i never do this (portrait of a kitchen)

My sister (The Nester) recently blogged about my kitchen redo. What a novel idea, thought I. Who doesn't love a good before and after? She often writes of window treatments and her love of fabric (that she has so graciously passed onto me). I don't usually write about this type of thing, but with it being my kitchen and all, I thought it could be fun to post some significant shots of it before the love and after the love. So here we go. This was our kitchen on move in day, August of 2005.Please notice the lovely shade of dark mauve under the chair rail. Oh, and the sponging. What self-respecting woman in the early 90's didn't love a good sponged wall?
The bones of this kitchen were great, I thought. It just needed a little love.
And love it we did. First, we painted the kitchen Ivoire from Sherwin Williams. Actually, first we replaced the stove, but that's not as fun to talk about. Then we lived with it for a while. I talked a lot with The Nester about what I wanted to do in the kitchen. She encouraged me to look through magazines and find photos of what I really liked, realistic or not. It helped to think this way and get a feel for what my likes are. Sometimes I have a hard time with that. Then, I found this, my inspiration photo:
It's actually an ad for that stuff that's on the ceiling, but I didn't care about that. I noticed that the walls were the same color as mine and those cabinets looked great! And it also made me want a dog. And a friend. And coffee. But whatever.

I knew we couldn't replace the cabinets, so I just had to choose what color I wanted them to be. I decided black was the only way to go. I also liked the fact that the black made our dishwasher disappear. So we hired a friend to do the dirty work (you didn't think I did this all myself, did you?) and off we went. We also replaced the sink and the countertops, which was by far our biggest expense. Add a subway tile backsplash and here is the final product.
And another one with my butcher block/island included.

Here is a close up of the window treatment. I picked out the fabric and The Nester helped me hang it. I'll let her reveal her secrets. Let me just say it cost $10.
I found these bubbled glass knobs at Anthropologie. Love. Them. Oh, and by the way, we do have a refrigerator. I just had no before shots from that angle so I didn't bother taking any after shots of it either. Incase you were wondering.

Let's see that one more time, shall we?
We do have to replace our off white outlets with white ones, but other than that, we're pretty much finished. Now if we only had a dog...

different doll, same story

It's a paper strawberry shortcake doll and it came inside a pop-up book along with several other dolls like it. You can't change their clothes, brush their hair or move their arms. But these flat, 2-D, paper dolls have managed to hold their interest above Polly or Barbie or even Dora. I think I may have even wondered why out loud. And then, I remembered...

I was 8. Or 9. I may have been 10. Fine. I was 12. I remember looking through magazines and cutting out photos of models, then I would name them and make up stories about them in my head. Sometimes I would cut out photos of the same model with a different outfit on and pretend they were twins. Most of my characters came from JCrew magazines because my mom got that one free in the mail. One set of twins was Cameron Diaz before she was famous. I still think of that when I see her on TV and I like to think I saw potential in her before she was discovered. What? I know.

If someone were to walk into my room while I was playing, they would have seen me on my bed, sitting silently, staring at several piles of cutouts. I did not stand them up and make them talk to one another. I would categorize them into groups of friends, siblings, rivalries. The cutouts were merely reference for the stories I was writing for them in my head: their friendships, personalities, family ties.

I am willing to admit all of this to simply say this: a story is a powerful force. Nobody ever sat me down and taught me how to make up stories, or even suggested that I should. I was naturally interested in people and their stories, even people that only existed in my head. (And with that last sentence I'm certain I solidified the suspicion that you have undoubtedly been hiding, telling you that I am indeed crazy.) I have never taught my girls how to pretend. They just do.

I think all kids do this, just not in the same way. My sister, for example, would rather decorate the Barbie house than act out pretend scenes with me, which she freely admits on her blog. I remember being so frustrated as a kid playing Barbies with her because I wanted to play Barbies and she just wanted to dress them. And arrange their furniture. But it is the same idea. She was making up stories too, just not about the same things. She was imagining, creating, and playing in a way that interested her.

