Ugh: A Post-Migraine Poem

It's a new morning,
my migraine has fled,
I look around the house
and am filled with dread.

The cat was down
 for just one day
and in that time
the mice did play.

The dishes are dirty
 and stacked in a heap,
the laundry is a mountain
stinky and steep.

There are millions of socks
strewn about the floor,
and smudgy dog nose prints
all over the door.

The island is stacked
with papers and stuff,
the dog hair blows about
like so much brown fluff.

The tables and couch
of the family room
are littered with crap
adding to the gloom.

The people that live here
are rabid feral goats
that haven't even a clue
about how to hang up a coat.

Toothpaste globs dot
every mirror and sink,
the garbage is overflowing
and starting to stink.

The fridge is empty
and the goats all whine
that there's nothing to eat,
on what will they dine?

I survey the sorry
state of this place,
and I scratch my head
and I grimace my face.

Where to start? What to do?
With which task to begin?
This is a losing battle.
There's no way to win.

But I know that the answer
lies in my brainy little head:
"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!"
So I'm going back to bed.

In Which I Make Light(s)

YOU GUYS! I am amazing. I created light! Like, first, there was no light, and then BAM! Light!

Okay. Before y'all think I've seriously lost my mind (right, I know, debatable. Shut up.) and have some sort of delusional God complex, let me explain.

Remember my last post about my problem with pillows in which I included this picture?

Dude. I MADE those lamps.

Can you tell I'm just a wee bit proud of myself? I think it mostly stems from the fact that the finished product came out just like I envisioned it in my head. This does not often happen. Mostly what happens is, I have an idea in my head, I try it. It doesn't work out right so then I have to try 432 different ways to fix it before it's either fixed enough to sorta kinda come close to the picture I had in my head, or I declare the project dead to me and walk away vowing never to ______ ever again. (Hey sewing machine, I'm blaming so much of this on you.)

Anyway, I had seen in various places in blogland where people had made their own lamps out of vases or bottles. They swore it was simple and cheap and they swore they weren't electricians. (What exactly is up with the prices of lamps? Why are they so darn expensive? I know for a fact it's not because they're made of gold. I walk through lamp sections with a furrowed brow and think, "Really?! Um. NO.") This made me happy because I, too, am simple and I, too, am cheap, and I, too, am not an electrician. The equation in my head went something like this:

SIMPLE + CHEAP + NOT ELECTRICIAN = LAMP.

True to form for me, there was a little more to the equation than I first thought, but not much more. The true equation looks like this:

SIMPLE + CHEAP + NOT ELECTRICIAN + VASE + BOTTLE LAMP KIT + A LITTLE MCGYVERING = LAMP.

I ran across these gold speckled vases at Home Goods. (Hello, Home Goods! I shall have to start referring to you as my Dealer.) I spied one and thought it would be perfect for a lamp for my living room. I started looking for another, and spied its mate, shoved behind a bunch of other merchandise, almost like someone was hoping to hide it and come back for it later. Sorry, sucka! (For those of you into hashtagging, I'll just say #sorrynotsorry) I quickly scooped them both up (for $12 each!) and ran for the checkout.

Then I stopped at the Lowe's next door and picked up two bottle lamp kits (around $10 each) and Target for a lampshade (around $20). I only needed one lampshade because I already had one at home. Then I went home and started to put this thing together.

And then my head exploded and I pictured the picture in my head crackling into a bazillion little pieces because the rubber nipple thingy (oh dear Lord, save me from the weird google hits that will come from that phrase!) was too small for the opening in my vase and the lamp part wasn't going to fit right into the vase part and I was going to wind up in that special circle of hell reserved for my projects that don't turn out and I was going to have to forsake my gold sparkly vases. This made me want to cry.

So I thunk and I thunk, and I figured I could make a circle out of cork to thread the lamp thingy through and make it fit the size of the vase. I know this sounds confusing, but trust me, I have photos and all shall be revealed, Young Grasshopper.

This McGyvering turned out to work (I needed a little hot glue to keep it stable, but you can't really see it.

I had my beloved help me with the wiring of the first one just so that I would be certain that I was connecting things correctly and wouldn't cause the house to burn down just because I needed gold sparkly lamps. It was extremely simple. I mean, like, I'm pretty sure I could've done it while consuming a glass of wine, simple. It involved a couple of screws and a couple of wires. Easy peasy. And YOU GUYS. When I turned on the switch and actually had light? I danced around like Tom Hanks in Castaway when he finally made fire. Seriously. My husband just shook his head at me and walked out of the room. I am woman. I can wire a lamp with a lamp kit. HEAR. ME. ROAR!

