bye, bye kid. hello man.

Saturday night I had 5 oreos, a bite of chocolate cake and 4 chicken nuggets for dinner. I bought coco puffs for the first time in my life and watched chic movies like 27 Dresses and Christy. I've stayed up way too late with Monica, Rachel and Phoebe and spent hours catching up on all those wonderful blogs I love so much.

But it was time to see the man again. When he is gone, I turn into a kid. During the day, I am mom and grown up for the most part. But once the kids go down, I am so kid. By myself without another grown up, I watch stupid things and read sporadically and flit from one meaningless project to another. I clean the kitchen obsessively but forget to take out the trash. I leave on every outdoor light and forget to turn them off in the morning. I sleep with my cell phone and eat too much chocolate. But I already mentioned that.

Needless to say, nine days is too long to go without him. And I couldn't talk about it here because all the killers who read my blog would have come to get me. Well put your guns away, because He's back now.

I will miss my girl nights with me and myself, but I will not miss the 47 pounds I won't be gaining now that he's returned.

Welcome back real food and reasonable bedtimes. And welcome back to The Man.

We have certainly missed you.

an unlikely voice

The life of my grandfather was one of discontent. An often grumpy man, his days were filled with the sound of his own mumbled complaints muffled only by the mind-numbing applause of The Wheel of Fortune. It seemed there was little that pleased him.

He smoked brown cigarettes, long and thin and drank all his life until he realized he was an alcoholic and decided to quit. He became extremely active in AA and had a few years of sobriety before his body betrayed him, worn down from years of alcohol abuse.

He died in June of 1993. I was 16.

Even in the midst of his cloudy unhappiness, I believe Grandpa enjoyed his grandchildren. Every now and then, Grandpa picked us up from school in his faded yellow car. My sister and I sat on the cracked vinyl, hot in the back seat and made awkward conversation with him, painfully aware of the generations that separated us. Upon arriving at his house, Grandpa would lead us into the kitchen, push the permanent piles of mail and newspapers aside and offer us a snack: two hard cookies, brown on one side, yellow on the other with white cream in the middle. He would then burn the popcorn and season it with Krazy Mixed-Up Salt, served up in plastic bowls.

It seemed to me that he tried hard to make us feel comfortable. I felt guilty for wishing he would just give us a Popsicle or a cupcake. So I ate, compelled to action by an internal sense of compassion and pity that I didn't understand.

Surprisingly, Grandpa was one person who encouraged me in my writing. Maybe underneath the alcohol and layers of hurt and damaged relationships, he was a writer himself. I don't know that to be true, but it could have been, I suppose.

For my birthday, he gave me two magazines on creative writing. I still have them somewhere. He also cut an article from the local paper about a girl my age who had won $25 in a writing contest. I assumed he thought I could do something like that. He folded it carefully and sent it in the mail, writing in capital letters: Emily, It’s not what it says, although that’s important. It’s the writing. Grandpa.

I still have that, too.

I don't know much about the demons that haunted my Grandpa all those years. I don't know what caused him to make decisions that would bring pain and heartache into the lives of those he was called to protect. The way I see it, he didn’t know Jesus, didn't cherish his wife, and never learned how to show affection. Had he made different choices, his legacy could have been beautiful and life-giving. But in the midst of his confused priorities, he chose to see me, even if only in part. He noticed me even though noticing people did not come naturally for him. He appreciated my writing and encouraged me to do it often and to do it well.

Is encouragement coming from an unlikely voice in your life? Sometimes its hard to see the good when the bad hurts so much. But it is sweet to realize that the Lord uses all types of people in all kinds of ways to inspire courage within us.

wanna win something?

My friends Melissa and Randy are are launching their business website for Rekoncile Design. Some of you know Randy, but you don't know it yet. He is the talented craftsman who painted our cabinets black and installed the subway tile in our old kitchen. If you are local and need something handy done, then patient, hardworking, top-notch Randy is the one to call.