It also happend to make me crazy, but whatever. I had bigger things to worry about...like hiding the fact that I cut out characters from magazines. As a 12 year old. Yikes.

peace

Ahhh...I wish this for myself today. So warm, so snuggly, so...at peace. This baby is not mine, by the way (although I would take him in a heartbeat were the offer made). He wasn't this peaceful the entire time.

But still very sweet. I took these photos in my sun room next to a window because I know nothing about ISO or aperture or shutter speed so I just have to get near a window and hope for the best.

Nothin' like a paci and a mommy's touch to make a baby better.

a long way from Sweet Valley

I love to read. I didn't really have a good book mentor growing up, though. I just read whatever I could get my hands on. So instead of classics and meaningful, childhood literature, there was a lot of Amelia Bedelia, Ramona Quimby, and Sweet Valley Twins. And yes, later it was Sweet Valley High. I still can't hear the name Lila without thinking of snobby Lila Fowler which leads to red-headed Enid, sensible Elizabeth and Bruce Patman (who bears a strange resemblance to Tony Danza in my head.)

I was planning a post about some books I have read this year, but then I thought "Oh wait. I haven't read any books this year." Any. I've read paragraphs. And maybe even a few chapters here and there. Unless I can count Dora Goes to the Beach. But I don't think I can. So I was planning to reflect on some of the words I've read this year that have been meaningful to me. Then I checked out my friend Kari's blog and saw that she wrote a post about the books she's read. There were 13 of them...for January. Total, she has read 152 books. In a year. True business. I do not lie. I think she might be my hero. If I remember correctly, the entire Sweet Valley High series is about 152 books long. Not that I would know that.

So even though my repertoire is not nearly as impressive, here are a few books I have started and intend to finish this year.

Among my short list is a daily devotional by Brennan Manning, Reflections for Ragamuffins. I intend to continue to pick that one up from time to time. It should be called a "from time-to-time devotional".

Another is Choosing Rest and was written by a local author, Sally Breedlove. I've been in the process of reading it for several years now. I've not read it in order, which is sort of against all things I believe in (books should be read from beginning to end. There is to be no checking the last page to see if it ends well. Just as movies should be watched in the order intended by the creator ie: Star Wars Episode IV should always come before Episode I because that's the way it was intended. But I digress.)

I have a fond affection for Jane Austen. I read Pride and Prejudice a long time ago, then re-read it a few years ago and had a renewed love for the English language as well as a tendency to say things like "fond affection". So I've recently picked up Emma and look so forward to getting to know her.

Spinning Straw into Gold is a book I ordered this past summer and am most excited by it. It is by Jane Gould and the sub-title is What Fairy Tales Reveal About the Transformations in a Woman's Life. And since I spend a lot of time with princesses these days, this is a fascinating read so far. I've only read the first 2 chapters...but it oozes with quotable quotes.

There are a few other books I have picked up this year, but the covers weren't nearly as colorful and wouldn't have looked good in the photo above. I feel the need to confess that, what with all the warnings about judging and all.

best out of ten

Not kidding. I really did take 10 shots. This really was the best one. It was a fun party. No crying (at least not by any of my kids), no broken lamps (or bones, but you can see where my priorities lie), and lots of leftover cake. A success, I think.

Most importantly, our girls are another year older and we have another year of parenting under our belts...at least I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I still kind of think there should be some sort of "labor day" celebration for the mommies on the kids birthdays. I guess that's what Mother's Day is for. Way to make their birthday about me, huh? Let's turn our focus back to its rightful owners...

before and after

I love a good before and after shot. I ran across this website the other day that shows celebrities before their photos were tweaked and after (click on portfolios). In other words, before they took 15 pounds off Kelly Clarkson and after. Personally, I prefer her with the poundage...because that's her. (Course, if it were me, I'd be lovin' me some photoshop).

It's one thing to take out a stray hair or a booger...but to cut out half of someone's behind? That is extreme. Speaking of extreme before and after shots, I have a few of my own. I am a believer in offering real help to the helpless. Of offering hope where there would otherwise be none. Of taking before and after shots that are meaningful and honest and life-changing.

