Plagiarizing Kimba

Does anyone ever click on those blogs I've got on my link list? You know, on the blogs belonging to strangers? They're worth checking out. Or they wouldn't be there. My point. Ever clicked on A Soft Place to Land? If you haven't, you're missing out. The gal is crazy and spray paints everything and the staple gun is her best friend. Kimba is her name and she inspired me to do a little reupholstering of my own thanks to her highly-instructive tutorials.

I Kimbaed some chairs.

Let me share how.

First, buy six uglyish chairs at a consignment store because all your handed-down, Shop-ko Windsor knock-offs are falling apart (or are already long gone) at an alarming rate.

See their potential.

All the while secretly wishing they were more like this:

Spray paint them all Heirloom White.

(With a $3 lamp base.)

Search all over northern Utah at every conceivable fabric store you know of (of which there aren't many) to find what you want (even though you're really not going for anything trendy and people will wonder just why you were so desperate to find what you ended up with), after going back and forth between several ideas, including, but not limited to, oilcloth, faux leather, vinyl, and various upholstery fabrics. End up settling on various quilting fabrics. (Yes I'm nuts. And now we really see why it was good I quit pursuing an Interior Design degree. Early on.)

Start to hate shopping.

Meanwhile tear off old, nasty fabric, along with a few fingernails (or almost, anyway). Let cursing ensue. Enlist the help of husband with stronger fingernails. Find needle nose pliers and box knife more effective during the movie.
Get grievously injured by over-aggressive staple.

Be surprised more cursing doesn't ensue.

(Just kidding, I left the blood there for dramatic effect. It is Halloween.)
(And to clean staple germs out the old-fashioned, natural organic way.)

Let rest of house fall apart. (Then fail to find the picture you thought you took of it.)

Who am I kidding? It looks a mess all the time! Just drop by unannounced, prepare yourself for Unshowered Barbie Aubrey and you'll get a first-hand witness to the chaos.

Share some witchy love.

Don't you love the fabric of her dress?

Overcome fear of the staple gun. Recover chairs with long-sought-after-confused-eyebrow-raising fabric.

Then, Marie Barone them.

(Oops didn't take a picture of the vinyl.)

Yes. Clear vinyl. We are going for super classy. Have you not read my profile? And need I remind everyone that this is headquarters for Bad Housekeeping Quarterly (because apparently that's how frequently I'm inspired to write a contributing article. That's if we ever get past the first)? And because that's how often I do deep cleaning things, like, wiping off chairs.

Did you get a good look at that picture of the paper that was under the vinyl? You can cover everything! Check it out--go cover your chaise lounges because who doesn't love laying out and getting hot and sticking. (That was not a typo.) And let's all rush out and cover our picture frames! Hurry, do it NOW!!

Enlist the help of a friendly handy man to put them back together. And a crazy transient who answers to Mr Destructo and is indifferent to being fully potty-trained, despite the benefit of getting to wear Thomas the Train and Lightning McQueen underwear.

And end up with 6 much better Kimbaed chairs.

Except hers are classier.

I was going for some kind of vintagey-50's-grandma's kitchen look.

(I'm defending myself because I was reading an article in Better Homes & Gardens--which is never good, by the way, it just makes you depressed about your house--about a lady whose house was decorated in neutrals and blues and she said something about not using too much color or your house will look like a circus. Of course, I felt immediately insecure and want to redo everything, but I'll abstain. And don't get me started on the article I read about the people whose house was rustic but not too countryish, and the Don't on the next page that say "The small, busy patterns that used to define country now appear old-fashioned." Well thanks a lot, that sure boosted my self-confidence!!!) (I told you it wouldn't be good.)

The result: Welcome to the Circus my friends!!!!
Please try not to see the trapped long black hair and carpet fodder stuck on the orange chair--forever enshrouded and protected.
There's a color for everyone. So we all know where to go.

If I haven't already told them.

(By the way, I'm so glad I half-heartedly edited this because for some completely nutso-I-must-really-be-losing-my-marbles reason, I was using "than's" intead of "then's". Oh the scandal that would surely have ensued and that's all in my head. Really, it's all that's left.)

Pride, Prejudice, and a Little Theft

Alright, you know what REALLY bugs me? Buying a DVD, opening it, beginning to watch it, and then realizing it's full screen. Now I really hate Wal-mart for enticing me with it's $9 price tag. "What a deal!" I thought as I bought it, "What a steal!"