In honor of their website launch, Melissa and Randy have decided to celebrate by giving away a monogramed bag. I know, what does an adorable bag have to do with house remodeling? You'll just have to go to their site to find out.
All you have to do is leave a comment at A Resting Place. I have to warn you, though. I really want to win. I almost didn't link here because that lowers my chances. So, you know, GAME ON. Also, if you have a sleeping baby nearby, turn off your speakers...because girl just wants to have fun. Loudly.

click to enlarge

This is how I prove to the world that I actually am a member of my own family, as I am always behind the camera and never in front of it. Behold, the self-portrait. See me?

sam, this one's for you

I know we are all special. I know there can never be another you. But I gotta tell you, if there could be another you, I am totally the girl to figure out who it is. Of the many disorders I have revealed in this space of mine, I'm not sure I've shared with you my obsession with discovering your look-a-like.

I met Ellen Page at the conference last weekend. You know, from Juno?

No, of course not really. But I did meet Sam from The Listeners Post. She is Ellen Page's twin in real life I think. Hil. Arious. She looked really familiar so we played the name game until we figured out the loose connection we have. (She went to college sort of in my town. Sort of.) Then later I realized it was probably the whole you-look-just-like-Ellen-Page thing that caused me to think I knew her.

Sam is so much fun and I was disappointed that I didn't get a photo of her at SheSpeaks. Actually, I'm kind of lying. I did get a photo of her.
I call this one Stalker With A Great Zoom Lens. I'm definitely climbing up the bff ladder in her book for posting this, I'm sure.

Sam is another one of the surprise gifts I received this weekend. She kept us laughing at the conference which is always a plus for me. More than that, she allowed herself to be moved by God's hand and she didn't let fear keep her from being vulnerable at His feet. I like that.

Let's hear it for Sam! And is there anyone else out there who never sees a unique face because everyone you meet looks like someone you already know?

unpacking treasure #4

I will be posting more about SheSpeaks in the days to come. Some of you have asked for more details on the conference and I would be ever so glad to share them with you. For now, I simply had to reveal another unpacking treasure, as it has been my traveling companion for several weeks now.
Enough with the Glamour Gals and Barbie turkeys, I've finally found a treasure that is worth more than sentiment. When we bought our camera last year, it came with 2 lenses. I used the 18-55 lens because it was more practical. Somehow, this 55-200 lens got pushed into the sock drawer. And then disappeared forever.

Or so I thought.

Until Alisa showed up one day with her zoom lens and I saw the photos she took with it and all of a sudden, I couldn't sleep until I found that lens. Which was bad because I couldn't find that lens. But then we moved. And everything turns up when you move.

Allow me to demonstrate the wonderful-ness that is the zoom lens. This was the view from my seat at a dance recital.
With treasure #4, I can see faces, fingers and expressions.

Then there's the wedding. It is always a waste to take photos during wedding ceremonies. First, the lighting is rarely good. Then, there's all the heads. Not to mention I'm never close enough. This was our view at a wedding recently.
Can you even see the bride and groom? Pull out the zoom lens, and they magically appear.
I watched nearly the entire wedding with one eye squeezed shut, looking through my viewfinder, snapping photos as I went. I felt like a spy. A friendly, invited spy. But still.

I'm so glad I found this treasure lens!

she spoke, she wrote

Well, SheSpeaks is over and I am overwhelmed in many ways. Mostly good ways. It is humbling to realize how much I don't know about things, but I am also equipped to learn more about that which I am passionate. Namely, writing.

I enjoy writing. Have I mentioned that here before? I sat in workshops about writing, taught by women who have written all their lives, surrounded by women who love words. It was divine. It was exciting, scary and divine.

No one had rocks in their pockets. The women in my peer review group were gracious and helpful. They made some great suggestions as well as encouraged me enough that I'm almost convinced I'm not crazy.

During the main sessions, I had a sweet glimpse of the Father's heart toward me. He is gracious, patient and kind. He has brought a sense of clarity in the foggy mess that is my mind these days. And He is excited, too.

