The Living Room

Sorry, I don't have more cowbell for you, but I do have more house tour. On to the living room. Or great room if your nasty.

Blank Canvas (minus the creepy lady photo that hid a gigantic brown recluse spider!)

A little more color (and a lot less brown recluse)

Detail: fireplace

More livin'

Detail: deer art from Etsy

Detail: more art from Etsy

View to the patio after blinds were removed

Detail: fireplace bird mirror from ? and horse statue from Home Goods

Detail: bird lamp from Marshalls

Detail: antique Avon bath bead holders

View into the kitchen and dining room (neither have been touched yet)

The Cool Cucumber's Room

I know there is a bit of confusion about room updates. We did live in a loft but we just moved in to, as The Quite Contemplator calls it, The Big Big House. See here.

Anyway. On with the tour. Today, boys and girls, we get a peek at The Cool Cucumber's room. Enjoy.

Please excuse the crappy "blank canvas" pictures.

Please excuse the crappy "blank canvas" pictures.

Overall view from the door.

Crib detail with blanket that inspired room design. Blanket from Etsy.

Artwork from the same paper I made the birds out of. This sucked WAY worse than the birds.

More crap.

Blah...blah...blah. More crap. And a chair.

More art.

Art detail. Bottom right made from paint samples. Bottom middle from Etsy. Alphabet stickers from Amazon.

The end.

The Confessional

Last week, I was putting a bottle of white wine in the fridge after I poured a glass for myself. Somehow the bottle didn't catch right and fell from top shelf and shattered on the floor. A piece of the glass flew up and cut my leg, not badly, but resulted in a LOT of blood. My husband, hearing the commotion, came into the kitchen to find me covered in blood, sitting in a puddle of wine and surrounded by broken glass. All I could say was, "This isn't as bad as it looks."


The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.



Sins from fellow Boozehounds:

My husband, 17 month old son, & I took a beach trip last week with our best friends & their 15 month old son. The boys didn't care much for the beach so most of our time was at the cold pool. They were practically cranky the whole trip. Anyhow, we thought it would be smart & easier on us to bathe both of the boys at the same time. Next thing we know they've both peed in the tub (my son twice) & did we drain the water??? NOPE! After dealing with 2 screaming/crying babies for no reason at all we said to hell with it! I know what you're thinking, but after trying to please 2 toddlers & not being successful we figured we didn't get morning time at the beach the whole time we were there so one bath like that wouldn't hurt.

ILBAB says: #1 + H2O + soap = no foul.


While we were driving on the way home Sunday, our son was NOT happy at all. I'm sure he was exhausted from not sleeping well the whole time, being away from home & his routine, then the evil carseat. My husband was to the point to where he turned the radio up to drown out his screaming for just a little bit & turns out it kind of helped. Are we bad parents or just trying to get through a rough patch?

ILBAB says: As long as you were blasting Yo Gabba Gabba or some other mind-numbing kids music, you are in the clear--just kidding, I hate that crap. We used to let our son scream in the bathroom while we had the door closed so we could eat dinner in peace. He was going to cry one way or the other, at least this way we got to nourish ourselves for the next few hours of The Crying Game.

The Quiet Contemplator's Room

We finally finished The Quiet Contemplator's room, complete with big girl bed. She loves it. Thought I would share the end result.

Blank Canvas

Blank Canvas

Here is kind of an overall view of the room.

Big Girl Bed and Wall of Birds

Wall of Birds Detail (super easy project involving double-sided scrapbook paper and scissors!)

Big Girl Bed!

Reading Nook

Dresser and Wall Art

View From Door

Why Kids Make Life Better (Beside love and crap)

There are many reasons why kids make our life better. The hugs, unconditional love, blah, blah, blah. We all know that crap. Here are a few lesser known ways kids make life better.

They step up the candy quotient.
Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, etc. With kids around, the candy quotient of your house is way upped. We tell our kids that too much candy is bad for them, not so much so they don't get cavities or obese or anything, but so we can wait until they go to bed to binge on their baskets of chocolate and red 40 goodness. Mmmmm…candy.

