Thursday

For all my tough talk about not shedding a tear, today was a little more emotional.

Even though time faithfully treks on each day, the beginning and ending of school years seem to punctuate life stages like nothing else.

School is just so defining...I still remember every elementary teacher in every grade. {High school is a little more foggy.}

In general, life rhythmically moves from one week to the next without significance, but today I could tangibly feel the pages turning. And while I'm excited for the next chapter, I really liked this chapter.

It is like the most wonderful story that you can't help but dread the end.

{I'm hopeful that explains why I cried THREE separate times in the latest Harry Potter movie.}

We had the most wonderful summer and I wasn't ready to wrap it up. Taking trips, staying up late, and having no scheduling conflicts except deciding which pool to visit were an amazing gift.

That said, I never want it to appear like we have this perfect little family that speaks calmly, lovingly, and rarely fights. Who eats healthy meals and all sit down around the table for dinner. Who tell enchanting bedtime stories and bathe daily and give generously and leave random surprises for each other.

Actually, we ARE some of those things, some of the time.

But we also have short tempers, issues with attitudes, eye-rolling, and razor-sharp tongues. Sometimes we do the bare minimum {poorly, at that}, and selfishness divides us. We drink too much soda, regret money spent, and have a basement that isn't fit for swamp vermin.

So I remember that it is a choice, {not denial} to see the small beauty in the midst of messes. I choose to cling to the hopefulness of trying but failing, instead of the repeated frustration that my effort was not enough. Again.

I LOVE having the kids at home for the summer.

And I LOVE when they go back to school.

I honestly don't prefer one over the other--they each have unique joys and challenges. But my contentment can't balance on whether or not the day suits my tastes. Contentment it is simply finding happiness matter what unfolds each day.

Isn't that what joy is? Contentment in anything...not waiting for the new/improved/better/finished this or that.

So anyway...

I'm working on that whole contentment thing...starting with being content that it will take a lifetime of growth.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...


The wind tunnel of Parker has gifted us with some new to bi-fold shutters.

I think it's pretty common for shutters to break/bend in two while we're out to dinner.

But of course, it cracked me up that I couldn't get a picture of the damage without the rainbow in the background. Sometimes the Lord has to make the silver lining really obvious.

I Just Ate Your Valentine's Day Gift

If you are like me, you have a junk drawer filled with actual JUNK.

I've heard tell of crazy tribal rituals where people organize their junk drawers, but mine is truly a holding tank for the Insanely Miscellaneous.

Like, you know. panties.

Around our house, I am known for throwing things out.

(I am also known for re-buying things I've thrown out at garage sales. See: George Foreman grill and topiaries. But, DANG, they were cheap!)

I hate clutter, stuff, things, and my kids' schoolwork that hasn't been touched in 24 hours. But of course, some things slip through the cracks.

Like matchboxes that are approximately 11 years old.

I think it's safe to say that fire will be obsolete by the time we get around to using these.

Heck, our fireplace isn't even a real fire. Or a real fireplace. So I guess we should call it a "fireplace."

Well anyway, every crafty blog on this entire planet has been featuring these adorable matchboxes covered with cute scrapbook paper.

And then of course, they offer a tutorial on how to do it.

I, however, will just show the finished product:

They are fantastic M&M holders. They hold 12 dark chocolate M&Ms for emergency purse usage. And let me tell you, I've had a LOT of chocolate/purse emergencies.

One of my favorite parts of going to lunch with my mom is that before the food is even cleared, we can pull out an entire course of chocolate from our purses to finish the meal.

My grand plan was to mail these little puppies to all of our family around the country. However, when I realized that TODAY is Valentine's Day and I was going to miss all mailing deadlines, I just ate the M&Ms.

It was the responsible thing to do.

Grand New Cheap Painted Flag

Well, this post has been in the works since Flag Day in June, which I know everyone celebrated with great fanfare and revelry.

But since I have been busy corralling the entire neighborhood and their dietary needs, blogging hasn't been at the forefront of my priorities.