Yeah a steal is right. They stole my money. Hello?! is it too hard to ask to have FULL SCREEN plastered across the front so I realize my mistake before making my purchase unreturnable? Oh, I forgot, my first mistake was to buy it at Wal-mart. Or rather, even going to Wal-Mart, but Target had let me down in this department. I checked. I was desperate. The movie in question? Keira Knightley's Pride and Prejudice. Or rather, the one she was in, she doesn't own Pride and Prejudice. You can take that two ways. Gah. I am missing pieces of fine English architecture and bits of fine English countryside here! Oh it is bugging me.

Anywho.

Which reminds me of something else we ended up with that was non-returnable, this time before I could even purchase it. Have I mentioned already all the other things I cannot complete before they are finished, like mopping the floor? Have you already guessed this heavily involved my children, i.e. Mr Destructo?

My friends and I were at the local feeding trough--i.e. McDonald's--with our kids. Our local Double Arches is attached to a Chevron. With Chevron cars. That My Destructo loves. And thinks he needs to own every one. Apparently.

So, I was yammering with my home fries, keeping a lookout for my offspring--frequently I tell you--thinking they're well and good in the playland, i.e. germland, or better yet, communicable diseases-land, until an employee approached asking who was the mother of the little boy in the red shirt.

{{Will someone please explain to me why Miss Bingley's ball gown is sleeveless? I realize I studied a lot of English in college (like, magored in it) and have read many many books about English society, but I didn't think it was ever the mode for the creme de la creme of the ton to wear a gown that only had straps. Mr. Collins gives me the creeps in this one. He should have taken Mary. Duh. She's cuter than Charlotte! Oh yeah, she's a burden on her parents already at 27. }}

Moving on.

At first I thought she was referring to Sawyer (I had both boys in red shirts) and a McDonald's employee, but she spoke exceptionally well English and wasn't very tan. Then she said, "He took three cars," and I was perplexed. {{Ooh, I love when they depict Mr.Darcy and Keira dancing alone after she's given him the what-for about Mr. Wickham. You tell him girl.}} Until I realized the lack of Spanish accent and the Chevron logo on her shirt and it began to sink in. And then she told me, "He's already opened two." At which point, I assured her I would come and buy them. I tell you, I was watching! I didn't know he knew there were cars in the store!! {{Pardon, I have to fast-forward the always acutely uncomfortable Mr. Collins proposal. Ick. Tell him, Keira. Ugh! He has a mullet!!!! Never marry a man with a mullet. Uh, duh.}}

{{Better than this, I guess.}}
{{He he.}}

Sure enough, Mr Destructo was in the ball-less ball pen with two open Chevron pizza trucks, was working on the third, and spreading the newly-acquired wealth. With the help of older children, I collected all the paraphernalia, restocked the unopened merchandise, paid for the stolen merchandise and learned that he had been taking a variety of cars up to the counter, but the gal (my informant) kept convincing him to take them back until he had enough and picked up three of the ugliest he could find and hauled them to the disease-festival-land to show his peeps the booty. On the way there, he delighted two women on their lunch break who told me he made their day, that it was too cute watching [the klepto] going back and forth with cars and then juggling the three chosen ones on his short trek to criminaldom.

I must say, I am impressed that he at least knew he had to take them to the counter before leaving, but alas had inherited a bit of my impatience for acquiring material things. Except I do not steal them. I just risk paying interest on them. Just kidding. {{Right there! I missed Darcy staring at Elizabeth on her way to the piano! MISSED it!!!! It does NO good only seeing 1/3 of his face! Aaaarchh! There sure are a lot of naked people paintings at Rosings Park.}} (Oops, the gray should be white, I'm having textal difficulties.) So this was two weeks ago, this last week, he ventured into the Chevron again and the same gal was working again, and came to warn me of his wanderings before he got hot-handed again. We might be visiting a new McDonalds--a free-standing, single family dwelling one.

Sawyer and my friend's son are getting pizza trucks for Christmas. Thank-you Jenny.

{{Oh yes, the proposal in the rain in the random--yet convenient--Greek Temple. Just kiss her , Darcy--she wants it.}}

And thus Mr Destructo follows in his mother's foot steps, who stole candy from an outdoor German candy seller when she was 4. He's starting young. At 3.

{{Men galloping away in broken-hearted, passionate dejection are so hot.}}

We are in for exciting times, my friends.