Now, before I show the photographic evidence, let me apologize for the quality of the photos. I took them with my phone. Apparently I am not so lazy that I can't run all over God's green earth to find all the things I need to make a lamp and actually make the lamp but I am too lazy to walk into the other room to grab my good camera so that the pictures will actually be decent. Priorities. I has 'em. Um...or something?

Anyway! Pictures!

See? Gold and sparkly! Hello my love! Also: the walls are not actually that weird purple/blue color. Thanks, iPhone.

*Sigh* Luuuurrrve. Also: Dear Laziness, You have made so many things about this picture bad. It's a good thing the lovely lamp makes up for it.  Also, also: The walls are not actually that color.

See how I McGyvered the cork below the ribbed nipple (ugh. google.) to make the lamp part fit? See the hot glue holding it stable? You cannot see this in real life. I was a champ and got super close to take this photo just for you. You're welcome. Also, also, also: The walls are not that weird brown.

Yes, the cord hangs from a weird spot. You cannot see it from most angles. If this bothers you, you could take some sticky tack and stick it to the vase to make it less obvious. Or, you could just have a glass or 3 of wine and then you'll be all "Cord, schmord! Another tankard, please!" Also, also, also, also: The walls are not tan and the word "also" is starting to look and sound weird to me.

So, dear children, what have we learned from this post? Let's see:
Home Goods is my Dealer.
Sparkly gold lamps are the bomb dot com.
Making your own lamp is fairly easy and inexpensive.
The new feminism involves wiring a lamp from a lamp kit and being an independent woman who don't need no electrician.
I am lazy.

Now, I urge thee: Go forth and make some light! (And if you do, can I see it?)

I Think I May Have A Problem

Hello. My name is Sara and I am an addict.

I didn't know my problem was this bad. I thought I could handle it on my own. But I've come to believe that I cannot control this myself. I need help.

I am addicted to throw pillows.

It was harmless fun at first. I would buy a fluffy pillow thinking it would solve my decorating problems. But I'd get the pillow home and after a brief high, I'd realize that I was still unhappy. And so I'd go to Home Goods or Target thinking that I could handle myself. I could get out of there without a pillow. I'd just avoid the pillow section.

But we all know how that works out. You think you are strong enough and that you can just stroll through the pillow section and take a peek. You won't buy anything. Because you definitely don't need a throw pillow. You can get by without a throw pillow.  Throw pillows don't rule you, you rule throw pillows.

And then you see it. The color is perfect! The texture is divine! You have the perfect spot for it! And you say to yourself: Oh what's one throw pillow? I'll just get this one pillow this one time and then I'll quit. So you buy it and take it home and put it in the spot that would be perfect for it and you look at it and it just... isn't. Oh well, you think. It's just a pillow. I'll put it in the closet and when I re-do the  next room, I bet it will work in there.

Except it doesn't.

And you promise yourself you will just. stop. And you do.

Until the next time.

And you keep going this way on this crazy throw pillow train, collecting pillows and tossing them in closets and collecting pillows and tossing them in closets.

Then you discover that you can make a pillow using place mats.

And you think to yourself, this is it! This is the solution I've been waiting for! Place mats are cheap! Fiberfill is cheap! I can totally make a pillow that will be the perfect pillow and all of my problems will be solved!

Place mats are like the methadone for throw pillow addiction. Soon you find yourself addicted to them as well.

So now you find yourself trolling all your old haunts and instead of just being drawn to the pillow section, now you are also drawn to the tableware section.

You find your children pulling you by the arm and hustling you away saying "NO! Mom. Come. On. You do not need another pillow or place mat. This is not okay. It's time to stop."

And you are embarrassed because you have been found out. You thought you had hidden your little addiction so well. But now your kids are on to you and things are just going to have to change.

So. You force yourself into your closet and you pull out your stash of pillows. And it looks like this:

And your face flames in shame as you realize that none of these pillows have solved one decorating problem for you. So you go through them one by one, pat them lovingly, and relive the memories of their purchase or creation. And then you force yourself to choose. Some of them must go. You will allow yourself to keep a few which come into play around the holidays, but after that, you will make yourself be brutal and get rid of the rest. Even--horror of horrors!--the matching ones that came with the couch that is now covered with a slip cover and don't even match any part of your house anymore. Yes. Those, too, must go. You were holding on to them "just in case." But you have realized that just in case never happened. And even if it did, you would be okay without those pillows.

