Can I build it? No, I can't.

I've had a spectacular week 'helping' my husband with the remodeling. My poor husband, he has a problem. Number one, he's super detail oriented; two, he doesn't have a whole lot of spare time. I figured I'm his perfect solution! I have TONS of spare time, and, well, I'm not super detail oriented, but who needs details, right? They just stand in the way of progress. My husband had a day off, and boy, was I raring to help! The problem was, there wasn't any job that he'd trust to me! I insisted on helping, so he let me install sheet rock while he painted with a fancy new paint sprayer. I hadn't done it before, but how hard could it be?Harder than it looks, apparently.

After experiencing the splendor of my building skills, he decided I could paint. He bit his lip as he handed the sprayer over to me. "It'll be fine, I can DO this!" I told him. Everything was fine, until I was about halfway done. Suddenly, instead of a fine mist, the sprayer started spitting at the wall! Undeterred, I wiped up the drips with a foam brush, and kept up with my work. (I'm very diligent, you see) Then instead of a hissing sound, the spray gun started swearing at me with this ACK, ACK, ACK! sound. That was it for the fancy new sprayer. All our efforts to clean and revive it failed. We lost a good tool that day.

I didn't give up. Ordinary people would be crushed by these failures, or maybe they just would have read the tea leaves and gotten a clue. Not me, I kept going. We still had a handy-dandy paint-roller-pump-dispenser, and no I didn't kill it. I painstakingly painted the bathroom ceiling with this thing. My shoulders were killing me, and I was almost out of paint. All it needed was the final coat. My sweet husband impressed upon me the importance of rolling the paint in only one direction for this last coat. Anxious not to mess this one thing up, I failed to notice that there wasn't enough paint coming out of the pump, and I painted stripes in the drying, still-tacky ceiling. Blast-a-matic!

This wasn't my week for construction brilliance.

Despite my help, the work is progressing. The tile is laid, mortared and waiting for grout in the powder room,
The paint is pretty much (cough) done is the master bath, and hardy board laying has begun.

Here's the shower, and the ADA height, unpluggable toilet will be where my now paint-covered dining room chair is. How did my dining room chair become a paint ladder? I have no idea, ask Mr. Details. Our bedroom sheet rock would be a lot farther along if some idiot hadn't messed up a big piece of it that had to be redone. Some people!

That plastic sheeting opens up to my current bedroom, and I'll be plenty happy when that's closed off. My boys have taken to using that as a door when I lock mine. They come bursting in while I'm dressing, and I take great satisfaction in their howls of dismay. "You'd better knock if you don't want to see this" I calmly tell them.

This is what I'm looking forward to the most:

I can totally spy on the neighbors now.

If I want to be able to spy on their garden (and I do) I'll need to do a little trimmin' on the pine tree. We have a chainsaw, I bet it wouldn't be too hard (snicker).

I'm looking forward to this too:My bathroom tile. The tile I chose for the picture looks mostly blue-grey, but the main color is the rusty mocha brown you can see in the trim. I love these colors, they're so serene. So there you go, this is what has been devouring our every spare minute the last two and a half months. If all goes well, we should have two (!) toilets in about a week. I think I'll declare the new powder room a ladies only rest room.

The Day My Heart was Ripped into a Million Tiny Pieces

It was Monday, the first day of spring break. This was THE DAY- the one I'd been anticipating for a very long time. Swimsuit shopping day. As I've discussed before, I'm cheap. I won't spend much money on myself, but I will spend gift certificates. I'd been hoarding, and had built up eighty dollars in Macy's credit. Add that to what I'm actually willing to spend, and that should get me something cute!
I had visions of a halter tankini, 'squishy-up' and 'sucky-in' in all the right places. The dream suit. I've been working out since August. If there was ever a time for the ideal body and the ideal suit to meet, a perfect storm of perkiness if you will, this was it.
It was also my husband's day off, so we were busy. We painted bathrooms half the day, fed four missionaries, and got everyone busy cleaning up. The mall was closing in a couple of hours when I grabbed my purse, and scampered off to my desk to get the precious loot.
Only they weren't there. Nothing was there! My desk was clean! The blood fled my face, and I rifled through my cubbies frantically muttering "They're not here! I could swear I left them right here!" My husband sauntered by and pulled out a paper from his wallet. "I found this on the floor while I was cleaning yesterday, is this what you're looking for?" It was one of the eight ten-dollar certificates. "This is ONE of them," my voice began to rise dangerously.
"Were the others in that big envelope from Macys?" he asked, sensing danger, "because I threw that away". I remembered in a flash that they were indeed safely in the envelope. Shoot. But hope would not die so easily. "The trash! It's not garbage day." I dash out the door and peer with scrunched-up nose into the smelly bin.
"Sorry, it looked like a statement, so I shredded it."
"Shredded it?"
That was when it happened.