But since July 4th is on the horizon, I get another chance to showcase my lackluster copycat skills.

I *love* the Fourth of July with all of my heart. 

The patriotic clothing (good, bad, and even tacky), parades, food, fireworks, and baseball games simply rock.

It is like the perfect storm of activity, delicousness, and fashion all rolled in ONE DAY. 

For the last several years, we've kicked off the fun on July 3rd with a Rockies game (don't worry, I don't actually cheer for them), followed by a trip onto the field to watch an amazing fireworks show. 

Last year we ingested enough ash and shrapnel (including some actual firework chunks) that I'll be bringing surgical masks this year.

But anyway...on to less important things:

Don't know if y'all have seen this goodness from Pottery Barn, but I'd been thinking about it for awhile.

Um, ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY NINE DOLLARS American money?!?!?

That is just for the insane.

So of course, I set out to paint my own.

Piece of plywood: $0--found in basement

Craft paint: 69 cents

Star stencil: $2

And, that brings our total to $2. 69.

Obviously, I can't pretend that it's anywhere near the artistic quality of PB, but for $126.31 cheaper than advertised, I'll trade a little quality for CASH.

Brad decided the only way to hang it (on our deck...looks fab) was to screw it into the house.

So, we may have falling roof tiles, a faulty A/C system, basement floods, and patchy grass, but at least when we sell the house, it will include a cheap plywood flag.

I'm in Love

Have you ever woken up in the morning and thought, "I cannot possibly go ANOTHER DAY with a plain glass cake stand on my counter top?

It must be painted before I a) eat, b) shower, c) go crazy."

I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks like that.

Now the bounty of chocolate chip cookies can calmly rest beneath the canopy of polka dots and monogramming.

And hopefully they'll stop bugging me about decorating their home.

I HATE HAIL

Our first day of summer vacation started out like this:

Filled with joy and expectation, the kids inhaled monkey bread and started brainstorming a list of summer excitement, complete with check boxes, ensuring that we complete each and every activity.

{I have no idea how I'm going to accommodate Lilly's desire for the beach.}

All by 7:15 a.m.

After lunch, the kids loaded in the car for our first exciting stop: The Local Library.

{I just like to keep things unpredictable and exotic around here.}

Faintly, I heard the gentle whirr of a tornado siren. Being that tornadoes have been unwelcome guests at the local mall recently, and out of vanity for my vehicle, I decided we should stay home.

Two minutes later, this was the scene:

Fabulous.

Don't mind the welcome mat covered in hail.

My precious Nanny took a beating, too.

If you'll recall, Spring Snowstorm 2009! took out my patio table in April.

And Severe June Hail Catastrophe That Raised My Blood Pressure threatened the remaining chairs. 

And my plants.

My poor, poor plants.

I'm not yet in a place where I can really talk about it.

Those were snapdragons. And dusty miller (whatever that is.) And long green filler shoots for height.

And they were blooming.

Um, were. If gangly looking stalks with holey leaves become fashionable, I will be featured in Southern Living.

My children were SCREAMING, begging to pray, inquiring about death, and darting for the basement.

My tears, however, were focused on the temporal vanity of my plants.

I had just set a personal best record for keeping live things around here (other than my children and that is questionable at best) and the flowers were GORGEOUS. Fo' real.

Now they are heinous.

Fo' real.

Y'all, this hail chipped paint off of my chairs and front door. 

Oh, so this is where I think I'm supposed to mention that I'm glad the kids and I were safe.

But I am too upset about the plants to say much yet.

Oh, and happy summer!

Work in Progress

So I was inspired by this and this to go a little nuts with my office.

For awhile now, I've been staring at my Restrained Gold office walls, wondering what they need to make them a little bit more. More what, I didn't really know.

More interesting, more chaotic, more meaningful, more me.

We've only lived in this house for 2 years, but that hasn't stopped me from repainting, redecorating, reaccessorizing, and most certainly NOT reorganizing the house several times.

Because that is what I do.