So here we go, straight from the pile of Christmas casualties. This is Ariel before...
And here she is after.
See what a difference I made in her life? I did not change her body type. I did not give here a smaller nose. I gave her hair where there was no hair. I took away baldness, people.

And here's another one. Polly before....
And Polly after.
Tada! What a difference a head makes, huh? She looks happier in this one.

So here's to extreme before and after shots. And if you're having a particularly rough day, just think: at least your hair didn't fall off and you still have a head.

tripping over the awesomeness

I've always enjoyed taking pictures. I have several photo albums filled with photos of me and my middle and high school girl friends. In recent years, I have developed a love for photography as an art as well as a way to document life, especially once I got married and had a family of my own. One of the (many) benefits of marriage is that you get someone to notice in you the things you are passionate about and then they want to help you to develop that.

Just 2 months before our wedding in 2001, The Man gave me one of the best birthday gifts ever: a Pentax ZX-7 35mm SLR camera (that he paid for with piles of change, but that's another post). Of course, by the next year, everything was digital. But I didn't care...and 3 months and 13 rolls of film later, we were back from our honeymoon with lots of awesome photos to remember it by. Like this one taken in Bar Harbor, Maine:
The original print is not so hazy...but in taking a photo of a photo, some of the brilliance is lost in the transfer. Here's another one from our 35 mm. This one is the Old North Church in Boston:
Once the world turned digital, I got a little Nikon...and I do mean little: it was the Coolpix 2100, 2.0 megapixels. But it was fun to experiment, download to the computer and then edit away. Like this one of my friend Diane.

And another one like it.

The idea of taking a photo and seeing it instantly was so amazing to me...not to mention being able to download it and then do something awesome like blur the edges! Wow!

But truth be told, I know nothing real about photography. Seriously. No. Thing. I know the basic stuff that most people know like how to turn it on, set it to auto focus and click. And I know enough from experience that I usually hate indoor photos, I rarely use the flash and close up is almost always better than far away. I know I have somewhat of an eye for the artistic...at least what is artistic to me. But sometimes I feel as though my hands are tied in certain situations...like if I just knew a little bit, it could take me so much further.

Last year, The Man got me a new digital camera, like, a real one. The Nikon D80. It has 10.2 megapixels. I hardly know what that means, but doesn't it sound awesome? And then for Christmas, he also got me a Nikon Speedlight SB 800. In other words, a big 'ole flash.... because even though I don't like a flash and rarely use it, sometimes it has to be done. Both the camera and the flash are chalk full of awesomeness. So much awesomeness, they sort of negate any awesomeness I have on my own and I start to feel un-awesome in their presence. Because people see me with an awesome camera and a big 'ole flash and they think I can like, take pictures with it. I sort of feel like a 5 year old standing in my moms fancy black high heels. They're really cool and in style, but I'm tripping all over the place and I need my nose wiped.

I hope to grow into this camera and its flash. It is definitely fun to learn. I'm sure I could learn a lot more if I like, read the manuals. Meanwhile, I'll continue to play and maybe get a few lucky shots along the way.

time is moving everything faster...

It takes four years to get through high school. Four years for college. (Theoretically). Imagine the years between your freshman and senior year...forever. At least, that's how it seemed to me.

Four years sure aren't what they used to be.

I have been weepy. I think this is when it started. The girls and I had some friends over yesterday. My dear friend, Melissa and her 2 kids. Here they are with River.
Melissa and I were pregnant at the same time and our due dates were only one day apart. Needless to say, these three have spent a lot of time together over the past four years. I took this photo on a whim...they were playing silly on the floor. As soon as I took it, I remembered. I rushed downstairs and pulled this out.
There they are at what couldn't be more than a few months old. And it hit me anew how consistently the days move on despite my efforts to hold on. So here I am feeling impossibly sentimental. If I am weepy as they turn four, can you imagine when they go to kindergarten? Begin to drive? Go off to college? Get....married?