Riiipppp.

All my hopes, my dreams, my perfect storm of cuteness was gone, just like that. Torn from me, into a million tiny pieces.

So what did I do? Let me just say that I am a very patient woman. Really. But this was too much. My house has been torn up for almost three months. All that time, I've been sharing a manky ghetto toilet with 7 guys. I've had no closet for two weeks. In fact, only the non-family members have closets. Take a second to consider what that's done to the laundry situation!

I lost it. I started spouting off things about who does the paperwork, and who has no business touching said papers, and shoving things off my dresser. The tote of summer clothes, the box of scarves, the bag of my husband's childhood marbles, you name it, it went flying. It was very therapeutic. Before long, my rage subsided, and working together, we had a 100 pound bag of stuff to give to Goodwill.
I organized a heaping mess that used to be a bookshelf before someone else's closet got emptied out on it. I found so many books we'd read as a family that I'd forgotten about. It was like going back in time! So, here are a few of our favorites:

Fascinating context, valuable lessons.

Unspeakably profound

Intriguing premise, very well written. You can't go wrong reading anything by Cornelia Funke.

You'll want to pack your bags and see Venice after this one.

Absolutely beautiful. You'll never see celadon pottery the same way again.

An amazing WWII story, hopeful and inspiring.

These two will make you laugh so hard milk will squirt out your nose. Mental images from these books will be with me forever.

England in the dark ages, what's more fun than that? Superbly done.

Another milk squirter.

You'd think the whole 'little talking mouse' thing has been done to death. At least, I did until I read this. It's surprisingly profound. Wonderful story.

There you go. You all are now the beneficiaries of my own private tragedy. I just hope it was worth it. If just one of these books touches the heart of just one of you, I guess it was. Or maybe not.

Curse You and Your Long Arms!

He wailed as I steamrolled across him on his bed. My twelve year-old son had the prize is his grasp, held as far away from me as possible. He's getting stronger every day, but not strong enough to hold on to the book we're both in the middle of reading. See, it's bedtime. And he needs his sleep. I did what any caring mother would do. Any loving mother would tackle her son, squish him to goo and pry the precious book from his desperate fingers. Then she would wade across the room with him clinging stubbornly to her ankles, and climb up the stairs on her hands and knees as the hem of her jeans rip. She would emerge at the top of the stairs, book held aloft with the wild glee of triumph in her eyes. It's for his own good, it is after all, bedtime. And it's a dang good book.

Hey Jude

Houston, we have a problem.

Double pneumonia, and an allergic reaction so serious that I had to leave the Dr.'s office with an epipen, and keep one on me at all times.

My GQ six year-old has asthma. We knew that. He's been coughing for a few weeks, we assumed it was because of all the construction dust. Yesterday morning, he looked really worn down and was running a temp. I decided to keep him home and get him into the Dr. It's a good thing I did! I came home reeling and feeling like the world's worst mother for not seeing the danger signs earlier. I was greeted by a change in construction plans. It was my husband's day off, and did he ever have plans! Remember our toy room with the climbing wall, secret door, rope swing and tree fort? Gone. Along with my bedroom closet. So along with antibiotics, steroids, epipens and breathing treatments, I had this room:

My little sicky and his older brother moved to the family room downstairs, plastic sheeting went up to shield him from as much dust as possible, and the baby moved to our room. You can see his little bed in the corner. It was quite a day. I spent most of it frozen, wanting to just suck my thumb, curl up into a little ball, and rock. To my husband's credit, he worked like a machine, and the demo work was all finished, the room swept clean, and our room was put to rights before I came in for bed. It was amazing. Nevertheless, it was a very tough day.