They get you out of boring stuff.
Ew, sorry. Can't make it to great aunt Edna's 98th birthday party. The Quiet Contemplator has an unexplained fever and we don't want anyone to catch whatever she has. You known, with Edna already being on a respirator and all it is probably best we stay away from all the fun. Darn. I was so looking forward to it, too. Not.

They are good excuses for being messy.
Sorry the house is trashed. We have kids. 'nuf said.

You get to play with way more toys.
Legos, crayons, Play-Doh, Barbies, glitter, you name it. Kids stock your house full of stuff that you have been dying to play with for years. Now the only problem is that you have to practice what you preach: sharing.

You have an excuse to go to fun kiddie places.
Having a kid is a great excuse to head out to the zoo, science center, water park, etc. They are like your free pass to do cool shit again without looking like a creepy stalker. Believe me, my husband and I tried going to Chuck E. Cheese without kids once. We looked like total pedophiles.

You get to consume old school dinner delicacies.
Mac n Cheese, Kool-Aid, Capri Sun, Jell-o, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, popsicles. Now that you have reproduced, these tasty treats are now back in the fridge and in full effect--along with the size of your ass.

The Confessional

While at a formal event, a friend of mine jokingly convinced me to punch an inanimate object. Said punch landed me with a broken finger. Rather than go to the hospital and miss the party, I grabbed a bucket of champagne, put the broken finger in the ice, popped open the bottle and proceeded to drink it with my good hand. This is probably why my finger looks like this to this day:

Note the creepy bend on my ring finger near my eye.

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.



Sins from fellow Boozehounds:

After I finished telling my 2 yr. old for the 10^th time that she could not eat dinner in my bed I followed it up with a nice firm, “End Of Story”. She quipped back with a, “Do you know another story?”. I flipped her off. I didn’t know another story.

ILBAB says: Appropriate. And awesome.

A Few Funnies

Things that I have actually said out loud to my daughter:

Kids are Gross
Please stop eating the food you find in the couch.
The toilet is not a table, honey. We do not put our food on there.

Kids are Weird
Are you having some sort of stroke or something? What on earth is wrong with you?
Honey, please don't sit on your brothers face.

Poor Kitty
Kitty doesn't like you. Please stop playing with her.
We don't kiss the kitty with an open mouth.
We don't sit on the cat, we pet the cat.

 
Things My Daughter Has Said:

After catching the smell of something funky.
The Quiet Contemplator: Mommy did you poopy?
Me: No but I farted.



After watching me go to the bathroom (Can a mama get some privacy up in here!?!)
The Quiet Contemplator: Yay, mommy! You pee peed on the potty!
Me: Thanks. I was excited, too.


Things friends' kids have said:

After picking a booger out of her son's nose, my friend's son said, "Don't eat it, Mommy."   My friend replied, "OK. I'll try not to."

While dancing around and playing with his, um, baggage, my friends little boy gleefully exclaimed, "There's candy in there! There's candy in there! " Um, I am pretty sure that is not candy.

While she was pregnant, my friend's son asked her to see the baby, so she lifted up her shirt to show her belly and he said, "Wow! Your belly button is big. I can fit in there. Daddy could fit in there."

While my friend was eating out at a restaurant with her husband and two-year-old son, the waitress asked her son how he was liking the spinach artichoke dip. He responded, "It sucks." Check please.

The Confessional

My friend sends me a box of chocolates for xmas every year. The caramel quality varies year to year. So as ADD Daddy and I sat down to gluttonize the box while watching reruns of Six Feet Under, I asked him,"How do you think the caramels are going to be this year?" He looked really shocked, then excited and said, "Wow. I am really glad you asked me. I think La Russa has picked a really good lineup and that Pujols will really come into his own..." I said, "WTF are you talking about? I just asked you about caramels." His reply, "Oh, I thought you said Cardinals." My reply, "WhyTF would I ask you that? Give me the chocolates."

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.

We are all a little broken.

