Well, this wasn't expected.

  This particular post isn't going to be filled with a ton of levity.  I try to find the humor in everything but sometimes...sometimes things just suck. 
February 8th, 2009 was a Sunday.  It was cold and wet with overcast skies.  This I remember.  The kids were stir crazy from staying in.  They had asked to go to the Aquarium that day but Todd was suffering from a kidney stone and there was no loving way I was taking 4 kids out in public all squirly from cabin fever into downtown Denver on my own.  I struck a deal and took them to McDonald's instead to play and eat.  I honestly didn't think it was going to be the last time leaving my house.  Who does?
What I came back to was surreal. 
While driving home a police truck came up from behind at an alarming rate and flipped on it's lights soon after I had turned onto our road.  They eventually passed around me only to slow to a stop just past my driveway.  I felt something was seriously wrong... and it related to me.

After a 15 minute trip to the store, Todd had come home to a dark house.  Odd, since he had left most of the lights on inside and out.  He approached the house knowing something wasn't right.  Oxygen was all the fire needed to really get things going and that was exactly what it got when Todd opened the front door.  Luckily he has quick reflexes and ducked when greeted by backlash.  Welcome the hell home.
Back mountain disaster doesn't even begin to describe our 1/4 mile driveway- which is filled with ruts, lined with drop offs and steeper then any 2 wheel drive can handle on a good day. Delightfully rustic sounding, don't you agree.  The layout of it left the fire which I arrived home to a huge surprise that was delivered about 150 feet from my charred and kicked in front door. 
First thing I saw was a bright orange glare as I turned the last corner.  In the enormous glow of the fire was the silhouette of Todd in the middle of our drive, just standing there, frozen.  Watching our home, all of our work, burn.  Realizing what was I was looking at, I pulled the car into a side drive hidden behind thick trees to keep the kids from seeing what was happening and put in a DVD for them to watch.  I was aware in the background that there were vehicles racing up towards us with loud sirens and flashing lights as I approached my husband, who still had yet to move.  We stood there for an amount of time I couldn't define even if I wanted to.  Watching.
I remember small bits and pieces of what happened in the next two hours, before they cleared enough vehicles to make a path so I could finally get the kids off of our property.  Police yelling into radios, EMT's repeatedly asking me if everybody was alright, volunteers chopping down trees, fire fighters racing in and out of the house.  What stuck with me most from all the chaos was a single reporter. 

This bold man decided to join the party, set up a camera and start snapping away at the evenings events.  Having nothing better to do at the time, seeing as I have no training in the fire battling department, I decided to take a break from watching my home burn to the ground and ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing?  The guy actually tried to shake my hand and introduce himself as a reporter for some local newspaper. 
I had been pretty stable up until that moment yet this, this is when I snapped.  It took a few officers to separate myself from the asshat trying to get a story out of my tragedy which was still in the process of providing a lovely little backdrop.  I give them credit, they may have had the toughest job of the evening.  Granted, I wasn't being a very gracious hostess when I told the reporter, in not the most polite mannerism I admit, to get the ever loving *bleep* off of my *bleeping* property and quit *bleeping* snapping *bleeping* pictures while my *bleeping* house is burning to the *bleeping* ground, ya *bleep*.  Then things REALLY got interesting. He tried to pull his freedom of press crap on me and say that "technically" he wasn't really on my property.  The police pulled a sympathy card from their back pocket and sided with me, duh, and the reporter had to pack it up and get off my land.  (Told you so!)
The blame may not lay entirely on him though.  It was quite dark and hard to make out the writing on my t-shirt that said "Warning- Irish temper may flare at rapid rate when encountering insensitive douche bags.  Use extreme caution." 
A short time later a co-worker of the reporter tried to approach me and apologize for upsetting me further in the face of such a...blah blah blah.  Todd intercepted and subtlety escorted him a safe distance from me.  Nice save.  Things could have easily taken a turn for the worse and I may have actually gotten ugly.
After a few hours and some unwelcome sympathy hugs from the Red Cross we made it to a hotel for the evening.  Todd and I decided then that the best course of action would be to get the kids to Michigan for a impromptu "visit" with the grandparents.  We planned on leaving the following afternoon after Todd stopped by the fire station to give a statement; but not before a look at the aftermath.
Holy hell.  Everything was, gone.  Gone.  Our house had burned to the ground and my life just changed drastically.
I can handle change.  Change can be good, right?
Bring it on.