So here are the last throw pillows I've made: (the floral ones)

Yes, they are lovely. Yes, they bring in a burst of color for spring. But you have seen the light. Pillows will not get you out of any sort of decorating dilemma. They will only steal space in your closet.

So now my living room looks like this:

And I'm going to live with it. And it's going to be okay. Because I've done the hardest part; I've admitted that I have a problem.

But see those lamps? Did you know you could make a lamp out of a vase? Want to meet me at Home Goods? I'll see you in the glassware section. I mean, I know I was just there, but I could go again. I don't have to buy anything. I totally have this vase/lamp thing under control...

Tiling The Pantry (And Finally Beating My Procrastination)

Remember in my last post how I was kinda, sorta procrastinating? Remember how it all started? You know, because I was loath to begin the project of "tiling" my pantry? Well, my friends, I am happy to report that the job is finished. And the outcome is good.

I've actually done this project in a few closets in our home and my reluctance to start didn't have anything to do with the difficulty of the project. "Tiling" the shelves is a fairly simple affair in and of itself. It's emptying and culling through the 250 pounds of crap and then placing it back in that makes me want to do anything else. And I mean anything! I would rather listen to my children whine about boredom than empty, cull, and replace items in the pantry. I would rather play infinity games of Candyland--and you all know how I feel about Candyland. I would rather shave my legs with a vegetable peeler and then soak them in a bath of salt and lemon juice. I guess what I'm saying, is it's not my favorite thing.

But! It does make a difference in how things operate around here. It's so much easier to cook dinner when I can actually see what I have that isn't going to result in a a case of botulism. It's so much easier to find medications to heal my hypochondriacs preshus baybays when they are under the weather. It's so much easier for my beloved to find razors/soap/floss/good-lord-anything-at-all-damn-you-Y-chromosome when everything is labeled and in it's place.

One of the things that I loved about this house when we moved in was the abundance of closets. We had plenty of room to move in all our crap and the space for it to multiply--as it does when given the room. What I didn't love was that all the shelving was wire shelving. (#firstworldprobs, right?) I hated that things toppled over more easily and that if things spilled, they spilled through the shelves and onto the stuff below. (Syrup, I am looking at you.) So when I saw this idea featured on a blog I frequent (sometimes just for the pretty pictures and the fantasy of ever being that organized, because, yo, it ain't that way up in here, you know what I'm sayin'?) I thought it was a brilliant and inexpensive and totally doable solution. I mean, ideally, I'd have some sort of melamine or solid shelving, but given that my beloved has a million things on his To Do List already, I figured I could handle this one on my own and it wouldn't involve power tools or swearing. (Much.)

I headed to Ye Olde Big Box Hardware Store and bought the cheapest peel and stick tiles I could find. I didn't care what they looked like. My only criteria was that they had to have a smooth surface so that anything I placed on it would be stable. Then I cleared out 250 pounds of crap, culled through it, getting rid of anything that was past it's prime, and set to putting the tiles in. I started at the fronts of the shelves and put in as many full tiles as I could and then I worked on cutting the tiles to fill in the gaps. This is where it gets more tricky and time consuming. It's not really that hard and all told, the tiling for each closet/pantry only took about 45 minutes. But because the walls and shelves are not perfectly square, each cut tile has to be done individually--I couldn't just measure one gap and make identical cuts for all the cut tiles. Does that make sense? And the only tools I needed were a utility knife and a straight edge (I used a metal framing square).

So for all my fussing and moaning and procrastinating, I wound up with this:

Please don't judge the crappy photos. I took these with my phone to send to my mom and used them out of sheer laziness because I didn't want the hassle of starting all over with my good camera. Laziness, it's the new black! Or something!

Don't judge by what's on the floor. I wasn't done when I snapped these. That area is now clean and organized. With only a smidge--okay, a lot--of dog hair thrown in to keep things real.

I've used this method in the hall linen closet, the closet in our master bath, and the pantry and closet in our kitchen. That, combined with the shoe hangers, (which I used in all except the master bath closet) have made it much easier to store and find things in a hurry. Now my storage spaces are in good shape. You might even say they are Y Chromosome Proof.