I long to hold on, to keep their old clothes, to document with photos, to be sure I am able to remember. But even now, only 4 years later, the day of their birth is a foggy blue...sharpened into focus only slightly by looking at photos of the day or re-reading journals written in those wee hours between feedings and heavy, new-mom sleep.

I want to enjoy, to celebrate, to look ahead with hopeful anticipation of the women the Lord has made them to be by watching the little girls they are today. And I do. And I am proud. But there is a cloud. It is small and not overwhelming...but it is there. And I have a sense that with each birthday, it will get a little bigger. I so don't want to be the hovering, over-protective mother. But I can't deny the pull that does indeed exist...between holding on and letting go.

So with that semi-depressing thought, Happy Birthday girls. May you live life to the hilt with adventure and delight...and may your counseling bill not be too high when you inevitably realize all the issues you have because of your crazy mother.

html idiot

It had to be done. For many reasons, it had to be done. The first of which being I felt like I was being screamed at every time I clicked on my blog because the template I was using has ALL CAPS in the title and well, I just don't know anything about anything to know how to change that. Except to change the whole template.

So there you have it.

Besides, it's a new day...a new year. Let's just be new.

Now back to the code...Anyone know how to change the drab gray background? Why didn't I major in graphic design? What good is any other profession anymore?

Y2K8

Remember Y2K? New Years Eve 1999. The Man and I were dating and were downtown at a party. I remember the countdown and being surprised that the lights didn't go out and nothing exploded at midnight. I walked to the window to look out at the city, and everything was as it had been. I think I was kind of disappointed after all the fanfare, the months of speculation, that there wasn't even a flicker. This was us in the wee hours of the new millennium.
Four years and one wedding later, there were 2 babies on the way by New Years Eve 2003. My due date wasn't until February 18, but the twins were ready to come and I was camped out in the hospital, waiting for their arrival.
I have no shame. Seriously, who does this? Nobody is holding a gun to my head. I am freely sharing this photo with the world. Why am I doing this? I must be crazy. Or alone on New Years Eve because my husband has to work. Yeah, that must be it.

The twins came 2 days later. And January 2 forever marked my before and after; the space in between 'just me' and 'mommy'; the day held by neither side.

And so I am a bit of a sentimental sap. Because now, New Year's Eve no longer just represents the last day of the year. It is the day before the day before our lives changed forever. So I guess our dramatic Y2K came a few years late...our world was tilted on its axis a bit and all sense of control was lost with that first cry. I can't remember life before them. I can't imagine life without them.

I apologize for any nightmares you may have as a result of the above photo. And as long as I'm documenting New Year's Eve's, here's another from earlier tonight to take your mind of the alien stomach. And yes, that is a banana peel on my mantle. And a baggie of cheerios. And Christmas garland with all the froofroo taken out because I've only half-way un-decorated...The Nester would not approve. So happy new year to you. Now I'm off to plan a birthday party for a couple of four year olds.

mr. clean

Here he is on Christmas day. Just a few hours earlier, he had opened his gifts...or should I say 'gift'. That's right. The dust buster was a hit. A HIT, I tell you.

After a brief tutorial, he was ready.

He dust busted the toys.

He dust busted the ottoman...see how fast he goes? Look at him bust that dust!

He dust busted up.

He dust busted down.

He dust busted the kitchen table...

...with a respectable pause just long enough to check out the truck that daddy conveniently placed half-opened within his reach.

And then later, when it was time to snuggle before bed, well...you get it. [Please ignore the fact that he still uses a bottle before he goes to bed. I know he is 18 months old. I know he is going to have buck teeth. I know, I KNOW. But...he's a baby. He's my baby, my last baby...because I will not be pregnant again. (Notice how I recently included pregnancy in a list that also included depression, starvation, and homelessness. I do not want to be pregnant again.) ok. Brackets and parenthesis are over.]

So much for trucks. That truck was purple, anyway. Meanwhile, in other Christmas present news, there were 2 very happy little twins on Christmas night.
No, she's not scared of it. Yes, she did sleep with it. No, it isn't soft. Yes, it is made of rubber. And yes, it was covered with a pink blanket to keep it warm in the night.

do you see what i see?

