Fast Forward to...Fun!

Okay, okay, so I know I was talking about fast-forwarding to Fall already, but as long as its stinkin' hot outside we're still acting like its Summer...

...fishing in the grass...

...watching ballgames...

...and going in our bare feet...

But even in the heat of late(ish) Summer, things are starting to change.  I've been noticing the first faint signs of leaves turning, and the Mums are showing Fall's first blush...

...and it's definitely starting to look like Fall inside the house!  Tune in tomorrow and I'll show you my process for re-doing my mantel, this time for Fall.  Here's a sneak peek:

My Life is a Comedy Bit

Some of you told me you enjoyed reading about the "incident" (read: nuclear meltdown) that took place at Bed, Bath + Beyond.  If you missed that little gem, you can read all about it here. And if you liked reading about That Mommy's prolonged auditory "gift" to the fellow BBB shoppers, read on.  Apparently, utter humiliation was not enough for the Biggest Boy.  Nope, last week he decided that Chick Fil-A would be the perfect forum for a repeat performance.

We were there with my dear friend and her toddler daughter.  From the moment we pulled up--nay, the moment I even mentioned we were going--to Chick Fil-A, all Biggest Boy could talk about was the playground there.  You know the one--it is full of really neat climbing platforms and a giant plastic slide, all built to a height of approximately 3000 feet into the air but occupying only about a 20 square-foot footprint.  Yeah, it is vertical.  And also, encased in glass.

So, Biggest Boy wants to go in there right after he eats, which is fine because I can watch him through the glass while I finish my delicious new Spicy Chicken Sandwich.  (Nope, I don't officially endorse Chick Fil-A, but if they come callin', I'm their girl.)  And up he goes, and for two more minutes I sit there chatting with my friend, unaware of impending doom.  Oh, how naive and happy I was for those two minutes.

So when I don't see him after a couple of minutes I go in and start calling to the child.  Five minutes later, after a perverse game of Marco Polo in which I put a cramp in my neck and possibly lose some hearing due to the children screaming at unholy decibels, I finally locate him.  He is stranded on the very top platform, peering down at his ant-like mother and screaming his bloody head off.  Of course my first reaction is deep concern, thinking he is either seriously injured or really, really scared.  So I proceed to yell loudly and repeatedly at him to calm down, which is perhaps not so effective.  Me: "CALM DOWN!  JUST CALM DOWN FOR A SECOND!"  Him: "waaaaaaaaahhhhh..."   After a couple of minutes of this madness, I realize that there is something more going on here.  The tip-off was when he tried putting his feet down to the next platform, came within 1/16th of an inch of touching it, and then pulled up like he just stepped on hot lava and started yelling for me to come up and get him.  Then I remember.  This happened before, and it was with his dear grandmother who I believe did, in fact, go get him.  He wants a repeat, and I will be gall-darned before I teach him that he will be repeatedly rescued while kids half his age lap him.

So for 10 minutes I stand there trying to talk him down, visions of police negotiators talking jumpers off buildings swimming in my head.  What would Bruce Willis do, I wonder.  Perhaps he'd be better prepared.  By now I am sweating and turning red (a common theme for scenes of public humiliation, I am learning).  My friend keeps motioning for me to leave him alone and come eat, which in retrospect was actually a great idea, but a small part of me still felt scared for him and couldn't do it.  He was wailing and carrying on so much that I briefly considered climbing up.  Then I looked through the glass at the 200 other moms watching this fiasco go down, and decided that there would have to be a medical emergency before I'd be willing to snake my fat rear-end up twenty child-sized platforms, much less back down again with a screaming demon in tow.