Although that might be pushing things.

Before and After: Table and Tray

Good morning! Is it sunny where you are? If it is, would you mind sending a little my way? It has been so gray and rainy here in the past week that it's making me a little grumpy. Grrrr... But you know what doesn't make me grumpy? A good before and after.

I had this little black table that has been in my family room for several years. It was in my parents' house before that, but when they downsized to a smaller home, I inherited it. It's not a fabulous table, but it's sturdy and has good lines and it fits perfectly behind our couch as a depository for wrappers, empty glasses, pop tabs, dirty socks, pencils, random playing cards and other detritus of the feral goats that live in this house with me beautiful things.

When it came to me, it was light blue. I painted it black. It worked fine when my room was green, but when I lightened up the room and changed the curtains, I wanted something different for the table. Also, I had been dying to try out Annie Sloan chalk paint, so I decided that the table would make a perfect guinea pig for a chalk paint experiment. I figured if it didn't work out and I hated it, it would be easy enough to change.

Bad blogger! I started painting before I thought to take a "before" shot. 

Turns out, I love it! I used the Annie Sloan chalk paint in Greek blue. I used a 4 ounce sample pot and that was enough to completely cover the table. I used two coats, because I wanted good coverage and I didn't want the black to come through because I wasn't going for an antique-y look. The paint dries super quick and no sanding or prep is required, which is a great match for my need for instant gratification in crafty projects. I also used two coats of the Annie Sloan clear wax. The can is HUGE and a little goes a very long way. I barely made a dent in it and will be able to use it again and again on other projects. All told, with the painting and the waxing, the table only took 24 hours start to finish.  The blue is a nearly perfect match for the lighter blue in the family room curtains and it adds a nice pop of color to the room.

Perfect spot to sit your dirty socks refreshments.

The tray was a Goodwill find. I think it was $2.50? It was just a simple wood framed tray with a cork bottom, but there was something about the lines of it and the cork that I liked. So I sanded it and stained it with a dark stain (Minwax Kona), gave it a going over with some paste wax, and BAM! Just what the blue table needed to be complete.

I think the tray is pine, but I'm not sure. I wasn't fond of the orange-y finish, so it was given a sanding and some darker stain. 

I think the table and tray turned out great. Plus, because of the cork bottom, the tray does double duty in acting as a coaster.

Accessories were also found at Goodwill. Except for the cute kid. He's my own unique creation. :)

Now if I could just figure out a way to make my offspring understand that pretty things go on the table and tray and dirty socks go in the hamper...

It's Time

It's time.

Time for decorating a gingerbread girl for the second grade hallway. (Each second grader received a gingerbread cutout to personalize. Mary called hers "Holiday Glam".)

Time for Electric Bethlehem. (As ever, our house is the least decorated on the block. But I'm okay with that.)

Time for family rooms to be finished. (I think the paint color may work out okay after all, now that the new curtains are up.)

Time for Gingerbread House Wars. (It started out with the store bought kit, but Maggie's beau wanted to be able to eat it, which, no, those kits are NOT for eating. So I pulled out stuff for him to make his own.  And the smack talk began.)

Maggie's beau used scissors to cut the gable ends of his house.  There were several failures before he was successful. He made a beeeellion crumbs.

Maggie and her friend "Notorious." They were serious about their house.

They were slamming each other and trying to steal each other's decorations. 

Notorious and The Beau tried to look like they were about to brawl. This photo took several tries, as every time they looked at each other, they busted out laughing. 

Time for hellacious messes left after Gingerbread House Wars are over. (To be fair, they did clean it up pretty well. I had to wipe down the counters again, but it could have been so much worse!)

And you? What's it time for at your house?

Of Paint, Cake, Horseshoes, Sleepovers, And Musical Geekery

I've been busy y'all. First, I spent a few days last week changing our dining-room-that-isn't-a-dining-room from this

to this. It's not done, by any stretch, but this is a little sneak peek. And I am so much happier walking by that room now than when it was the depressing yellowy beige/dark brown.

We also had a celebration. It was touching to watch my daughter who most of the time regards her dad as an obstacle to fun and a walking, talking lump of embarrassment decorate a cake for him to celebrate his belated birthday. She worked and giggled and he complimented her work. I told her perhaps she would be the next Ace of Cakes and she promptly rolled her eyes and told me to stuff it. Ahhh, love.