{Please don't ask for any important documents without giving 3 weeks notice and 21 reminder calls.}

Several years ago, I (and most importantly, Brad), realized that creating and changing living spaces is just something I do.

Honestly, it gives me oxygen.

Staring at the same arrangement of the same furniture and the same frames and the same colors makes me start shaking from the inside out.

It's not about buying new or expensive things (see love of junk here or here), it's about repurposing, salvaging, and using what I already have in new ways.

Rarely am I original, but frequently I am resourceful.

I crack myself up when I feel God's glory in the mundane...in the creativeness and satisfaction I get from finding a door in the garbage or carefully recombining decorative crap from the basement that makes me smile and pause when I pass the family room.

Eric Liddell, of "Chariots of Fire" fame, said he felt God's pleasure when he ran.

Now, I am fully aware that it sounds slightly ridiculous for a suburban housewife to say she feels God's pleasure when she shops at garage sales, spray paints things, and hangs them to the walls with her glue gun, but...I do.

I really do.

I'm not Monet, I'm not Martha Stewart, I'm not even The Nester.

My gifts aren't that outstanding, that glamorous, that noteworthy.

They are small and only questionably, "gifts."

But they were given to me by the Creator.

He reminds me daily that I am made in His image.

And that includes creative messiness, as well as order.

Change as well as stability.

Silliness as well as sincerity.

I realize that creating a warm and inviting living space is not essential for life.

It really isn't. It's gravy.

I realize that we need bread and water to survive.

Not double chocolate peanut butter cookies and s'mores bars.

But for whatever reason, I feel complete joy in expressing comfort and love through these very things.

So anyway, back to the wall.

To most, it is random. It wasn't assembled by a designer, measured by an mathematician, and those frames certainly weren't hung by an engineer.

{In all honesty, there was no measuring, no rulers, and there are enough holes in the wall that our neighbors can probably read this over my shoulder without binoculars.}

But when I get close, when I look into the faces, the buildings, the papers on display, my throat clenches for just a second before each and every one.

My babies.

My family.

My husband.

My marathon.

Food.

Wrigley Field (no explanation on teariness needed).

Values.

{Or lack thereof.}

But my favorite aspect of The Wall is the middle.

On an old corkboard, that I painted with chalkboard paint, that I glued into a cheap frame, that broke while we were trying to hang it, that is liable to crash off the wall at any second due to shoddy workmanship, lies the song of my life.

The phrases, the verses, the Words, with which my Creator holds me.

My heart jostles each time I read the words that, while familiar, present power, grace, and freshness.

I love that they are the center of this explosion. 

This tiny little tribute is to the Creator...and to his grace in allowing me to savor the simple tastes and sights of this temporary world.

Despite the reality that I'm messy and busy and careless and forgetful.

So maybe that is why I love glue guns and spray paint--they make the old and battered new again and breathe life into the worn down.

And they remind me that all creativity is really His.

Parker Hillbillies

My favorite season of all has begun: Garage Sales.

I'm not exaggerating to say that I love garage sales more than Christmas. 

{well, maybe that's not quite true, but I definitely love them more than Valentine's Day}

If you think about it, garage sale-ing through the neighborhood is like hitting more Christmas sales than I ever dreamed possible while paying only 25 cents for treasures of a lifetime.

Of course, you first need to block out the fact that you're buying other people's garbage.

In case you were wondering, here is what you can fit in a Honda Odyssey:

{that would be SEVEN (7) people and their crap/treasures}

You might be thinking: "I'll bet that van was so full that that the doors were about to come off."

And you would be right.

Except they didn't so much "come off" as they did "fly open ON BOTH SIDES while the car was in motion and a smallish child was riding on a lap en route to the next stop."

Most importantly, no lamps, picture frames, or dishes were harmed.

And here is another confession: At one point we were so packed down that it would've taken an act of Congress to shuffle things enough to make room to get out. 

So instead?

We engaged in Drive By Bargaining in which we pulled up on the curb, rolled down the window, and offered (some might say 'shouted') our best price for that old beat-up looking coffee table sitting alone with no other offers on her.