I am already thoroughly embarrassed at this point, and also missing my Spicy Chicken Sandwich, when another mom comes in.  I think she came in to make sure the weirdo actually had a child in trouble and wasn't just some freakshow ChickFil-A glass-bowl exhibitionist.  Turns out she has the world's most helpful 4-year old. Suddenly Little Dr. Phil is up there coaching Biggest Boy, and gets him to climb somewhere and do something, I have no idea what because I am only catching fleeting glimpses of what's going on up there.  The mom says she remembers this phase, and I am sure she is lying because her ridiculously helpful child obviously never behaved like this.  This seems like a good time for me to go check on my friend and our toddlers (and my sandwich), so I go out there and tell her "what a disaster, he's so scared, yadda yadda."  When the baby sees me he starts to scream his head off.  Bonus points for double humiliation!  So we all go back in together.  Because at least the glass bowl is somewhat sound-proof, so your toddler's screams in there can only bother other kids.  And their Mommies who happen to be stuck in there all afternoon.  And their Mommies' eardrums.  But I digress.

And shortly after we go back in (mind you, after at least 20 minutes of fearful crying for Mommy), we hear...nothing.  Nothing except the sound of my child calmly thanking the boy "for his advice," and then saying, "Mommy!  I'm not crying anymore!"  Seriously, I should have left him in there the whole time and been none the wiser.  Then he comes down the slide like nothing ever happened and says, direct quote,

"That was fun, can I do it again?"

Good thing I was with such a good friend, because we just lost it and started laughing uncontrollably.  And that's the story of how I convinced hordes of moms in the Chick Fil-A that I am a crazy person.

The Preschool Generation

I have been chatting with y'all on this blog for only about a month now, but already the feedback I am getting is so affirming, interesting, and even challenging.  One of the greatest things is that the blog has inspired conversations about all things Mommy, and allowed people to open up about their perspectives.

For example, my friend Julie wrote to me recently about being the mom of several preschool children, let's call these moms the Preschool Generation, and here is what she said:

You know how older women will say, “you will miss this one day… or embrace it, I wish mine were still young.”  Or recently I read in one of Dobsons books that most parents would give everything they own to have the time with their kids when they were little back.  It’s funny because I soak all those comments in and REALLY REALLY try and embrace things.  But, this morning in the shower (after an EXHAUSTING night)  Zane WAS pounding and screaming at the door while I was rushing in the shower, I thought, “I think people forget about these moments”…  Granted, I think that is a good thing it is our love forgetting the difficult parts… But, I have been reflecting on for a while from several significant conversations about how it is both glorious and exhausting to be a parent of young children.  Not just glorious.  Not just exhausting.  Both.  And, sometimes I think it can feed false guilt when older mothers say, “appreciate it now…” because they are forgetting… and they should.  Or I think it encourages women NOT to open up about the true challenges… It almost silences them.  Or, the other extreme they tend to say it is all horrible… and then that in itself isolates them because they push people away acting like such a victim.  So either extreme isolates – saying it is all blissful or all dreadful…

How many of you in the Preschool Generation have had someone say, "oh just enjoy these years because I wish my kids were still little?"  A perfect stranger said that to me just a couple of days ago.  And as Julie says, we do try and follow that advice.  We take mental snapshots of the sweet moments, and take time to cuddle and love on those babies while they still want hugs.

But does it also make you feel just a teensy bit guilty when you are absolutely struggling to keep sane through the hard physical and emotional labor of caring for preschoolers, and then someone tells you how great you have it?  I am not at all criticizing moms who give that advice, because I do think they have learned how fleeting childhood is and just want us to make the most of it.

So why do we sometimes bristle when we hear these kinds of comments?  Is it because we moms are just so ready to bash ourselves over the head with guilt?  Maybe because we need to be affirmed in how difficult this work actually is?  Because we already know that we'll forget the hardest parts?

I love how Julie wrote that being a Mommy is both glorious and exhausting.  The greatest honor and the hardest work.  Maybe we need to talk more about it being both?

Burlapped!

I know I'm about a zillion years late on the burlap trend, but I have really been digging it lately.  Maybe you saw my post about covering mats with burlap?  That's just the tip of the iceberg, my dears.  Here's a smattering of other ways burlap has crept into my home:

I got this lamp at a yard sale for $2 a few weeks ago.  Sanded down the shiny white paint, glazed it with some diluted acrylic paint, and covered the plain-jane shade with (what else?) burlap!

I am so cute now, don't ya think?

