Showing Off, Again

I mostly focus on funny kid stories here. Oddly enough my one random blog post about showing off some of my DIY projects has been my most popular post and has gotten four times the average number of hits of my other posts (if you missed it see the original post here). It's now even surpassed the ever popular Tricks I Play On The Husband post. So, back by popular demand is more showing off!

I had been looking for something else to hang over the couch, and I couldn't find exactly what I had in mind. My mind wanted a simple shelf that was inspired by an old mantle, but not something that could be found at any corner Pottery Barn. I wanted something that looked worn and loved. Then there was the framed pictures I'd taken around town that spelled out our last name to contend with. I needed something that would fit the space and style of that too. One Sunday I'd had enough and headed out to the shed on a mission. I started with a few scraps of lumber and added a piece of trim and spray paint from Lowe's. The Husband's been a little paranoid since our BFF Drew cut off four of his fingers on a table saw, so he insisted on helping me with the power tools. This is what we came up with:

This picture makes it look like we live in a yellow submarine. We aren't so yellow, but you get the idea. 

Plus, I needed some way to display my kid's one year portraits that we paid a small fortune for (I keep telling myself I'll be so glad when he's 12 and a punk). We bought frames, but that didn't look good. I didn't like the foam board behind glass. So I pulled some old wainscoating from the shed, cut it, and painted it white, then distressed it and added the pictures on top.

I like the whole scheme.

And at work..........

I created a little puppet theatre for our play therapy room out of an old, cheap armoir from the thrift store. I turned it backwards, pulled off the back, added paint, curtains, and pegs, and voila!

I was moving offices at work and was eager to be able to have a space in which to nest. I got this desk at my local habitat reStore for $20. I think it was originally a vanity. The top two shelves were damaged, so I took them off along with the middle piece they were attached to. Then I spray painted it blue and put the original hardware back on. I did add new knobs for the drawers.

Looks completely different, doesn't it?

I picked up a vintage arm chair at Junk in the Trunk for $50, minus 10% for asking nicely.

I LOVE the combination of the blue desk with the funky chair with blue accents. I'll do another post of my office reveal once I find just the right piece to hang on the wall. The Husband has had enough of my projects for now.

Condo Lease-uh

When The Husband was in college The In-Laws bought a condo in town as an investment. The Husband lived there with roommates, and everyone studied very hard and never slacked off and never ever walked straight into parking meters even though they were completely sober. We have some great, carefree memories of that condo.

But alas, we graduated mumble years ago, and it's time to let it go. The In-Laws have decided to sell the condo, so The Husband had to go clean out some of the junk that he'd been storing over there. You know, the stuff that didn't make the cut when we got married, bought a house, and merged our things as grown ups. Like old pots and pans we didn't need once we got fancy wedding presents. Or the 6 foot wide Lord of the Rings poster with custom frame. 

The condo is in an area of town that has gone downhill since we left. It's too bad, too, because the actual space is really pretty great. We'd even considered moving back over there temporarily if this house rents before we buy another (that's sort of not happening now anyway). So on Saturday we went to do inventory and see what needed to be purged. 

When we pulled up, the person on the floor above us stuck his head out of the split screen in his porch to look at us. He yelled "Are we getting new neighbors?!" The Husband replied that no, he was not getting new neighbors and we were just cleaning some stuff out. "Did somebody move out on you real quick?" his floating head asked. The Husband very kindly told him no, he was cleaning his own stuff out that he'd left behind. The floating head responded with "If you have stuff you're getting rid of or hauling off, I'll take it. I'll take it all." 

We thanked him and went inside. We started sorting, reminiscing, and tossing out stuff and The Boy starting getting into everything. One of his particular favorites was an Austin Powers Mini Me figurine. Did I mention The Boy had on too big pants with a too small shirt and his galoshes? 

The Husband's Mini Me, playing with The Husband's Mini Me

He also loved the Wild Rumpus of unsupervised kids running through the parking lot and screaming. He went to the sliding glass door and watched them with envy, saying "Bikkids! Bikkids!"(Big kids). They ran and played and teased and shot each other with nerf guns in elaborate, organized heists. 