Finally, this thought: I always think the best gifts are the ones we don't expect. Especially when they come from God's hand.
This is Karla, Megan, Jami and me. We knew each other vaguely through our blogs before the conference, which is how we connected once we got there. And oh, how we did connect. As much as I love words, I can't think of any to describe how thankful I am for them this weekend.

When I signed up for this conference, I didn't know a single person attending. I didn't expect to make friends, much less friends who are funny, who watch The Office, who love words as much as I do, who aren't afraid to cry in public. What a blessing to discover these comment box robot people not only exist, but they are vibrant, emotional, beautiful women with real lives, real kids and real faith. I'm so glad I met you, friends.

she speaks, she writes

There's nothing like paying for a sitter so that you can go to the Panera parking lot, eat lunch on your lap, contort your body to type on the keyboard that has mayonnaise all over the "w" and update your blog by mooching off their wi-fi. Not because you don't have internet access but because you have 3 kids.

There's also nothing like having people walk by your car, see you on the computer and think you are doing something important. But really you are just desperate for some time alone and for a place to speak it. Which I guess is important after all.

I know I could go inside. But there are people inside. So I sit here in my car with mayonnaise on my keyboard, thinking about why I write and those of you like me who write because you can, because you want to, because if you didn't, you would be denying a part of yourself.

And I think about blogging and how it is a place for those of us who love to write and kind of sometimes have something to say but don't have to have an agent or risk rejection to do it. And we can be the editor, publisher, AND the author and use all the run-on sentences that we want. And begin lots of fragment sentences with conjunctions.

It's all very egocentric, really.

I'm going to She Speaks tomorrow. It's a conference held by Proverbs 31 ministries to encourage and equip women who speak, who lead and who write.

I will be among those who write.

I signed up back in February and, like a raving mad lunatic, also signed up to be in a peer review group. That's when you bring something you've written and let other people read it while laughing and pointing and throwing rocks at you. Who would sign up for a peer review? Why am I subjecting myself to the madness?

Some of you I will see there, I know. I look forward to meeting you, as long as you kindly leave your rocks at home.

imperfectly beautiful

The Nester is hosting a party over at her place, posting photos of things that aren't perfect but still beautiful. And she's asked us to do the same. I was going to post a photo of my laundry room all lived in and dirtied up, but then I thought: Who wants to see photos of other peoples dirty laundry? Don't answer that.

I'm discovering that I feel the same about taking photos as I do about writing. I've always said that one reason why I write is because it's hard for me to know what I think unless I write it down. Kind of a pain during an argument, but whatever. Taking photos is a lot like that for me.
When I have a camera in my hand, it forces me to be observant, to notice everything and not just the main event. Each snapshot has a little story to tell. Simply, beautifully, the photo speaks long after the event is over. And when I look through my photos, I am able to form a more complete picture of the event as a whole by piecing together all the little things.
One of my favorite things to do is to bring my camera to weddings and capture all the things that the bride and groom don't have time to notice. They've hired a real photographer to get all the "perfect" shots of family and wedding party and main event type stuff. But I would rather get the fun stuff, the real life stuff, the stuff that is imperfectly beautiful.
A bride is always beautiful, even when all she's doing is leaning into her getaway car, popping balloons with a safety pin.
The parents of the bride are always beautiful, too. Here they are just after the couple drove away...windblown hair, not a suit jacket in sight. Can you imagine what is on their minds at this very moment?

I'm thankful to the Nester for giving us the chance to remember all the things that are beautiful though far from perfect. In a way, that kind of makes them perfect after all.

And one more thing.

unpacking treasure #3

I'm half-asleep in my bed this morning when I hear the pitter-patter on my hardwood floors. It's my girls coming to wake me up. And they want something.

"Mommy," says the soft voice in my face, "will you put this on her?"