This is Baby Luke. Yes, I think we will call him Baby until he finds a girl and gets married and has babies of his own. And maybe even after that. This is a rotten photo...the lighting and such. But it had to be posted for all to see. DO YOU SEE? My son is playing with polly pocket clothes. And loving it. It's nothing new, really. This morning he was walking happily along in pink, plastic high heels. He does surprisingly well in them. He is the classic over-looked, under-bought-for 3rd child. Boy toys are limited in our house. Poor baby.

I am happy to report that an assortment of trains, trucks and tools are waiting under our tree for his masculine delight. And a pretend dust buster. He loves the dust buster.

the not-so-silent night

It would have been a silent, holy night...that is, until Joseph threw up and Mary got a fever.

The girls had their Christmas play at preschool yesterday. (I use the word 'play' very loosely in this context...imagine it to be a verb rather than a noun). It was fun to watch as long as you remember that the actors are not even as old as the baking soda in the back of my fridge...way too old for baking soda, not so old for people.

So even though the cast was young and inexperienced, all the nativity characters were accounted for: a too-tall-for-her-age Mary; a small, red-headed Joseph; a donkey who walked on his hind legs. I spent the first 3 minutes of the play trying to figure out why Joseph had construction paper ears and who is that red-headed kid supposed to be? Jesus? Then the teacher motioned for the donkey to crawl and the scene became much more familiar.

My girls were the angels and there were sheep and 3 wise men and an inn keeper (the only one with actual lines). As chaotic as it was, I felt myself relax and watch the story retold through these little ones. It was enjoyable. The girls even posed for a photo after the show in their intricately designed costumes with their friend, Julia.
It wasn't until we were sitting down after the performance, eating our cookies with red punch when I heard it, the words that historically send me into a tailspin of anxiety and a strong tendency to overuse hand sanitizer: Joseph just threw up over there...and Mary has a fever. I immediately put down my punch that had mysteriously begun to taste like bile flavored kool-aid. I looked at John: We gotta get outta here. Quick.

And that's just what we did.

fly to my rescue and crash through the wall

I had a new friend come over this morning. She's the best kind of new friend. She brought me a really large coffee. From Starbucks. And cinnamon rolls. She is a mom as well, but her kids are in middle school. She asked me a question and I found myself excited to answer her because it was a real question that required real, cohesive thought. And I began to share from my heart about things I have learned and am still learning...and what I was saying was profound and smart and vulnerable...but for some reason she was not nodding thoughtfully. Rather, she was smiling, almost laughing. Why, you ask?

Turns out she was distracted by my pacing from one needy child to the next. As I was talking, evidently I also pried open one mouth, pulled one baby from the dining room table (4 times), settled 3 arguments, dressed 2 polly pockets and took 147 steps while pacing the floor and I didn't even realize it until she opened her mouth and said these beautiful words:

"There's a reason why the laundry doesn't get done."

And it was nice for someone who's been there to recognize that which I already know...that I can work hard all day and still get nothing done. The only proof that I worked at all is my sore back, tired feet and, of course, piles of laundry...if that even makes any sense.

So here I am at 8:30 pm and it feels like midnight. Blinking takes effort. I'm tightly clinching my jaw as I type and I. can't. stop. This life is exhausting. And I'm not even sick or pregnant or depressed or dying of starvation or homeless. But I still need a hero. Good thing I've got one.

I've thrown myself headlong into Your arms -
I'm celebrating Your rescue.
Psalm 13:5 The Message

How life-giving it is to know I have someplace else to throw myself headlong into other than my bed. Besides, it isn't made and the sheets are dirty.

title quote from Chris Rice's I Need a Hero

sisterly love

o little town

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the thousands of Judah, Yet out of you shall come forth to Me the One to be Ruler in Israel...And this One shall be peace.
Micah 5:2,5

It was last year about this time. I was driving and thinking, a rare moment alone in the car....trying to sort through the difference in my head between what was true and what was simply a product of my often over-active emotions. I was stuck in a dark place where the idea of the hope and joy of Christmas seemed to be an illusion at best. I had Christmas music on in the background and the second verse to this song struck me in particular.