We were clearing some stuff off the porch and I had The Boy in my arms when a dog appeared on the porch without hesitation. The dog was attached to a leash, which was attached to a gaggle of children that burst on the scene with an air of confidence and comfort about them. I'll assume the dog invited them. Since I did not know this dog, I spoke to him but held my toddler away from him. I'd hate to get all Grizzly on a stranger's dog for biting my child. All the children spoke at once. 

"Y'all moving in here? We gon get neighbors!"

"What's that baby's name?" 

"This our dog. His name Bolt." (I continued to hold The Boy on my hip away from Bolt). 

"Is that baby afraida dogs uhsumpthin?"

I barely had a chance to answer when said gaggle of children burst through the open glass doors into the condo. They continued talking without waiting for responses for their previous questions. They pointed at various things inside. 

"Who toys are those?"

"Ooooh! Who iphone?"

"Is that your iphone? Somebody callin you!!"

The Husband thanked them for their administrative service and told him we'd get the phone. They were gone as soon as they came in, Bolt leading them to more adventures with unsuspecting adults. As we continued to pack stuff up and started loading it in the car I watched the gaggle play in the parking lot. Two boys teased a girl, chasing her with something (or nothing) in their cupped hands. They chanted in a sing song voice reserved for playground yah yah "We got your eggie. We got your baby. We got your eggie." She stomped silently in front of her pursuers, evidently trying not to run or cry. The Boy, dirty and in ill fitting clothes, started yelling "Eggie. Eggie." I took him back inside before he attempted anymore of the "bikkid" antics. The remainder of the gaggle started a brigade in and out of the nearby ground floor condo, streaming out blankets, pillows, and anything that wasn't strapped down in a game called "we moving." They paraded these items like a line of ants into the middle of the parking lot where they set up their new house. The Boy shouted from the glass door "Bikkids! Bikkids!"

We soon packed up and got the heck out of dodge. With neighbors popping through screens to ask for trash and children and dogs arriving unannounced, we decided that living at the condo might've been better in theory. We went home, changed clothes, and went to the new Mexican restaurant in town (Athens folks, Los Coyotes was delish). Then we decided to stop at the new gas station to check out their self serve yogurt and fixins. 

I'm not convinced that lady had on anything under her trench coat.  Yes, that's a lady. 

 

When we were at the gas station there were some chaotic kids eating yogurt samples over and over without paying for any yogurt. They'd fill the tiny paper sample cups til they overflowed, suck that down with no spoon, throw the cup away and then go back for more. A woman I assumed to be their mom sat nearby, watching. When one of the girls turned around, guess who I recognized her to be? Yep, one of the Wild Rumpus kids from Bolt's Great Adventures! And I bet we haven't seen the last of these kids, either. 

An Open Letter To My Son

Today was a great day. Nothing happened. I was off and spent the day with The Boy. We went to story time, we went to the craft store. He took a nap and I did some work. It was incredibly mundane. And beautiful. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I get to do nothing with this kid some days. These nothing days are the days I'm watching him grow up before my very eyes. These nothing days are filled with laughter and tears, and I hope behind the laughter and tears is a little learning every day. Sometimes even for him. This is my letter to my boy on these nothing days. 

Son,
Now you are a toddler and you climb, unprovoked, into my lap to read a story and give spontaneous kisses, and I melt as I feel love in a way I've never understood before. I am happy and I know that if nothing else good ever happens in my life I'll be okay because I have known this love.

There are so many things I want for you. Right now you are so little you don't even know your future looms before you, full of hope and promise and possibility. You can do anything! I want what parents have wanted for thousands of years before me: for you to grow up happy and healthy and strong.

I want you to grow up with values that include being respectful to others and being responsible for your actions. I want you to be tolerant and patient and kind. I want you to find what's important to you and fight for it. I hope you get involved with something bigger than yourself.

I don't care how you vote or how you look or who you love. I don't care if you are a doctor, lawyer, or dentist, unless that is what you want. I hope you will study hard enough to get by and play even harder.  I hope you will find a career that you love, and do it passionately. I hope you will be kind to people who can't do anything to get you ahead. I hope you will write a thank you note to those who can and do. I hope you won't be an entitled punk. I hope you will appreciate the things that you have, and understand the plight of those who have not been blessed the same life as you. I hope you see without shaming, people who are not as lucky to have been born in your country, your demographic, your skin, your life.