This is a little banner I made to liven up this display.  It is a little cutesier (is that a word?) then I usually get, but I loved making it and love that it references one of my favorite Biblical passages.

All the letters are iron-on transfers on (of course) burlap!  Those little wraps around the candles were super easy: iron-on transfers, hot glue and ribbon.  I love them.

  

Here's the close-up for ya.

And one of my all-time favorites, this cute stenciled pillow:

I made the stencils for this pillow the same exact way that I made the number stencils for my dresser do-over.    I painted right on the burlap using acrylic paint cut with fabric medium.  One note: if you are going to paint on burlap, make sure you have newspaper or something under your work area, because paint will really seep through the loose weave of the fabric.  

So, do you agree that burlap is too cute?  Or has the rest of the world has moved on already?  What do you think?

That First Day

Big Backpack for a Big Boy!

We call it Back-to-School, but for the littlest preschoolers among us it is their very first time. The first time for fresh new folders tucked into bright new backpacks.  The first time for new classrooms and new friends.  The first time for waving goodbye to Mommy as she pretends not to cry.

And I will definitely cry.  If looking at my Biggest Boy proudly showing off his new backpack makes me cry, if the very thought of him striking out from home (even if it is just preschool) makes me cry, if even sending a stinkin' check to the school makes me cry, I will be a blubbering fool on his first day of school.

Not his first day back, but his first day, ever.

Are You Kidding Me???

WOW!

After four days away with my family I was *finally* catching up on some blogs, and came across myself, featured as one of Jane's favorites from last week's Frugalicious Friday!!!  Pinch me, because I am dreaming!  Check out Jane at Finding Fabulous to see what else she featured!

And if you missed my original post about new art for my kitchen, never fear!  Just click here! Hey, that rhymed!   Well, at least it would make my 3-year old giggle.

Cuisine Art

How much do you love the wall-art section of Hobby Lobby?  That delicious selection of "Kitchen" and "Laundry" and "Kiss Me" signs...I guess I have a thing for lettered signs because I love it there.  Until recently I had one of their metal "Kitchen" signs hanging above my pantry, but now that I am on a quest to bring more rustic charm to my kitchen, I decided to replace it with my own hand-painted sign.  So the HL sign is going to the consignment store and this guy took its place:

I started with two poplar planks from the woodworking section of Lowe's.  I had some fun banging on these with a hammer, saw, and screwdriver to roughen them up, then stained them with walnut wood stain.  I then layered on some black acrylic paint with a dry paintbrush, careful not to completely cover over the stained finish.  I just wanted it blackish-brown, almost a singed color.  Bonus: "singed" matches some of the dinners I make too!

The top one has black paint over walnut stain.  The bottom one doesn't--yet.

Then I spent about a week feeling neglectful of my little project while I tried to figure out what font to use.  I wanted it to be clean, readable letters that stand straight up and down.  This thing sat around forever, then I saw this post from Miss Mustard Seed, and wow, did she inspire me!  Her Fresh Berries sign is to die for.  I had already stained my boards AND knew I was using ivory paint, so when I saw this I couldn't believe it, and totally copied the font she used.  (FYI, it is Castellar).  I pieced together letters printed out from a Word document like so:

To transfer the letters I used this really convenient lettering technique I learned about recently from another great blogger, just can't remember who!  If you know, please comment and remind me, bad Mommy Blogger!  Anyway, I colored the backs of the letters with pencil (in this case white), then I turned the letters over onto the sign and carefully traced the edges with a regular mechanical pencil.  This transfers the white pencil from the back of the paper onto the wood:

Then it was just a simple task of painting (more or less) inside the lines.  When you look close you can find all kinds of imperfections.  I could have sanded them out but decided to leave them--actually, I kind of like them.
Michelle: 1
Crippling Perfectionism: 0
Go Me!

So here's my new sign hanging above my pantry:

If you are wondering how I attached the two boards and then hung them, I used an extremely high-tech method which requires expert knowledge.  Just kidding, I used duct tape and about 30 removable foam adhesive squares:

I love how this project turned out.  It is so much more personal (and I think cuter) than what I had before.  By the way, I decided on "Cuisine" because I am just so in love with everything French, and very excited about my trip to Belgium and France...next month!