Needless to say, that wasn't usually a strong bargaining chip.

Before you judge our haul of junk, know that most things are not user-ready.

My trigger finger started twitching halfway through the bonanza, because the amount of spray paint I'll be firing in the next few weeks could graffiti all of New York.

But don't worry, my junk will be much prettier. And if it's not, I'll cover it with another coat of spray paint.

Oh Yes He Did

So Brad called me at 7 the other morning, just a few seconds after he left for work.

Seems that my thrifty and shameless ways have rubbed off on him.

Waiting for the garbage truck, on the curb in our neighborhood, sat a rejected armoire that had been beaten silly and scratched with what I can only imagine were actual lightsabers.

But my sweet husband loaded that treasure up and brought her safely into the fold that is my garage.

You'll just have to wait and see the transformation she undergoes when I have my way with the paint and sander.

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Trash Master, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future."

If My Goals Were any Loftier, I'd Need a Ladder

'Tis the season for garage sales!

My neighbors are all completely endeared to me because I shamelessly wander from house to house and buy their junk. 

Except, of course, that it isn't junk--it is awesome stuff and they are suckers for throwing it away right into my receptive hands.

Someday I'll get out the camera and photograph the fantasticness of last year's bounty, but I am already focused on the future.

I am hoping to find all of these things in a three mile radius:

*cute bistro/cafe chair and table set for the deck

(because we had a large avalanche that shattered our table when it snowed three feet in April )

*spray paintable frames

*adorable vintage books

*lamps and lampshades of the non-brass variety begging to be embellished with fringe

*a mint condish overstuffed chair from Pottery Barn for the master bedroom

*a lemon juicer 

*a gorgeous rug for my entry way

*heavy glass pitchers in shades of blue and green

*a buffet 

*margarita machine

*panini maker

*world peace

The good news is that the Garage Sale Season is off to a fast start.

After coming in from an early run last week, I stumbled upon a door in my neighbor's trash. Spying a treasure, I "sprinted" home (a whopping 4 houses) and made Brad retrieve the loot in full business attire.

(Because that was definitely less-assuming than I would've been in sweaty workout clothes.)

I'll show you some pictures of the door...but just know that it is painted and permanently perched in the dining room.

(Until I move it in a week.)

Love Me Some Garland

Y'all, I am an unashamed Nester Stalker.

I'm not kidding. She tells me how to decorate my house and I obediently do it, dragging all my friends with me. It's a sickness.

If she told me Street Art/Graffiti from the Fresh Prince Era was fashionable, I'd be in the spray paint aisle of Home Depot right this very minute.

Good thing today is show-and-tell so my garland schwag can get some bloggy love.

Previously, I was a first-degree offender of using anorexic garland. And NO ONE confronted me. Oh, the shame.

Well this year, I listened to the Nester, shopped my very own basement, and came up with this:

In case you are wondering, this lush, voluptuous beauty consists of 3 regular ol' skinny green garlands, a red (non-P.O.O.P.I.E.) berry garland, and a feather boa.

Not to mention a few strings of lights, feathers, ferns, and some other foresty-looking greenery from the basement.

I found the boa in the dress-up section at Jo-Ann's awhile back. It had been hanging out in a wreath this fall, but she was happy to join the garland gang in the name of decking my halls.

Do you know what I just love about my steroid-usin' garland?

Those 3-D curly-cues that kind of stick out and look like they might attack if you get too close.

If I was a designer with any street cred whatsoever, I would say that it gives it depth and movement and interest.

But I am more of a cookie-dough eater than anything.

Now, against my better judgment, I am going to show you my mantel.

Not like it looks great, but it does look better live(!) than in photos. The pictures don't really give any reference to the space of the room.

Whatever.

I am not a perfectionist, so why start now.

I know the edges of my garland are a little bit sickly and weak, but they've had some ugly interaction with small children, so they will wait till next year to pack on the pounds.

Lastly, here is my new (old) Christmas tree.

Do not even ask.