In addition to cake, we celebrated with these:

If you are from central Illinois, you will know this on sight. If not, let me introduce you to the artery-clogging deliciousness that is a Horseshoe Sandwich--toast, meat/shrimp (we usually do chicken), a super fab cheese sauce, and fries (the nails on the horseshoe). We don't have them often, maybe once or twice a year. They are usually the special dinner request of someone who is celebrating a birthday.

And then there was this:

The aftermath of my boys and two neighbor boys watching a pay-per-view wrestling match and allegedly sleeping over. I speculate that there was very little sleeping. Although when I came downstairs this morning, I found one boy asleep in the recliner, one on the floor, one on the air mattress, and James face down on the hardwood floor of the dining room whatever room, covered by his Steelers blanket laying down some z's, two televisions on,  and every light ablaze. I confess, it was a little like walking into a junior version of The Hangover minus the tiger in the bathroom.

I woke them with the call of these:

Later today, I will attempt to make King cake for tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, because it has made me happy in a music/science geek way, you should watch this.

Say What?

So I am, as my Granny used to say, knee deep to a tall Indian around here these days. I am in the midst of painting my dining-room-that's-no-longer-a-dining-room. It required me to move out the furniture, tape off all the trim, and prime the spots we patched and the very dark brown paint under the chair rail. Seriously, if there is a color sucking palette, the dark brown/yellowy beige that's going on in that room is it. Blergh. (Why yes, I am spending my Valentine's day painting. It's how I show my beloved, who is out of town for the week, that I love him. "Look dear! I did all this painting while you were gone because I love you" {said in my best Dug from "Up" voice} What? Don't you celebrate the international day of love with paint and primer? Well you should. It's way better than chocolate. Or something.)

Anyway! (Digression. It's what's for dinner.) (Or something.) (Parentheticals are my bestest friend.)

I wound up at the paint counter at Lowe's last night to get the paint I needed. After I told the gentleman behind the counter what I needed, I headed off to get the other supplies required for the job and then looked in vain for the ever elusive "looking glass" spray paint. (I swear this paint is my Bigfoot. Other people have found it and used it, so it must exist, but I sure can't find it. Someone point me in the right direction, please.) Then I headed back to the counter to see if my paint was done.

As I strolled up to the counter, the paint man muttered something and dropped a paint can lid.

"I'll be right with you," he said. "The nozzles on this machine got clogged and sprayed yellow paint everywhere and then I dropped this lid. Let me just clean this up right quick."

"No problem," I chirped. (Yes. I was chirping. It was my first time out of the house without a kid all day as Mary had been home sick. Pity me. I was at a home improvement store, and God help me, I was ecstatic!)

I waited, watching him clean up the mess. He did a quick clean up of the big splotches and then stepped up to the counter.

"How may I help you?" he asked.

"Um. You already did. I just need my paint,"

"Right. That paint spill got me flustered. Your paint is ready. Let me just clean off my hands. I want to have clean hands when I touch your can."

He stopped, winced, and apologized. "That didn't come out right. Sorry about that."

I was too busy laughing to answer.

And that? That little exchange is one of the reasons I blog.

Now excuse me, but I've got a gallon of Pebble Gray calling my name.

Before And After: Side Table

It's been a bit since I've had any before and afters to show. It's not that I haven't been on the hunt for stuff, it's just that the stuff hasn't been there for me to find. However, I did recently come across this table. I wasn't in love with the rattan, but I did like the lines. And I knew the rattan was something that a few coats of spray paint could fix.

Here it is before, sitting in our forlorn--but not for long--basement. (Okay, our basement will still be forlorn for a bit longer. But it's less forlorn than it was and it is the project that has my beloved's focus now, so you know. Hope, and all that.) That white stuff on it is primer. Because I had started in on it, having sanded and started to prime it before I remembered to take a "before" picture.

And here it is in our baby poop brown living room. Can you tell that I am tired of living with other people's decorating choices? Because actually, even though the room photographs baby poop brown, it's not. The brown is an okay color. In fact, it's very close to the brown we painted in the master bedroom of our old house. But that's the problem. I am OVER. IT. Done with the brown! In fact, if I were to show you the whole wall there, you would see white patches where my beloved (finally) filled and sanded holes from the previous owners' decorating decisions. Soon--perhaps as soon as next week!--I will be painting our dining room--can you call it a dining room when it no longer contains dining room furniture and instead has a couch, desk, t.v. and gaming system?