P.S. I'm Lovin' the Linkys at:

The Shabby Nest

Finding Fabulous

Fast Forward to Fall

Its still a billion degrees outside, and all my plants are dying because I cannot be in this heat for 3 seconds, let alone the hour it takes to water.  This combined with all the Back-to-School hype out there has me ready, and I mean really...really...REALLY ready for Fall.  Ready for this:

Pottery Barn

And this:

Ready to see Biggest Boy in this:

Old Navy

And maybe even ready for this:

Martha Stewart

Well, maybe not *quite* ready for turkey, yet, but almost!  How about you--are you ready for Fall?

My Profound Apologies

Photo: BB & B

I would like to share with you sweet readers a little story about an unsuspecting Mommy and her darling child.  The story begins with high hopes for a normal outing--you know, a quick jaunt to Bed, Bath & Beyond, and assuming everyone was an Excellent Listener, a brief visit to the indoor playground at the mall.

Things started out okay, there was some general ants in the pants, and some volume issues that reminded me of Will Ferrell on SNL ("I HAVE A DISORDER THAT DOES NOT ALLOW ME TO MODULATE THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE.")  But no biggie.

Then what happened, you ask?  Well, there we were, moments from purchasing the elusive 6" bed-risers, which were strategically hidden in a way that forced us to circle the store 10 times before finding them, when my 3-year old decided to bring it.  Not that he's never had a meltdown, please don't misunderstand.  But through divine intervention his meltdowns have mostly been private.  Until now.  And he's 3 and a half!  Truly, I thought we were past the point where irrational crazed meltdowns could occur in the aisles of our local stores, but I was once again proven woefully misinformed about something Mommy-ish.

It all started when the baby pushed him in the face, repeatedly, and I had to ask numerous times for Biggest Boy to use his superior strength and smarts to stay out of the baby's way.  But Excellent Listening just wasn't gonna happen that day, and BB decided that getting pushed around was ample provocation for chomping down on the baby's little finger.  LB started screaming his head off, and all I could think was "Uh-uh, no he didn't!"  Like it was Jerry Springer and not my own life.  So I calmed the baby down and then told Biggest Boy that when we were done we couldn't go to the playground because he had just, you know, BITTEN THE BABY.  Poor thing-- immediate tears sprung into his eyes, which I expected.  But what he did next I could never have predicted.  My child turned right around and--without a word--stalked off!  Again, like a guest on Springer rushing off the stage.  "Whaaaaa...?"  I couldn't believe it.  There he went, right into the curtain section, where they have roughly a thousand display racks of 12-foot curtains perfect for hiding when you are 40 inches tall.  Its like a misbehaving child's fantasy land in there.   There we played a ridiculous game of Hide N Seek while I whispered his name furiously and he silently fumed and also actually laughed at me.  When I finally got close enough to grab the boy, I confirmed we had indeed failed to be Excellent Listeners, and that's when the fan got really hit.

The child lost all control.  He started screaming loudly in unintelligible words which would surely have been profanities if he knew any, little face getting redder and redder and tears freely flowing down his cheeks, while I briefly considered changing my mind and buying him some ice cream just to get him to calm the heck down.  Instead, I picked him up and carried him over my shoulder, casually hauling him from the far back corner of the store waaay up to the front, pushing a double stroller with my free hand, and refusing to answer the one question he was shouting repeatedly and all of a sudden with perfect annunciation for the whole store to hear: "MOMMY!  WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?  WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"    I may still have burn marks where the other customers' death stares put holes into my back as we made our escape.

Except we couldn't escape.  I found myself in this weird, lonely corridor leading out to the parking lot, but still attached to the store and thus attached to people's eardrums.  And now I realize why sometimes you can't just leave.  My child is 35 pounds.  I literally could not have kept carrying him, flailing and kicking, over my shoulder.  I also could not redeposit him in the stroller.  And because he refused to walk, I couldn't hold his hand through the parking lot.  So I had to choose between utter, ongoing humiliation and him roaming freely among the cars outside.  Obviously, we stayed put.  FOR THIRTY MINUTES.