{{Yes, this scene? Ruined. The ends were cut off, and all the dramatic effect, too.}}
{{Oh the horrors. My Darcy is home! He caught her spying. Can we say Elizabeth radar?}}

Did anyone ever see The Jane Austen Book Club? I don't really very highly recommend it, but they do have some interesting discussions on the books, and I love it when the one guy in the book club mentions how Elizabeth doesn't fall in love with Mr. Darcy until after she sees Pemberly. Which is not true, but still. Funny.

I really hope this nasty taste in my mouth is a side effect of my strep medicine and not aftertaste hangover (no that wasn't redundant) (at all) of the almost (Dan helped) entire bag of Flat Earth Tomato Something Ranch or Something chips (with some onion flavah, I'm sure) I ate between last night at 10:30 and today after church. Let me tell you, Sawyer was ticked that I finished them off before he could get one. In my defense, he came along after the last chip was chewed, my friends.

Which house is better? Rosings Park with naked paintings and Mr. Collins next door, Pemberly with naked statues and Mr. Darcy, or the Bennet's "cottage" that I almost called Barton Cottage and now can't remember the real name of. What is it with the 19th-century "cottages" that are five times as large as my house and still had servants? Oh yeah, they so suffered.

Anyway, I do like to swim. That narrows it a little.

{{Ha ha--I love how they scurry to clean up their mess before the men see it. This part with Mr. Bingley so distraught is fabulous. He better suffer.}}

Off to check Mr. Destructo and make sure he isn't stealing any of his father's sleep.

Or my side of the bed.

Archaic Underwear and Racous Co-pays

It has been requested from several (3) sources that I post more. I will work on that. I will not feel stressed...I will not feel the pressure...I will not feel stressed.

So over myself.

And nearly over the strep that my laryngitis turned out to be. Just my luck, my positive result came back the day after I'd hung out at the pediatrician's with Mr Destructo until 1 in the AM for his Anne with an "e" Green Gables disease, so I couldn't make them swab him on that co-pay.

No.

I blew $60 instead.

I decided yesterday in the late afternoon to call in and have all three monsters taken in for strep tests when their father could accompany me and assist in the hold downs.

Results still pending.

The nurse swabbed their decks so fast that they all gagged, but didn't freak out. I liked her for that. But, she lied to them and told them she'd tickle the back of their throats. I didn't like that. I try to be honest with my kids about what they're getting into with doctor and sickness stuff, like how nasty their medicine is really going to taste, or how long their shots will really hurt, you know, so they trust me.

Anyhoo--so after Lexie got swabbed, she turned to me and said in an undervoice (yes, it's possible), "That didn't tickle, it choked," and grinned. I love her.

The husband just loved the triple co-pay. (Ultimate sarcasm there. In case you missed the emphasis, says Captain Obvious.)

I told him we'd save money not having more kids.

I want a new sofa instead.

I love brand-new furniture.

And don't have any. Or never have had.

And never will, cuz I can't put it on my Flex card.

Have I ever mentioned (more than the usual 27 times) how almost everything in our home is handed-down, in some cases, through generations (of dogs and children, not nice, clean, non-spilling, and odor-free little grandmas)? And that the only things we bought new have come from the lucrative furniture distributors of ...... ...

Shop-ko

Kmart

and

Wal-Mart?

We did buy these babies from Lowe's.

(Now imagine Arthur Spooner on King of Queens suddenly shouting) We're moving up! I don't think he ever actually had a line like that, but if you've watched the re-runs regularly (and think it wouldn't hurt for Doug to be just a touch active), you'll catch my used-furniture-odorized drift.

Ooh, I have so many projects that I've tried taking pictures of because I am a before-and-after fiend and have to share everything, but bet I'll only get to 13% of what's in my brain to actually blog about. If you made any sense of that sentence, let me know. Because I didn't. Anyway, like tonight, I helped co-pay-hating husband assemble our massive composter (but didn't take pictures) (there's only so much people are interested in, friends) that I hope I don't regret buying instead of the smaller one with wheels that I could drag around to my three flowerbeds to make beautiful. Correction: my two flowerbeds and the weed patch where I was trying to grow roses, but only one is still living and My Destructo has pulled out another for the second ding dang time.

Mom, when is it too late to plant bulbs because I'm thinking the closer I get to when the ground's frozen, the better since then Mr Destructo can't dig, and hence, pull them out.