Someone very wise in my life once said to me, "We are all a little broken." This has always stuck with me and rung true to me every day since.

It helps me be kinder to others because I know that everyone has their cross to bear, whether it is visible or not. It also reminds me that it is ok that I, too, have vulnerabilities and have experienced pain. That it is ok to not be perfect and be a little broken--or even a lot.

Some of us are very visibly broken. Happenings in our life have caused giant cracks in our exterior that we can not hide. We wear our pain like a scarlet letter: something we must bear the hurt of forever.

Others of us are only slightly broken. The fractures in our armor are tiny and can't be seen by the naked eye. We try to camouflage the hurt with smiles and laughs, but underneath, we feel the truth.

The things that break us vary from the minute to the mammoth. They can be something as small or something grand, such as the tragic loss of a loved one, miscarriages, drug addiction, abuse, bullying, weight issues, abuse, depression, etc. All of these things can create an irreversible chink in our chains.

Some of us wear our brokeness with great honor. We see our battle scars like medals that we have been given for making it out of a terrible situation alive. We wear them to let the pain know that we have not forgotten and to let others in pain know that they are not alone.

Others of us cover up any sign that there has ever been distress in our life and carry on like nothing has ever happened. We want to forget what has caused us such strife and move one, letting the pain know that we are stronger than it is.

Often we get stuck in our our own grief and troubles, feeling that no one else on earth could ever understand what we are going through. This is not true. Though their situations may not exactly mirror our own, there are people out there that are going through the same trials and tribulations as we are. Sometimes all we need to do is just open yourselves up to listening to them. Isolation will only ensure that we are always alone.

You are not alone.

The Confessional

I still hunt and peck when I type. It really isn't my fault. ‪There was a really cute boy in my keyboarding class in grade school so I spent the entire class drawing our names together in hearts in my notebook instead of paying attention. Really coming back to bite me in the ass 20 years later.‬ Stupid boys.

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.


Sins from fellow boozehounds:

I confess that I have been using my pregnancy to avoid unpacking boxes.  We moved in just before the holidays, AT THE END OF NOVEMBER, and did the holiday crazything, and then discovered this pregnancy January 6. No wonder I slept so much while celebrating at the inlaws'. I am now 4 1/2 months, and there are. Still. Boxes. Everywhere. In fact, I've avoided unpacking so much so that even the dishwasher doesn't always get unloaded, and a whole load of dirty dishes will fill the sink and cover the counters. And I don't feel very guilty because, really, husband isn't unpacking or unloading, either.  Except that he works more than full time, and I work part-time. At least I did the taxes. Maybe I'll start nesting when classes are over in June?


ILBAB says: I would milk it until they are in college. You need time to "heal".



I once had a really bad cold for four months straight. Sometimes, I would cough so hard, I'd puke- especially if I'd been drinking, which was often, since I was 21 and in a punk band at the time. Once, after a show, we were sitting at a table in a bar watching another band, and I cough-puked all over my own foot. I looked up and nobody saw. I went into the bathroom, rinsed out my sock, and went back to rocking.

ILBAB says: Are you allowed to be in a punk band if you DON'T randomly barf on yourself and keep rocking? I think not.

Sorrow

I have battled back and forth on whether to share this or not, but I think I owe it to you all to be forthcoming. I might be a bit absent from here for a while. My family recently experienced the tragic death of my brother and we are all doing what we can to cope. Details are not needed, rather I will just say that the man responsible will hopefully be in prison for a long time. I have some posts scheduled and will be finishing up some partial ones soon, but just know that if things aren't as regular around here, there is a reason. I love you all. Cheers for now.

Why You Need Mommy Friends

Because your mommy friends:

Are willing to do mind-numbing things like go to a Gymboree class with you to beat out the rhythm of the "The Wheels on the bus" on an African drum at 9 a.m. on a Saturday.

Know better than to call you at 5:30 p.m. to see if you want free tickets to go to the game at 7 p.m. They know that this may elicit a rage stroke and therefore they need to give you at least 48-hours lead time before making such an offer.