That's right, for thirty minutes he tantrumed, lying on his back in the entryway to BB&B, sobbing hysterically.  Thank God Littlest Boo is patient and just sat in the stroller watching this thing go down.  I am sure he was taking notes for fun ways to get Mommy to turn red.  One positive: no one in the store heard a word I said because I refused to contribute by speaking above the tiniest whisper.  I was sweating and my heart was racing as I watched this child rage, and wondered where my sweet boy went and who was this demon in front of me.  To top it all off, an older woman and her grown son walked by at some point, and she looks down at me (she had to, because I was kneeling next to the child begging him to stand up) and says, "He (points to her son) used to do the same thing all the time and he turned out alright!" Verrry comforting, Stranger in the Sheet Store, verrry comforting.

At long last Biggest Boy calmed down enough to choose between holding my hand or riding, and we made it out of there.  On the way home, my nerves got the better of me and I finally shed a few of my own tears.  I would never step foot in there again, that's all there was to it.  And then my child showed me (again) what it is to be a parent.  When we got out of the car I told him to go inside and take his shoes off, and he headed out into the grass instead.  I was seconds away from losing it, when he bent down and plucked a clover flower from our front lawn.  "This is for you, Mommy."

The best apology a 3-year old could give.  And it no longer mattered that I was humiliated, or that we all had a terrible hour, or that countless people wanted to punch me in the face.  What mattered was teaching him.  What mattered was loving him.  And, in spite of my decision to never go back, we went back the next day to try again.  Got the bed-risers and got to go to the playground.  So Moms of the World Who I May Have Judged Because of Tantrums in the Store, I apologize.  (Also, my apologies to any of you who may have been shopping at B3 that day, although I suspect that no amount of apology is sufficient).  From now on I vow to have patience with that Mommy whose child is splitting my eardrums at the grocery store.  I think she's probably trying her best, even if her child is acting like a crazed little demon.

Dresser Do-Over

If you will, stop for just a second.  Close your eyes...hey, no peeking!  Okay, okay, you can peek enough to read.  Now picture yourself as an old woman.  If you are a man and you are reading this, I suppose you are allowed to picture yourself as an old man.  Sheesh, troublemakers.  I picture myself happily digging in the garden, playing with grandchildren, and wearing paint-splattered clothes.  I figure by then I will have gotten tired of changing into my "painting clothes" during the few minutes the children are napping, only to have 4.5 seconds in which to actually paint before I have to change back into my really nice bleach-stained-dress-capris, since I am perpetually afraid that I'll forget about the wet black paint on my rear and will promptly sit on my light-colored couch.  No, by the time I am old I will just have decided that ALL my clothes are "painting clothes," and buy a darker couch.  Also, hopefully I won't have young children.

Anyhow, my latest adventure in painting had a very specific goal featuring black paint: to repurpose this dresser from unattractive (and blinding) extra clothing storage for the Hubs to more attractive craft storage for moi.  Sorry, Hubs, that you had to find room in the closet.  My Modge Podge needed a home.

Here's the Before:

Oh, I am so sad.  And I appear to be leaning.  Will someone please help me get over this mountain?
Oh wait, that's the Little Engine That Could.  Its been a long day.

In case you are wondering, yes, I did paint that dresser with those lovely pink and chartreuse stripes.  And it was actually cute except that I don't have any little girls.  I don't know what I was thinking.  Since I am in confession mode, I will also confess that it had been finished once before that as well--with white pickling stain.  Also cute.  Cuter than the stripes, in fact.  Oh, IKEA, what were you thinking, sending me home with unfinished wood?