I hope you have big adventures in the back yard and in the big world. I hope you are spontaneous and fun, with enough caution mixed in to keep you safe. I hope you ask questions. Ask questions when you don't understand or when you don't agree with something. Ask questions about everything in the world around you, and then question the answers you get. I hope you learn to think for yourself, and I hope you have grand ideas. When you find something you're really interested in I hope you'll immerse yourself in it.

I hope you do something stupid that doesn't hurt anyone. I hope you get in trouble and learn from your mistakes. I hope you will be angry with me for rules that you won't yet understand. I'm pretty sure I'll be angry with you for breaking them. I hope you can apologize when you were wrong, and sometimes even when you weren't. I hope you will pick up your dad's ability to let go of things that aren't important and you cherish those that are.

I hope you kiss someone at the beach. I hope you appreciate your love interests for more than their looks, and let them know it. I hope you open doors for your date out of courtesy and kindness, and never out of authority or presumption. I hope you get your heart broken so you know the value of a healthy relationship. I hope you treat your partner with respect, even when you're angry. I hope you demand the same.

I hope you spend time with your grandparents, even when it won't be cool. I hope you get in a fight with your cousin or your friend and you make up and laugh about it later. I hope you stick up for people who can't stick up for themselves, and learn the joy of helping others. I hope you learn to communicate your feelings using words that are meaningful. I hope you'll know that I'll be here for you every single moment of every one of these hopes.

Most of all, son, I hope years from now you have a child that will climb, unprovoked, into your lap to read a story and give spontaneous kisses, and I hope you melt as you feel love in a way you've never understood before. And I hope you are happy and you know that if nothing else good ever happens in your life you'll be okay because you have known that love. Then you will understand my love for you. XOXO

Mom

Oh, Crap!

It's all Sears' fault. They sent me an email for a free portrait session and free prints. I can't turn down free, so I said yes. I scheduled The Boy an appointment for 18 month pictures yesterday. If you schedule an appointment for pictures, you'll want the kid to be clean. And you'll want to trim up his hair just a bit in the back so he doesn't look so much like Doc from Back to the Future (for more on The Boy's hair, see this post). Best foot forward, right? But it can sort of turn into an If You Give A Mouse A Cookie kind of day. 

We were on a tight schedule for pictures, nap time, and me getting to work, so I put him in the bath. He was playing with his duckie and his other bath toys when he started to grunt and strain. "STOP!" I shouted at him, inappropriately. "Don't you dare poop in the tub!" He looked at me like I hurt his feelings. I scooped him up, but what to do with a naked, slippery, wet toddler that may or may not have to poop? I could put a diaper back on him and let him run around the house to wait it out but there was no time. I picked him up and put him on the toilet. He has no concept of toileting but it couldn't hurt. So I hung his bum over the seat and before I knew it he pooped in the toilet. Woo hoo! 

What a milestone, even if it was accidental! Hooray! I cheered for him and he scrambled down to get back in the tub. Done. I even took a picture of his tiny poop in the toilet to send to The Husband at work (yes, I recognize what's become of my life). What a great day it was going to be. I spent a brief second on the phone texting with The Husband, and when I turned my attention back to The Boy there was poop in the tub. Like all in the tub. Like a lot. My stomach churned. I screeched. How did that happen so quickly? Disgusting. So there The Boy stood in a tub with poop. I started jerking him out and letting the water drain. 

Just then my phone rang. The Husband wanted to know about pooping in the potty. 

Me: I can't talk right now he just pooped all in the tub!

Hus: I thought he pooped in the toilet?

Me: He did, but then he pooped even more in the tub. 

Hus: Gross. 

Me: Yeah. It's disgusting. 

Hus: How did that even happen? 

Me: I SAID I can't talk right now. I have to clean up this poop tub and clean him up and get him ready for his pictures and I have to find and catch him. 

Hus: Catch him? Where is he? 

Me: Bye. 

The Boy was running naked through the house, squealing. I called him to come back, which he ignored. The water finished draining and I grabbed some TP to use to pick up the poop. And then I started wretching. Whoever said it's different when it's your own child lied. The Boy thought it was hilarious and he starting squealing wretching noises "yetch, yetch, rheuch!" He got in the linen closet and pulled out two bars of soap like they were long lost pirate treasure. Note, he is still naked. 