Understand that sometimes you need to cry to them. Just because parenting is hard. Not because your kids make you unhappy.

Are happy to spend an entire night drinking wine and discussing the ins and outs of such newsworthy topics as: how your son's poop has been weird lately, why your daughter feels the need to put Cheerios in the toilet, etc.

Are willing to schedule get-togethers around nap times and not think you are a compete and utter social pariah or that you let your baby rule your life.

Don't question why you always faintly smell like vomit and syrup, though you haven't been out partying.

Are willing to take your child at a moment's notice if you are in need. No questions asked.

Have extra diapers, pacis, onesies, etc. so when you are in a pinch on a playdate, you aren't left high and dry.

Don't feel sorry for you when you are together and your kid pitches an epic fit. Your mommy friends just laugh and say, "I have so been there, but worse."

Let you share your parenting war stories without judging you or thinking you are a bad parent. They usually follow up with their own, that make you feel 10x better.

Will not give you the deer-in-the-headlights look when you talk about your daughter's hand foot and mouth spreading to her butt.

Can give you advice on how to start solids, get your baby to sleep through the night, deal with separation anxiety and hide your flask in the diaper bag at church.

Are always there for you when you need to vent about how annoying your kid is. They are also there to listen to you gush about how awesome they are.

Understand that sometimes wearing yoga pants and a ponytail are as classy as it is going to get for your lunch date.

Understand that having children often requires the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.

Mommy's Not Magical

I think I need to teach my kids that though sometimes it might appear so, I am not magical. I don't have special powers. Hell, I don't even have the ability to keep the house clean for more than five minutes. I don't think my children understand this. Here are some lessons I need to learn them:


Toddler:

I can't make food cook instantly, no matter how much you whine, "I want pasta" at me. Pasta takes time. Things need to cook. Raw pasta is not delicious. If you want instant gratification, eat some lettuce. That is already done.

I can't make your zoli or woobie appear out of thin air. I am not the one who moved them from the places they should be in the first place. You were, thusly you should be the one who can now locate them. And if I could snap my fingers and make things magically appear, it would be Ryan Gosling, a baby-sitter and a bottle of chardonnay, not your woobie.

I can't make your brother disappear out of thin air. He is here to stay. Deal with it. One day he might have to spring you from jail for underage drinking so you don't have to call mom and dad and make them question what you are doing while away at college. Be nice to him until then so he shows up with bail money.

I do not have the magical powers to decipher what you are saying when you are hysterically crying because you think you saw a bug. Repeating it over and over again in a dramatic fashion isn't helping either. It was a fly. It was not a black widow. Let's move on, shall we?

You, my friend, are also not magical. Saying, "I want chocolate" 33 times in a row will not make it magically appear even though it is dinner time. Also, rubbing the cat's head really hard will not make a genie pop out. It will only make her bite you.


Baby:

Your bottle does not magically make its way to your mouth the second you cry. It requires adding the formula to the water, mixing, locating the burp cloth, etc. I am sorry. That is just the way it is. If you can't wait the 30 seconds it takes, you are going to have to learn to make them yourself, which will be hard since you can't use your hands for anything other than swatting the paci out of your mouth.

I am not a mystical Indian god with many arms. I am cursed to only have two. Sometimes when you want to be picked up, I just don't have enough arms to do so with all of the other crap I am currently doing. I know it is beyond you to be ok when not being held, but it is beyond me to have the ability to hold you 24-7. Call the police!

You do not have the magical powers of levitation. Simply looking at something and crying toward it will not make it move across the room and into your grasp. Sorry.


Baby weight:

Why am I not magical so I could make you disappear? Why, after my second child, did you decide to stake out camp right in the middle of my stomach so it looks like I am smuggling tapioca pudding under my dress? You now make me have the conundrum of, "Do I keep the fat over the top of my jeans, thus resulting in a muffing top, or do I hide it under the jeans, thus creating a very attractive gunt?" Damn you, elusive magic. Damn you.