So, I first sanded the beast down with the Random Orbital Sander, which sounds like some sort of intergalactic torture device but is actually a very handy tool for removing stripes.  Then I slapped on two coats of Sherwin Williams black acrylic All Surface Enamel in a satin finish.  Next, I distressed the edges with some sandpaper:

Then I just couldn't leave well-enough alone.  I am not good at that.  I LOVE to bother well-enough.  It is one of my favorite past times.  So I decided to stencil the drawers with numbers, and being the picky and stingy person I am, I didn't want to buy stencils.  So I made some.  I just picked out a font I liked (in this case, Vivaldi) and printed the numbers out in the size I needed on cardstock.  Then I carefully cut them out.  I like to use my mat knife, but you could easily use any sharp utility knife for this:

I really like cutting out my own stencils because then I can use whatever font I want, and am not stuck with these pricey stencils in the drawer feeling like I need to use them on every surface in my house forevermore.  But this technique is not perfect:

See how there are little rough edges?  Don't worry about it!  Many times they won't show up in your final result, and if they do, acrylic paint is very forgiving and can be removed easily from a painted surface.  I know because I did the "1" in this project 3 times.  Then I taped 'em where I wanted them and stenciled them with my new favoritest paint color in the world, Folk Art's Metallic Taupe craft paint.

Disregard those pulls up top.  I was trying on a new outfit but Mommy told me "No."  Whah.

Also, because well-enough was getting cocky again and needed to be brought down a peg, I decided to paint the existing metal pulls rather than buying all new ones.  I just took an extremely dry paintbrush and very small amounts of that lovely Metallic Taupe to create a burnished look on the pulls:

Lucky you: what you are witnessing in this picture is not just a burnished drawer pull, but also my laziness!  Rather than take all the pulls off and paint them, I unscrewed them just enough to pull out from the drawer, then used a wooden skewer to stabilize them.  What's that saying?  Laziness is the mother of invention?

That was it!  So here for your viewing pleasure is the final result:

Phew!  At least I am not leaning like a drunkard anymore.

Much cuter, don't you think?  Or should I paint this thing one more time?  I can hear you chanting ONE MORE TIME ONE MORE TIME in your head.  But this is not a frat party and I'm afraid the Hubs might run away if I re-re-re-re-do this dresser.





Linking up at Miss Mustard Seed, Finding Fabulous, and The Shabby Nest.  Phew!

Updated on 11/15/10 to link to the fabulous:

Funky Junk Interiors

Keeping My Cool

Everyone I talk to is sweating, and everyone I read in bloggyland is talking about how much they're sweating.  I'm with ya.  It is no fun choosing between A) man-eating mosquitoes and insta-sweat the moment I step outside or B) involuntary commitment after one more day of being cooped up with two hyperactive boys.

So, I've been on a Summer-long quest to find indoor activities that don't make me want to stab myself in the eye.  Seriously, I can only take so many trips to the play-place at the mall.  And as for taking the boys to the pool--well, I can think of better ways to get some exercise than donning a tankini and running after a chubby baby with a death-wish and an affinity for the deep end.   Sooooo, I recently braved a trip to this huge antiques mall over in Concord, NC.

The Depot at Gibson Mill: "The Largest Antique and Designer Mall in the South"
Their other motto is: "We Just Love Your Grabby Kids!"

I expected to have to shout "no-touch!" no less than a zillion times, but after I gave Biggest Boy his Secret Mission (finding soapbox derby cars), he coincidentally stopped flinging heavy objects, casually toying with antique glassware, and offering chippy painted objets-d'art to the baby for a snack.

Plus, I got to see some GREAT stuff, like these adorable vignettes:

Some drool-worthy rustic treasures:

Loooove these!

I don't know what it is but I kinda want it.

It might have toxic lead, but at least its super cute.

Old ceiling tiles--I am seriously in love.

This little jaunt was especially successful because I refrained from actually buying anything.  That way I can pat myself on the back for finding "Free Summer Entertainment!"  Also, I find that "shopping" with my camera is almost as fulfilling as actually spending money.  Although I do kinda wish I'd adopted this little guy:

I'm lonely!  Take me home!

It's okay, though, because having feasting the eyes is sometimes enough.  And it was a feast.  Check out one of my favorite things about this mall: all the COLOR!

  

Wow.  Well, here's hoping you are also finding fun ways to keep cool this Summer, and please know I am not really going to stab myself in the eye.  At least not today.