For those of you that have heard me tell this story, it's time to hit CNN.com and check the news.
A few years ago we were living in Chino Hills, California. It was summer time and we'd just moved into a new home. We'd met a few of our neighbors, but not many. And, because I have this primordial need to really know my neighbors, I decided I would go out of my way to introduce our family to the neighborhood.
I had this great idea (It really was great; I'm not biased.): I would make some kind of treat and take and the kids and I would deliver them as a way to introduce ourselves to our neighbors. It would be awkward, but fun. We'd meet our neighbors, they'd be so thankful we broke the ice, and we'd end up camping together some weekend in the future.
Okay, maybe not camp together. But, I was hoping to at least know them well enough to call and borrow sugar or BBQ together on the 4th of July.
So, the kids and I woke up on Day 1 of "Plan: Meet the Neighbors," and literally said a prayer about which house to visit. I'd taken my part of the assignment to heart and made REAL blueberry muffins. Nothing canned. Nothing condensed. Really BIG blueberry muffins. (I even set them on a piece of china.)
We agreed to visit a house across the street. The wife was expecting a baby. The husband was a fireman. They had two other children.
With muffins in hand, the kids and I trucked across the street and rang the doorbell . . .
I'll admit, I was nervous and kind of wishing we'd skipped the muffins and just dropped by to say HI. I was making small talk with Jonah when it happened . . .
The husband opened the door with a welcoming smile . . .
in his underwear!
Nothing but his underwear! And we're not talking boxers. We're talking, "I'm-a-fireman-and-we-work-out-6-hours-a-day-while-we-wait-for-kittens-to-climb-up-trees-Calvin-Klein-underwear."
I nearly died.
Suddenly I felt like a Desperate Housewife. "Hi fireman. We wanted to introduce ourselves. I made you some muffins. My husband is at work and these are my kids. I live across the street."
Are you kidding me?
At this moment, for the first time, I knew that God was real. And not only was he real, but he knew me personally--because with as much as I love to tell stories and laugh, this scenario couldn't get much BETTER. It was part of the "big plan," I'm sure. Heavenly Father wanted me to know he knew me. (Sure, Dawn, want to know your neighbors? Get a load of this.")
So here we are: me, our kids, a plate of muffins, and a fireman and his firehose.
And in the midst of this incredibly awkward moment, I say something like, "We're your neighbors. We'd love to have you and your wife over for dinner some time. Oh, and here are some muffins I made for your family."
I kept it quick and was bee-lining it home when the fireman stopped me.
He's stopping me in the driveway--in his underwear?
I'm dying! What will the neighbors think? (She never brings us muffins! LOL!)
What could he possible want? Please, let me go in peace. I've got 200 friends I need to call and share this story with, mister. I'm in a hurry.
"You forgot your plate."
"Oh, my plate. That's right."
"Thanks. It was nice to meet you."
"It was nice to 'meet' you, too, fireman."
And that's my muffin man story. I think it's safe to say, I never made muffins for another neighbor that summer. Day 2 of "Plan: Meet the Neighbors" never came to pass.
I decided potlucks are much safer for Deseret Housewives and their neighbors.