He ran through the hall with his soap treasure yelling "ohrment!" (ornament), retching, and throwing the soap while I continued cleaning the tub. Then it happened. I threw up. I couldn't help it, out it came. Right into the tub. Yes, I threw up in the tub with the poop. I almost hung my head and cried. "Ohrment!" I heard, followed by the sound of soap flying through the air and landing on the floor. "Ohrment! Rheuch!" He laughed. This was not funny. 

I got all the poop out of the tub and then doused the entire thing in lighter fluid bathroom disinfectant. I took the spray lid off and just dumped the entire contents all over the tub. I rinsed it out and did the process all over again. I ran water for another bath, because the kid had not even been bathed yet. And it was picture day, after all. And I still needed to trim his mullet.

Thankfully bath "number two" was uneventful and we made it to his pictures, which he did great for.

He cleans up nicely, huh? 

By the looks of it you'd never know what a crappy morning we had. Thanks a lot, Sears.

Going Postal

We're kind of trying to rent our house. You see, there's this old farm house that we're crushing on, and we can't be interested in it until we break up with rent our house. So, with no real plan or safety net, we listed our house for rent in the paper and on Craigslist just to see what would happen. A few people have shown some interest and have emailed The Husband.

Saturday, in the car
Husband: Here, call Ochita and see when she wants to come look at the house.
Me: I don't know Ochita.
Husband: Ochita emailed me and wants to come see it. Here's her number.
(I took his phone and called, on speakerphone).

O: Hello?
Me: Ochita?
O: No, this Oshana.
Me: Oh. Hi. Is Ochita there? I'm calling about a house on Craigslist that she emailed about renting.
O: No, she's not here. Who is this?
Me: Leigh Ellen. I'm calling about a house on Craigslist that she emailed about renting.
O: Oh! That was me. I used my mama's email address on accident.
Me: Okay. When do you want to come see it? Could you come Monday?
O: No, I work on Monday. I work for the post office, and I don't get off until 5:30. So I can't come on Monday unless it's after 5:30.
Me: Okay, we can do after 5:30.
O: Okay. No, I have to go pick up my kids. It'll have to be another day.
Me: Okay. How about Tuesday?
O: Okay, okay. Tuesday works. 5:00?
Me: That's fine with me. 5:00.
O: Yeah. No, I have to go pick up my kids.
Me: Okay, when works for you?
O: Tuesday, 5:30?
Me: Okay, 5:30 works for me.
O: Which house is this?

After some confusion and back and forth concerning first and last month's rent, I gave Oshana our address, which she assured me she knew because she works for the post office and delivers mail. "I know right where that is!"

Fast forward to Tuesday. We cleaned the house from top to bottom and had it ready for Ochita Oshana to come. I'm talking candles lit, curtains opened, orphaned socks put away, and closets presentable. The Husband mopped. I cleaned up every plastic banana, train wheel, and letter magnet on the floor and put them away. Multiple times. I didn't cook dinner so as to keep the kitchen tidy (twist my arm). Five thirty came and went. Five forty. Five fifty. 

Me: At what point do we assume she's not coming? 

Husband: Give her until 6:00 in case she was confused on the time. 

Me: Call her. 

The Husband calls and leaves a voicemail (Oshana's second favorite kind of mail). 

At 6:30 his phone rang. 

Husband: Hello? 

Oshana: Hello? 

Husband: Hey, we were just wondering where you were. 

Oshana: I left already. 

Husband: Left where? 

Oshana: Your house. 

Husband: Our house? 

Oshana: Yeah, Nobody was there so I left. 

Husband: You couldn't have left our house. My wife's been here. 

Oshana: I came there earlier. 

Husband: My wife's been here. We had an appointment at 5:30, I came home early from work. 

Oshana: Yeah, I called and cancelled that. 

Husband: Called who? 

Oshana: Your wife. 

Husband: You don't have my wife's number. 

Oshana: I called the number on the sign. 

Husband: What sign? 

Oshana: The sign in your yard. 

Husbad: We don't have a sign in our yard. 

Oshana: Musta been somewhere else, then. 

Husband: Okay, ma'am, that's fine. Thank you. Goodbye.