She is holding a Polly Pocket in one hand and a pink shirt in the other. I grab the doll and begin the process of forcing the rubber clothes on her without opening my eyes. But something isn't right. What's going on? Have Polly's hips...gotten wider?
I finally managed to stuff her new curves into the pink outfit (we women know how to stuff the curves). Then I opened my eyes, and I saw this. This is no Polly, people. This is a genuine 1982 gal of glamour. Better known as simply, a Glamour Gal. She is one of three that I have leftover from the early 80s. I don't know what happened to the rest of them. Or the ocean liner that went with them. Somehow in all the unpacking, she has turned up.

Welcome to the 21st century, Glamour Gal.

This chick has all the Polly doctors scratching their heads. Why, you ask? Check her out.
She is a Polly of unbelievable proportions. An Amazon Polly. A Pituitary Polly Giant. She's HUGE. Yet, not. Take her neck and hands for example, as shown here.
That long, delicate neck makes all the other Polly's look like Rachel Ray. And her hands are so small, those Polly mittens would fall right off. She is tall with wide hips and an over-sized bust, but her waist is tiny and her little nub feet...they wouldn't support her on the moon, much less here with all this gravity. Time has not looked kindly upon her hair, but she has somehow managed to keep her youthful figure.
These Polly's may have smiles on there faces, but don't let that fool you. They are not one bit happy about this Gal being around, stuffing her curvy self into their Polly clothes. They won't even look at her. All the attention the Pollyrazzi have been giving her is bringing out the worst in them. And that reality show gig she's been offered may be the last straw.

my first (and second) kitchen

I've been thinking a lot about home lately and about why I enjoy being home so much and what things cause me to enjoy it more than others. There are those days when I want to be anywhere BUT home. Stressful days. Sick days. Whiny days. But even on those days, I've discovered one of the things that makes those days just a little bit better.

Wanna know what that is?

It's if I have dinner planned. I know it's small. But really, it isn't. Because meals are such a tangible way to care for and love my family. And spending time in the kitchen is so much more enjoyable when I've thought through why I'm there.

Enter my friend Kendra. She is has been married for 5 years, bears a strong resemblance to Martina McBride and is just generally fabulous. She loves to be home. More than that, she loves to make her home. And a lot of that making happens in her kitchen.

So guess what she did? She started a business. It's called My First Kitchen and she teaches people how to cook. Whether you are a young bride, an empty nester or even a MAN, she has a little something for everyone. And she does it all from her own kitchen. She's for real too...licensed and everything.

I figure a girl has to cook. Why not be good at it? Why not make it fun? Why not take a cooking class?

So I took a class with Kendra on how to make your own pizza. And then I did make my own pizza with my girls and it worked. It actually worked. So I took another class with Kendra on items to make for a brunch. Here is the blueberry scone with lemon glaze that our class made together.There was more than one scone, just to be clear. But this is the one that I ate. And it was divine.

Even more than the really great food we made (and ate), I am drawn to my friend because she took her love of home and food and all things cooking and she is building something that wasn't there before. (Is anyone else singing Beauty and the Beast right now?) When I asked her how she learned to cook, she said by watching lots of cooking shows, reading lots of recipes and by making (and eating) lots of mistakes. Nothing like eating your mistakes to force you into some skill. And fast.

Now don't try to lie. If I know you like I think I do, when you saw the title of this post you thought I was going to post photos of my kitchen. That will come. I will also bet you're wondering how much Kendra really does look like Martina McBride.

So go ahead. Check her out.

the office: a history

I know I've not been that great at showing photos of our house like I said I would. Part of it is because I want to wait until everything is done and unpacked before I show it. But at this rate, that may never happen. Ever.

