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.

Two things that terrify me.

Bro-speak and tween texting.

Bode returned to Cage Camp this summer. He's loving it so much that he might just talk his Dad into letting him play an organized sport this year. I'm still philosophically opposed to it (I like my Saturday mornings at home too much), but who cares what I think? Certainly not Bode.

The games are still pretty painful to watch. There is a lot of slow motion falling and rolling around on the court wrestling for the ball. Word to the wise: Don't try and make small talk with the Dad sitting next to you by commenting that this style of play doesn't look very productive. Chances are they will give you a death stare and then turn and fist-bump the closest male to them after spitting dip into a red solo cup.

I think I'm going to have to get Rosetta Stone to learn the bro-speak at these games. I can't understand a single word any of these Dads are saying. It's maddening.

While Bode is busy 'ballin' it up on the rock' (I actually heard a guy say that yesterday and I acted like I knew exactly what he was talking about. Confession: I didn't), Mia has been receiving text messages on my phone from her friends. 

One of them said this:

Reead it alll ↓ 💕

↓
If u were killed I wouldn't be at ur funeral .. I'd be in jail for killing the person who killed u.. 👊💢 We are true friends. We ride together we die together. 💁 Send this to everybody u care about, including me if u care... 😌 See how many times u get this. I want u to know u are an amazing friend till by death and forever. 💯 If I don't get this back, I understand. But I have a game for u. Once u read the letter u must send it to 15 people including the person who sent it to u. If u get at least three back, u are loved. ❤️👌💁. Nobody knows how important something is..... Until they lose it. Tonight, right at 12:00, the person u love will say they love u. Then at 1:00 to 2:00 be ready for the shock of ur life If u break the chain u will have bad luck. With love, send this to the 15 prettiest girls/nicest guys u knowen. If u don't u will turn ugly in one year. If u get three back, dang u cute:)

I accidentally forgot to show it to her. Oooops.

Another girl told Mia to meet her at Braum's in an hour. Let me let that sink in for a minute. One nine-year-old told another nine-year-old to meet her at Braum's in an hour. I politely explained to both of them that they were not in charge of what happened in an hour. I was. And I wouldn't be at Braum's. I would be at Starbucks, thankyouverymuch.

My life is changing in bizarre ways. I can't resist these changes forever, but I sure will be snarky about every single one of them. That's a promise. 

Camp Life

This is the first year that Bode stayed at camp more then 15 minutes. He actually stayed the entire week and claimed he only "lay awake cold and missing my Mom" one night. I consider this a huge success. 

Last year, after 15 minutes of him latched onto my leg, I called my parents and begged them to rescue him (and me). It's amazing what one year in school has done for his maturity.

Mia claims she loves camp more than theater. That's a bold claim.

She's a lesson in contradictions. She's a true introvert who loves camp and theater. Go figure.

Andy actually taught a class for 4th and 5th graders this year. He also bolted out of there less than two seconds after his class was over every day. It was almost like he was in shape or something.

This sweet thing. What can you say to that?

It takes all the self control I can muster to keep from fixing my nine-year-olds hair at camp. I have to sit on my hands.

By the time she got home it was an oily, matted, chlorine-ridden, damaged mess. And I didn't say a word, not one single word. I happen to love the fact that she is not yet obsessed with her appearance. We have plenty of time for that. And besides, I have a six-year-old boy who's obsessed enough for the both of them.

 Bode got confused about his freezer bags labeled with clothes for each day. He ended up wearing the same short every day and sleeping in the clean ones. But I give him a solid A for effort.

Camp. Just one of the millions of things I swore I would never do as a parent and, like all childless proclamations, I ate my words.

A field trip back in time

About a month of so ago, Mia's class went to a one-room schoolhouse for a fake day of struggle and hardship.

Actually, I take that back. This was their fake day of curiosity and learning. Every other day of their third-grade life was struggle and hardship. (Dear Law-Makers That Decided My Third Grader Needed To Spend Her Entire Year Stressing About A Stupid Test, Stop ruining our children's lives. Sincerely, A Mom)

Mia would have made an awesome child of the land run. She loves the simple life, so long as it involves dipping a little pen into an inkwell and doesn't include any hard labor.

I tell my kids to go outside and play with sticks ALL THE TIME and they act like it's torture, but put a bonnet on and all of the sudden it's retro-fun.

Reading out of the first official textbook ever published:

We received very explicit instructions about how to dress for the day. I ignored them. I did, however, put my hair in pigtails and wear boots. It turned out more urban cowgirl than schoolmarm (thankfully).

This. Just this.

And really, I only take issue with not being allowed to loiter in ice cream shops. Because no one, and I mean No. One. will keep me away from my ice cream.