I have an extremely stubborn, very headstrong husband. The kind who will make a decision on a whim — like ordering nearly 90 chicks at work because raising and selling chickens sounded… doable.
If he wants to do something, he’ll just do it. He’s not overly concerned with opinions. He’s not here to impress anyone.
I, on the other hand, am an overthinker. An overanalyzer. An overcomplicator of things that truly do not need to be complicated.
An instructor once joked, “Torres, have you ever heard of Murphy’s Law? Because you are it.” And if you ever worked a 24-hour shift with me — God speed if it was a 48 — you understand.
We are opposites in many ways.
But when we share a common goal? We are unstoppable.
When it came to Red Juniper Retreat, we both bunkered down and made it happen. While my name and face may be the ones guests see, he has been there every step of the way behind the scenes — building, fixing, lifting, supporting, and adding his own thoughtful touches.
When Something No Longer Fits
Over the years, the wear and tear of swing shifts, unpredictable schedules, and long mandatory hours at the mill have taken a toll on him.
If I’m being honest, I’ve watched it dim him a little. He’s more tired. More on edge. Less fulfilled.
And when someone you love deeply starts to feel stuck, you feel it too.
So when he approached me about starting a pet waste removal company — yes, picking up dog poop for a living — I won’t lie, it caught me off guard.
But what I also knew was this: he hadn’t just randomly decided this. He had done the research. Hours of reading. Watching videos. Studying other businesses. Running numbers. Thinking through logistics.
This wasn’t impulsive. It was hopeful.
I could have laughed. I could have told him to stay at the mill for security. I could have pushed him toward a “safer” corporate path.
Instead, I chose to support him.
Why We’re Doing This
I don’t want him looking back one day saying, “I had to stay there because I had to provide.”
I want him to say, “We built something. Together.”
I want our kids to see what it looks like to try. To build. To risk. To pivot if necessary. To not stay somewhere that slowly drains you simply because it feels safe.
Will this business succeed? Maybe. Could it fail? Possibly.
But if you never give yourself permission to try, you’ll never know what was possible.
And how could I look at my children and tell them, “You can do anything you work hard for,” except for their father — who has to stay somewhere that no longer serves him?
That would feel hypocritical.
So here we are.
Starting something new. Stepping into the unknown. Building again.
Because sometimes picking up dog poop isn’t really about dog poop at all.
Sometimes it’s about freedom.
And I believe in my husband — and his ambitions — completely.
This is what The Hosting Mama is really about — building businesses that support your family, creating freedom on your own terms, and having the courage to try, even when it feels unconventional.