Hmm...I seem to have digressed. Have you gathered that I have my mind on several things? That other things are afoot in the decorating department? Yes. The table is nice. It fits the spot and was just what I needed.

For now. It may end up painted bright yellow and be an accent table in the dining-room-that's-not-a-dining-room somewhere down the road. Or not. I am nothing if not indecisive.

Plain Jane

Here is our "Peoria Showgirl."

She may be the Plain Jane of our street, but I like her just the same.

Photo taken during "the blue hour." Canon Rebel xti ISO 100, f/3.5, shutter 1.6

Another Letter, But This Time It's Official

We got a letter from our HOA last week stating that there had been a complaint about our lawn. It further stated that we were not in compliance with covenants if our lawn/weeds were overgrown and that we should take immediate action before the HOA was forced to take action at our expense. It then went on to say that if we had already done something about our godforsaken wilderness, abandoned lot that looked like squatters had taken over, statement to the neighborhood that we obviously descended from white trash and my lord what's next a couch on the lawn?, our lawn, that we could disregard this letter.

Don't you love that? Here, folks, read this letter that points to a passive aggressive streak in one of your neighbors. Then think about the ways that the HOA can reach into your wallet just because it can. Then feel shamed because obviously you are not worthy of living in this neighborhood. And oh yeah! Never mind.

ARRRRRRGGGHGHGHGH!!!!

Would you like to know what's wrong with our front lawn? Well, I'll tell you, but you have to keep it quiet. It's shameful. It might cause you to think less of me. Are you ready? Okay, here it is: dandelions.

Now, before you run away from your screens screaming and wailing and gnashing your teeth or doing an online search for sackcloth and ashes so that you might properly grieve this horrendousness, (Don't mess with me today spellcheck, I am totally declaring the wordness of "horrendousness." And, by the way, I'm declaring it for "wordness" too. So just shut it, spell check!) let me state for the record: WE HAVE DANDELIONS. Oh, Sweet Mother Jumper do we ever have dandelions.

But!

We have been working on those dandelions. We, and by that of course, I mean my Beloved, religiously spray them with killer and make them get all twisty and brown. Then we mow them down. We have even taken a bid on getting our front lawn re-sodded. But let me tell you what we, and by that of course I mean any of us in this household, DON'T do:

*We don't spend our kids' college funds on getting new grass. (Okay, so maybe that's a bit of hyperbole, but the bid still came in in the thousands. Thousands. For grass, people. Right now, we are just not willing to do the sort of fuzzy accounting that would justify it.)

*We don't go out and spend our time on our knees trying to dig dandelions out of the Indiana clay. We might spend time on our knees praying for sanity to deal with our neighbors--or even sanity for our neighbors--but we just aren't going to do that.

*We don't tell our children that they cannot play on the grass because then it wouldn't look nice and might be a violation of The Covenants. Yes, our front lawn is patchy. I'm sure some of it is due to children playing football and such on it. I'm also pretty sure that this lawn was utter crap when we moved in, after it sat neglected for two years. We have kids. They play. Our lawn will always reflect that. Thank God.

*We don't spend our waking hours critiquing the neighbors lawns.

Does our lawn look good? No. It's not what we'd like it to be, but it also, if we let it, would consume time and/or money that we aren't willing to invest in it right now.

Is it the worst on the block? Probably. But it doesn't look like an abandoned lot. In fact, once the dandelions get mowed, it doesn't look too bad. It's still patchy, but so are some other lawns.

Are my neighbors busybody crazies with too much time on their hands? I'm going to jump out on a limb here and say, um, Hell. YUP! I would respectfully submit that they put their rather large noses to work somewhere else.

Perhaps instead of lamenting the state of the lawn 15 yards to the south, they should start lamenting the state of some of the neighborhoods 15 miles to the south. Perhaps they could put their considerable skills to use in schools that never have enough help and kids who never have someone to listen or advocate for them. Perhaps they could work in a shelter for folks who don't have a home, let alone a lawn. Perhaps they could use some of the time that they spend worrying over the state of neighbors lawns volunteering with the Red Cross where they could worry over people who really need some worry and concern.