So here we go. If your name is Nester like my sister, then you can move into an already cute house and nest it all up and show photos of that and everyone ooo's and ahhh's because you are just that good at the nesting. If your name is Nester's sister like mine is, then you have to go out and find a house built in 1963 and take before photos so that your after photos look that much better.
Take this, for example. This is what the office looked like when we walked through the house for the first time. It also looked like this when we closed on the house because we are lunatics and let the previous owner leave all the trash to keep the price down.
I stood on the built-in desk for this one. Yes, that is an old copy machine. And no, of course it doesn't work.
Here it is a bit more cleaned up. What I haven't told you yet is that this office is actually the laundry room. But they were using it only as an office. Where did they wash their clothes, you ask?
In the kitchen, of course. Right next to the fridge. Duh. The after photos of that will come later. Apparently the woman who lived here before me had magic clothes that never got dirty. How else could she avoid having piles of dirty laundry on the kitchen floor? Besides, I would end up pouring marinade in the washer and downy on the chicken. But that's just me.

The first thing we knew we had to do was hook up the washer and dryer back in the laundry room. When the house was built, that was the purpose of that room and someone along the way turned it into an office. The plumbing was already there just waiting to be used again.
Remember the 1963 orange cabinets?
All was did was paint them. We didn't even replace the old hardware, as there are 21 knobs and pulls in there and it just isn't a priority. I don't even think they look that bad now that the cabinets are white.
I originally considered taking out the built-in desk. But once I saw it painted, I changed my mind. It's so handy!
Notice I took some time to mistreat the window with my $10 fabric, a handful of upholstery tacks and some sage advice from the Nester. Speaking of sage, the wall color is Svelte Sage from Sherwin Williams in case you were wondering. Here's one last look at the before...And the after.
Now I can fold my laundry while listening to Billie Holiday and checking my email. All I need is one more arm. Or two.

a reason to celebrate

The Nester and her family came to visit this weekend. They just moved from their old neighborhood (which also happened to have a community pool aka: GOLD MINE). So they've been hot, which she recently posted about here.
Nothing a hose and a couple of Rubbermaid storage tops can't fix.This one was especially glad to have her boy cousins in town. She is all about some action. They were all here because somebody turns 2 today.
It seems like just last week I was writing this post. And now poof...it's been 2 years. I haven't had a lot of time to sit and think about the past 2 years since he made our little family complete. I tend to need lots of time to think and process before I can truly appreciate how crazy blessed I am. For now, I am simply thankful to celebrate life with family. And cake. And Rubbermaid tops.

*sigh*

I have 12 drafts sitting in my post list.

12.

I have a lot on my mind but nothing to say. And so I have started 12 posts but am unable to finish a one. Which is strange because I don't normally have this problem. I also don't normally post on a Friday night.

But coming your way soon are before and after photos of our office/laundry room and my take on housecleaning and a google search that has had me rolling.

Oh. And a Barbie that looks like Conan O'Brien. But I think it's just me.

unpacking treasure #2

It always started the same way: we would spread out all the Barbies in the middle and pick. Then, after we had chosen who we were gonna be, we would spread out the little junk in the middle and pick that, too.
Leave it to the twins to find my box full of little junk. They came to me together, each holding one side of the box, saying to me in unison: "Mommy...can we play with this?" Why was my first response no?I'll tell you why. Because of the turkey. And the pie. That's why. They are just so small and so cool and so wonderful. Can 4 year olds really appreciate the fancy "china" Barbie plate? Do they know how to use a tiny veggie tray?
For a minute I was 8 again, protective of my stuff, not wanting little kids to mess it all up. But then I came to my mommy senses and realized they are the reason I saved all this stuff in the first place.

Turns out 4 year olds are pretty keen on what to do with a pretend turkey. In fact, they did it for over 2 hours. A treasure indeed.

unpacking treasure #1

I have been finding some really great treasures over the past few weeks. Part of that is because I still have boxes from our last move that I haven't exactly gone through. This time, though, I'm trying to focus on actually getting rid of things we don't need or want. And so I open boxes and bins that haven't been touched in a few years. And then I find this:
It is actually one of several like it. I would tell you how old I was when this was written, but then I'd have to move my family out of state and beg the CIA to enter us into the witness protection program.

More to come.