m doing. (Which, really, do I ever?)


When to stay and when to go.

Fear of Moving or Changing

I’ve always wanted to live somewhere else. Anywhere else. When I was younger I was so envious of my cousins that got to live on farms in Iowa – they had farm cats (and kittens!), they had family nearby to spend time with, they were each others best friend.  It was so foreign to what I was used to that it seemed so much better than what I had. After visiting San Francisco in high school I just *knew* that was were I should end up – access to great seafood (and food in general), the Ghiradelli factory, an ocean nearby and the big city life all called out to me. During my study abroad in college I felt at home in Europe, it didn’t matter where – everything was so glamorous, foreign and the accents sold me immediately. I would have sold an organ if it meant knowing I could call Paris, Madrid, Amsterdam…. my home.  (c’mon ladies, am I right on the accent thing?)

After graduation I had friends stay in Fort Collins/Denver, move to the mountains a few hours away, move to Texas, move to Philadelphia – most of them left the familiar. Part of me always felt like I was missing out on not moving, on staying just where I had always been. How could I consider myself a real grownup if I lived 15 minutes from the home I grew up in? What experiences was I missing? It’s something that both haunts and compels me. What are the merits to living near family? What are the merits of branching out on your own.

I day-dream about strapping on a back pack and just going to Italy with a one way ticket. I fantasize about spending a year volunteering in Africa. I crave  exploring a new city and making it my own.

On the other side of the coin…

I love that my mom is only 10 minutes away. I feel incredibly lucky to see both sides of our family (both mine and Christian’s) in some capacity each week. It’s wonderful to know that if I have a desperate need, that there will be someone there for me. Life is sometimes harsh and sometimes short. Do we, in the end, regret the adventure or regret the time spent with the ones we love. If only the answer was clear.

Frankly, I don’t know where to draw the line. The grass is always greener on the other side (or is it where you water it?). I feel inexplicably torn between finding and building the life I’ve always dreamed of and holding on to the treasured one I have. Most of the time its hard to tell where the dream starts and the need begins, just as its hard to know what at my core I really desire when both push so hard at my seams.

How do you know? Do you wait for the big “aha” moment? The irony of all the wishing for family close by and now, in part, wishing for a far off adventure is not lost on me.  One of my aspirations for this year is to live my life with a little more intention. Do I just live, intentionally, in the moment or is this the year to push, intentionally, for change?

Wire Free.

So I moved… which I’ll tell you all about. But, for now I have no internet. I’m currently borrowing it from my friend Griffin, while at the same time G chatting my friend Katilyn from 5 feet away. We also played a rousing game of “Sorry” to keep the night alive.  I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my Saturday night.

Moving Season

Moving Season

Moving Season

Once again, it’s moving season here in the Megan and Meghan household. You ask “What is this talk of moving season?”. Well I am here to fill you in on the wonders and joys of moving season.

Moving season is like being pregnant with out the morning sickness and birth of a jam handed, sticky child nine months later. You can eat what you want, when you want because after all god forbid we waste food. At the same time eating out everyday is equally acceptable as you don’t want to dirty the dishes you already packed or exert any additional energy planning a meal.

In our house moving season also consists of burning a new CD featuring the likes of Kelly Pickler, Miley Cyrus, Madonna and other artists that allow us to sing out our frustration at the fact that the hand blender just *won’t* fit into that box. We also take advantage of the ability to drink. Wine, blended beverages, bloody mary’s, mojitos etc. Similar to food we just can’t let good alcohol go to waste… we would have to do some serious repentance if we did that. Maybe I could hit up the confessional for that one… then again maybe not.

So if you’re having a dull day or are in need of some strategically placed frustration head on over. We’ll feed you creamed corn, Lima beans, and a half a trout (that’s really all we have left), while making you a mojito with brandy (well after all we drank the rum already, geez you have high expectations).

Busy, busy busy.

The next few weeks are probably going to kill me, just kill me dead. Ok, ok I’m exaggerating, but nonetheless they are going to be one crazy, hectic mess. I’m getting ready to move (see Housing Gods) to Denver, trying to prepare for family and friends to come into town for my sister’s graduation party, plan to make about 6 million cupcakes and dinner at least one night. I’m about 98.45% sure that I’ll end up at the party in desperate need of a shower with CRAZY hair and a frosting mustache, but I mean I’ll need a snack for later right?

So I’ll stop going on and on about the details of my week… though let me just tell you today started with a painful bang. It was one of those bad days for the books. Good thing I’ve got my newest discovery on hand to cheer me right up… Portable Applesauce

I found this little wonder in our new Whole Foods (there’s a whole different post for that one). Portable applesauce? Why didn’t I think of that? You can drop this little guy in your back pocket, your purse, stick it in the glove box or under you pillow at night for a snack. We all know I love a good snack, so why not?

The Housing Gods.

I’m not sure why the housing gods hate me, but they really, REALLY do. I’m moving at the end of July… and that will be my fourth official move in a little over a year. Think about it. Pack the box, load the box, unload the box, move the box into the new house, unpack the box, store box for next move (times 50 + furniture).

Can’t wait for the packing to begin. My roommate and I have decided that packing/moving time also equal boozing time. As this is our third move together we have become somewhat expert movers… and consequently boozers. What isn’t more fun than shoving all your crap into a box for the thousandth time and drinking 8 Bloody Mary’s in an afternoon? You tell me. I’ve got nothing.

Plus, poor Charles DOES NOT handle moving well. As far as I can understand (or blindly guess) he believes I’m packing and leaving him to be a stray dog forced to fend for himself against to intensely fierce coyote population of Colorado. To say the least, it is a traumatizing time for him… and for all that suffer through his bi-polar mood swings.