Tagged by my Sista!

I can only use one word to answer these questions. It sounds tricky, but I'll do my best.

You're feeling: stuffed
To your left: telephone
On your mind: construction
Last meal included: ham
You sometimes find it hard to: clean
The weather: windy
Something you have a collection of: books
A smell that cheers you up: hyacinths
A smell that can ruin your mood: urine
How long since you last shaved: yesterday
The current state of your hair: overgrown
The largest item on your desk/workspace (not computer):phonebook
Your skill with chopsticks: deadly
Which section you head for first in a bookstore: classics
...and after that?: knitting
Something you're craving: excercise (it's Sunday)
Your general thoughts on the presidential race: entertaining
How many times have you been hospitalized this year: none
Favorite place to go for a quiet moment: computer
You've always secretly thought you'd be a good: writer
Something that freaks you out a little: shy people
Something you've eaten too much of lately: Chocolate!
You have never: sky dive
You never want to: sky dive

So now that's done, I have a few random pictures to share. This one I took on a recent Saturday dinner at the park. The evening was so lovely, I had to try to capture it.
We may have found America's Top Model!
He's got the smoldering eyes, the GQ style, the long eyelashes.....
He's just missing the maturity.
Speaking of maturity, what kind of family can't get ready for church without hijinks like this? My husband is actually responsible for dressing him up in this. An entire load of laundry was ruined by a little someone who left a crayon in their pocket. This shirt still had the tags on. (sniff, sniff) Anywho, this certain 12 year old was anxious to show off the effects of what my little brother called 'pubeter'. The testosterone is flowing, his muscles are growing, he flexes, and Riiipppp- off falls the shirt.
Hoowee! This is a self-professed nerd who has an aversion to all things sports.And he's 12. His brothers are shaking in both fear and anticipation. They want muscles like that too!
On the construction front, the bathroom's coming right along.
My luscious vanity has arrived, and the little one has already put a ding in it.

With the weather warming up, the bigger boys have been playing outside more. They've invented an ingenious game on the rope swing. It's called "You hold on and I'll swing you around. When you fall to the ground, I win." If that isn't an injury waiting to happen, I don't know what is!

Timeout for Women- a photo essay

I could go on and on about what a fabulous time I had, the many, many amazing classes and speakers, the sparkling conversation, the laughs, the late-night-bunk-bed-in-the-dark chatter, the food, glorious food....but I won't. I'll just show you instead. Feast upon this, my friends:

I call this one "leaving the parking garage".
It's simple, but profound, with a sense of movement.

I present to you, "Mongolian Grill in Orange"

"Yum"
This is my husband's cute little sister.
"Sublimely Satiated"
This one speaks to me.
It says, "I just said something clever, and you'll never know what it was."
"Awesome kitchen designer"
Here she in in her new kitchen she designed herself . The last one was mostly destroyed in a fire. This one is way better, so it's all good.

"Fabulous, funny Songstress"
I profoundly regret what I am about to say. Please forgive me, but this photo confirms what I suspected at the time. Bold prints across the belly don't do anyone any favors. No matter how thin and fit and petite you are. Let this be a lesson to us all.
"To but kiss a wooden Indian makes life complete."
No explanation needed here.
"Mercy River Rocks"
Get it? River rocks? Hee hee.
Again, with the nitpicking. Forgive me. The chicky-babe in black needed to be in the middle for 'colorbalancedness'. Or she needed a red shirt. But like this, I kept leaning my head sideways.
"Husband's Wimmin Folk"

I need to prepare you for the next few photos. Don't be too shocked, but you're going to see some pretty deadly sins.

"Lust"
"Greed"
"Gluttony"

And my redemption....

"True and Sincere Remorse"
This meal remains with me to this day. I can feel it on my buns and thighs.

I call this one "Welcome Home, Mommy"
"We really, REALLY missed you."