Beige is boring

And I would know because my entire house is boring beige (I'm pretty sure that's the name of it). My husband told me when we moved that he wasn't painting it and to not even ask. So I didn't.

This is the powder room.

 It really didn't even have a mirror when we moved in. 

It's dated, but thankfully it isn't too offensive so I can live with it for now (or until Andy leaves town again). 

For years I have wanted to paint something black and white. I probably have cataracts or something because I love stark, contrasting colors.

   

According to Pinterest this was supposed to take me two hours. Pinterest is a lying you-know-what. I painted the walls the same color as the trim just to make things easier. It took three coats of white to cover up the beige. By the second coat I lost interest and quit trying. So, basically, paint got everywhere.

The only way to tape off stripes is to bribe your friend with dinner to come and help you. This is a two person job and the person I married refused to have anything to do with this, the punk. 

According to my research (which consisted of a Google search and opening up the very first hit) odd numbers are good, even numbers are weird. Be sure and mark the stripes you are not painting with an extra piece of tape so you don't get confused and start painting them. This definitely would have happened to me (see above paragraph, key words "lost interest").

And here ya go - my non-beige bathroom! Me likee. (except those weird light fixtures, which are getting replaced ASAP).

This room is also going to be my display room for Mia's art over the years. I plan to cover the walls from floor to ceiling with all of her favorite pieces. The big one with all the white space (which isn't real art according to Mia) is the first thing Mia painted when she was barely four. 

This also happens to be Mia's and my manicure bathroom. You can get high on fumes in here once a week.

 This was my Christmas gift to my sweet Ahmo on my very first Christmas - that's my handprint at 6  months.

 That's Mia's 3rd grade self portrait, an abstract and a pencil sketch.

Who can resist this ornery face? Certainly not me.

This is not the project for the perfectionist. It's very non-perfect, which is just fine with me.

I officially love this bathroom. If it were a person I'd take it to Vegas and marry it.

 Quirky and simple. Two words that define my life and my home.

Ringo: The Journey of an Idiot

So a couple of weeks after Ahmo died, our dog of eleven years, Ringo, decided to blaze through his electric fence and make a run for it. The kids were devastated (all three of them). I was too mad to at him to be upset. I kept thinking, "How dare that punk dog do this to my kids right after they lose a grandparent. How selfish can he be?" I also muttered things like, "I hope you're happy living on the streets," and "After eleven years of eating our leftover spaghetti you would rather eat trash! You're dead to me," under my breath while listening to my children cry at night.

Let's just say it was bad timing.

After 24 hours Andy called all the people you call when your dog betrays your family and officially registered him as missing. I {happily}went about removing all traces of pet dander from the house.

And then yesterday, 67 days later, I am scrolling through my Facebook news feed when I stumble upon this:

With this caption "Older male yellow lab mix, found yesterday in the area of Danforth & Fretz" on the Edmond Animal Shelter page. 

There was Ringo looking very unsad in my opinion. I. Could. Not. Believe. It. And then I found myself at an ethical and moral impasse... About thirty seconds later, I called Andy and told him I thought I had found his dog.

One hour and about $200 later (he manages to keep himself alive for 67 days but loses his very pricy shock collar) we had our dog back - fleas and all!

I suppose this was worth it:

And I'll admit I was kind of happy to see him. As Bode put it, "Our whole family is back together again." And I suppose he is right.

Wet bar redo

The biggest surprise about moving into this house almost two years ago is that I have done almost nothing to it. In fact, I'm in the office right now and there are still two boxes sitting here that have yet to be unpacked. My husband told me we were never moving again so I have really felt pretty relaxed about making changes. I have the rest of my life to update things, and it's actually kind of freeing. 

What wasn't freeing, however, was the mirrored, blue-tiled, rusted sink, broken ice maker wet bar. It looked like something out of American Hustle. As much as I enjoyed the movie, I'd rather my house not look like something off of the set. It had to go.

When we first moved in I wanted to rip the whole thing outa' there and turn it into something else alltogether. However, the longer we have been here the more I have found it quite handy. I use it every day for coffee and it's especially great when we have people over. It's perfect for desserts or drinks.