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv'n!
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heav'n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

And in that moment alone in my car, the reality of Christmas and the hope of all believers seemed to connect for me like never before. Because there was a real day when a real baby was born in a real stable from a real woman. And He was a real human and a real King who came to bring real life. So I celebrate the day He was born to die so that I might have life. Not just life forever with Him, but life on this real day, in my car, in the midst of my emotional rut...He offers me the choice of death or life, conflict or peace, hope or despair. Without Christmas, there would be no choice...defeat would be my only option.

What a beautiful thing to celebrate the birth of a King who offers so much, who is so much...to remember that from that little town that wasn't even big enough to be included among the clans of Judah would come One who is called Peace.

As I continued to drive, it began to seem as though she was singing about me and not a little town called Bethlehem. Small, insignificant... yet among the sometimes dark streets of my soul shines His everlasting light. He chooses to be born in me, to reside in the manger of my heart so that life and peace are made available to me in limitless supply.

my day in pictures

These are the cinnamon rolls I made this morning with Alisa. I am considering it to be a trial run, as my mom and sister and I are planning to make them just before Christmas. Of course, I will be 15 pounds heavier by then, as this recipe makes 8 tins of rolls. While they were cooking, I took a few photos for some friends' Christmas card.
I think that was a good one. Then I headed over to my sister-in-laws house for her birthday. She's married to John's brother. Here they are in Spain on their wedding day 4 years ago.
John's mom and sister and I helped her decorate her house for Christmas. She mentioned she was so glad we enjoy decorating, because she certainly doesn't. I asked her what brings her joy to the same extent. And in her thick, Spanish accent, she answered me, "Studying. I love to study." I suppose that's why she's the university professor with 2 masters degrees and I'm the one with the cute house. And I guess when you love to study and don't care about decorating, then you also don't care when your husband builds a putting green in your backyard. Don't believe me?
There it is, baby. Green in all its glory. But back to my day. The girls had fun with their cousin, as always.
Then later, when we came home, we had carolers. We've never had carolers....some freshmen girls from the youth group. And it was great, albeit a bit strange to have people singing to me on my porch. But great. And they left these behind.
And, unfortunately, they're gonna be ON my behind. Along with 8 tins of cinnamon rolls. At least Santa will have some company.

all i want for Christmas

And so it begins. I went Christmas shopping yesterday and it kind of snowed. I mean, it was 40 degrees out so I have no idea how it happened. And you had to look really hard to actually see the snowflakes. But it did snow. I took that as a good sign. I had high hopes for my shopping outing. After all, expectations were extremely high...here is the request list I had to work from:

Twin B:
three dinosaurs
one farm
one dollhouse
a small boat

And shorter but no less complex...

Twin A:
three Diegos
rainbow hair

The rainbow hair is no joke. She tells me she wants her hair to be every color of the rainbow (with brown on the sides). Whatever happened to a pair of skates? A dolly? Two front teeth? Needless to say, Wal-Mart was fresh out of live dinosaurs.

a follow up

Attention everyone. I just received this important document via email from my sister. If it makes no sense to you, then read this. Regardless, I have to ask...which mask do you think is better? And though I know this photo offers incriminating evidence to the contrary, I do have a neck...for the record.

thankful in all things

They come into the world helpless to feed themselves, to clothe themselves, to control their own bladder. They are dependent on us for everything. And everything they have needed has been provided. It has been a tough road with twins and a baby (who is really not a baby anymore, but that's another post). It has been a challenging, exciting, blessed four years. And it is sweet, because at the ages they are now, they still think we know everything, can fix everything, can make everything better. I like that they think that.

But it is hard work knowing everything, fixing everything, making everything better. It's a thankless job in many ways. A great job, but a thankless one.

So when it comes time for them to verbalize to their preschool teacher what it is they are thankful for, I am tempted to take offense. But all I can do is shake my head and smile.