And perhaps monkeys will fly out of my butt and sing Jingle Bells. I know that they will not do any of those things, because those are hard things. It's hard to get involved in the lives of those who have less. It's messy to jump in and do the hard work of helping others and become involved in their lives. It's easy to sit on your highly manicured lawn and look down your nose at other people. Happens all the time.

Blogger was broken for a couple days last week and so I was unable to blog about this when I had a full head of steam. That's probably a good thing. It allowed me some space and perspective--two things that are almost always a good thing to have. I have to admit that I didn't have any grace. I immediately started to rant about this neighborhood and its relative unfriendliness and its competitive nature. I might have called the neighbors names that rhyme with "witch" and "hatspit" crazy. I bemoaned the fact that we have worked hard on improving this house and making it a nice place to live, but none of the neighbors would know, because none of them ever come over to chat when we are outside. I was full of self-pity and ready to heap abuse on my neighbors. But blogger was broken, so I couldn't.

And now, even though it makes such great blog fodder, I declare this the last post I will write about these neighbors. It doesn't do me any good to continue to focus on this stuff. I will continue to wave and be friendly. I will continue to pray for all the families in this neighborhood--especially when I don't want to. I (Beloved) will continue to work on the weeds and improve the lawn. And I will start to look for the positives in my neighbors. Short of murder--or something really funny--you'll not be hearing about them from me again. It just isn't worth it for me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit on my patio in my back yard. It's beautiful and lush and full of flowers. It's a pretty and serene place. And none of my neighbors can see it! Bwahahahahaha!!!

10 Life Lessons Learned From Painting

1. Preparation makes life easier.

2. Big changes don't always have to take big effort. Or big money or big time, for that matter.

3. Attention to detail counts.

4. Variety is important.

5. Sometimes you have to get dirty.

6. Working alone isn't always a bad thing.

7. Working with other people can make a task more pleasant.

8. Clean up after yourself.

9. Little things can make the people you love happy.

10. Pace yourself.

And two extra things I learned from painting that I think are important and can be carried over into other areas of life:

11. The right playlist on your ipod is essential for happily completing some jobs.

12. Always, always, always check the bottom of your shoes.

Something Is Wrong With This Picture. And It's Not The Pictures.

This is what is happening right out my back door:

Meanwhile, I am stuck inside painting. Sigh...

Before And After: Maggie's Room

Remember the creepy, evil, grinning sun? And the big purple flower?

They are no more!

Finally after several coats of Killz and a couple of coats of paint and lots of days of her furniture all being one big Pangaea-like island in the middle of her room, Maggie's room now looks like this:

Ahhhh...much better.

It's still not finished. I need to get some curtains and paint her furniture and possibly paint a floor canvas (Oops, tracked some spilled paint on the gross carpet. Totally an accident, even though my beloved says it was all a subconscious effort to speed up getting new carpet for the house.), get some shelving, figure out how to do some stuff with chalkboard paint, and oh, about a jillion other things. But! My daughter--who now has the same plague that I did--smiled and made happy noises when she came home from school and saw her room.

Those kinds of things are few and far between with fourteen year olds, so I'm holding on to it while I can.

Also, did you notice? No mention of dog farts or cats and hairballs. Um, until now, anyway.

Gone, Baby, Gone.

We have lived in this not so old house for two and a half years. I think that's long enough to live with someone else's decorating choices, don't you?

It took four coats of Killz, but the big purple flower, the giant, evil smiling sun, and the weird doves painted on the dirty yellow-green paint in Maggie's room are now gone.

My beloved will paint the ceilings when he returns from his business/ski trip. (He tried really hard yesterday when he called to convince me that I could paint the ceilings. I have no doubt that I could paint them. But I'm not going to. Nope. That's his job. That's why God made him much taller than me.) Then Maggie's room will get a fresh coat of paint. Stay tuned.

Today, it's on to the smiling motorcycle guy

and the crazy mustachioed flying ace in Sean's room.

These are cute and worked well when we moved in when he was 6, but now? Well, he's over it. Wonder how many coats it will take to cover them? Oh and I won't be finished. There's also a fire truck and police car on one wall, but his 1,000 pound bunk bed is in the way and I will absolutely NOT be trying to wrangle that bed around. That wall will wait for my beloved to come home.

Tomorrow I'll move on to the orange circus tent striped kids' bath. No. That isn't an exaggeration. I'll post those pics later.

Meanwhile, anyone know the name of a good masseuse? I have a feeling I'm gonna need one.