The mirrored wall was terrifying in the morning. No one should have to look at themselves pre-coffee.

One of our best friends, Bart Dodson, helped me come up with a plan to turn it into a coffee bar and I am so pleased with his work! He even made me a new cabinet door to hide the ice maker hole and it looks identical to the others. 

 I found this piece of Carrara marble covered in dirt in a countertop salvage yard. When I told the lady I wanted it she said, "Oh, that isn't usable. It's disgusting." I kindly explained that it had to be mine.

Bart used chalkboard paint on the walls so I can write out my menu when guests are over.

He also added USB plugs because we use the counter as a charging station for all our electronic crap when friends aren't over. When friends are over, I hide the electronics and pretend that we aren't addicted to technology and that I would never allow my children to play mindless games on the ipad. 

And, as you might imagine, this is the first place I stop every morning for my (first) cup of coffee. I still have some styling to do to the space - I need to add a little pop of color and maybe a floating shelf or two, but I am so pleased with my little coffee bar. It makes me smile every time I see it. And the good news is I don't have to see my smile reflected on a shiny mirrored wall ever again.

You can take the child out of Edmond....

but you can't take Edmond out of the child. 

While Mia was at camp, I announced to Andy that we were going to take the kids to 'play in the river' on the 4th. We were also going to have a picnic that did not involve take-out. Two days later, after Andy finally quit rolling his eyes, he agreed to indulge my silly whims.

Mia had a fabulous week at camp. And thankfully, Andy's wonderful cousins were her counselors/hair fixers/sunscreen reminderers. She loved them (and so do we).

For some reason, I have these vivid memories of my sister and me as little girls playing in these beautiful natural springs, catching minnows and squealing with delight. I also remember picnics with homemade food and drinking sun tea. I don't know how much of this actually happened, but nonetheless, lately I've felt this deep need to recreate these experiences for my children. I probably just need therapy, but instead I will insist on reliving my childhood through my kids. 

So anyway, after camp we headed to find the natural springs of my youth. What we found were dried up creeks and one pond with signs around it warning people to stay away from the contaminated water.
Finally, after a bit of hunting, we found a cute little swimming hole that smelled distinctly of rotten eggs. Score! As you can tell, the kids loved it:

 Bode did jump in a couple of times, but Mia was Mor. Ti. Fied. by the entire experience.

 After ten minutes, we packed up and called it a day.

We did manage to have a decent picnic. It was mostly successful because I allowed my children to experience the food of my youth - twinkies,

while Mia gave us a play-by-play of her week at camp (I think Andy may have an entire twinkie in his mouth)

Sometimes a girl just needs to spend a day revisiting her childhood. And sometimes she needs to drag her family along. 

I'm thankful I married a man that chooses his battles carefully. 

Well, this is happening right now.

My darling Mia went away (all by herself) to camp for the first time ever this week. At the risk of sounding cliche' I swear she was just born yesterday.

This pic made me do a double take. When did her legs get so long? When did her smile change? Who is this person? Heeeellllpppppp meeeeeee.

This sums up their friendship perfectly: Mia trying to read. Raegan trying to talk.

Thank goodness for multiple friends and family members there to take care of our sweet girls. I'm getting daily updates and pictures.

The below photo disturbs me on so many levels. First of all, what in heaven's name is my daughter doing with her hair? I have no words. Second of all, that skirt is from her "Tuesday" bag and that shirt is from her "Wednesday" bag, which means all of her outfits are messed up and out of order. I also gave her a speech about why she should wear tennis shoes every single day. This speech included horror stories of rattle snakes and spider bites. And if she didn't listen to me about the shoes then she most likely didn't listen to me about sunscreen and insect repellent. HOW QUICKLY CAN I GET TO MADILL, OK? I'm dying right now. I. Am. Dying.

Hair, clothes, shoes, sunburns, and bug bites aside, I wager to bet she is having a pretty darn good time. And it just might have something to do with the fact that she is away from her neurotic mother for an entire week.