The best was the first time he pulled out the rose bush and brought it to me. Uh, hello? Son? You're supposed to hide the evidence. And usually yourself too. In a different place. But don't do that too thoroughly or we'll think you've taken another solo trip to the park and the neighbors will call DCFS on us. Again. And then I'll have to ask my parental figure who works for them and controls their budgets to give our caseworker a lot of money. (Just kidding, we've never been called in, but my parental figure really works there. So you know. If you get a bee in your bonnet about how we're raising our kids.)

Um, not to come to a sickening, screeching halt, but the well just ran dry.

Should I still fold the laundry?

Or give the husband a reason to grumble at me in the morning?

(Disclaimer: No husband-bashing intended before anyone starts thinking that.)

He doesn't understand (or much like) my laundry-folding methods that might get more successful results if I liked to iron as much as I like leaving loads of laundry in the basket, and on the couch, and our bed, and in the dryer (duh, all at the same time) for days. Come on, there's a bigger sense of accomplishment from finding clean underwear archaeologist style!

Here's what used to crank out the laundry in archaic style. Or rather, it would have been faster and the clothes cleaner if I had used a hand-crank. I tell you.

Apparently the well still trickled.

Oh, I forgot! I have more Bad Housekeepings, too, never fear, in the well that apparently doesn't runneth fry. I mean dry. I might actually take pictures of my own personal examples, too. Because I have no dignity. And you can't smell through the computer. That will be the day.

Two Mucus Plugs

People, we are sick.

Last week I lost my voice (for the first time ever in my life--other than the time I had the worst cold ever of my life and a bunch of mucus got stuck so no sound could get out for 45 minutes). That was fun.

You canNOT yell at your children when you've lost your voice.

Expletives are still possible.

Especially the under the breath muttering kind.

And last night Mr Destructo and I got to hang out at Wee Care until one in the morning to make sure the breathing treatment they gave him worked. What were they treating?

Croup.

Like what Anne with an "e" saved Minnie Mae from.

Awesome.

Yes, wheezing and retracted breathing that involves your baby's chest sucking in two inches when he's trying to breath is so cool.

In a demented sort of way.

It's cool now because by the time we left, he was back to his happy-go-lucky self, running and jumping around on the carpet squares, counting them.

He can count to ten. He's so smart. I love him.

Except right now his diaper kind of stinks.

And he finished off a bag of chocolate chips for breakfast.

I mean, with his breakfast.

Yes, I'm a liar.

Actually, he had leftover pancakes, too.

I think the other one got fed...

At least I didn't muddle my chocolate chip breakfast with pancakes.

Digressing.

Let's pray Lexie with an "e" doesn't get the sickness ravaging our household--she hasn't been the same since getting pneumonia when she was 1.

Don't worry about Sawyer.

He started it.

This all means we don't get to see this precious bundle of joy.

Next week, little Siena with one "n", our newest girl (wa-hoo!!) cousin.

(There are too many Shiner boys we think.)

(Not to be confused with there is too many--the new grammar epidemic that has, sadly, touched our household too.)

Who was born the same exact size (but one inch shorter) than Lexie with an "e".

Alright.

Moron with an "r" is signing off.

To blow her nose for the upteenth cotton-pickin' time.

And I guess eat normal breakfast foods.

And maybe change some stinky diapers.

Happy BeBirthday...6th Go-Round

It true, procrastinated, can't break old habits style, I wish my princess a blogging belated happy birthday, almost a week late.

I kept waiting to find the perfect pictures, but forgot how lazy I am, and that I'd have to SCAN all her baby photos. When I finally did go through them I realized I am the worst photographer on earth and don't have any decent pictures of my newborn first-born. The tragedy. Thank goodness my mom had a decent camera...

Anyway, because I turn everything into a lament about me,

(oh and leave your what-camera-to-buy suggestions and photography tips in the comments by the way, I. really. NEED. them!)

Happy Birthday Lexie,

(on a cool date),

who loves animals,

and pretending to be a horse,

or dog,

or cat.

Is the Queen Boss over her brothers and likes to give them the what-for,

and has an infectious laugh.

Learned to ride a two-wheel bike without training wheels in two minutes

(when Mom thought it would take two months).

Who loves babies,

and stealing Mom's camera to take crazy pictures,

plays a mean game of hide-and-seek in the house after dark,

and a mean game of Candy Land,

and Chutes and Ladders,

and has watched The Last Unicorn

no less than 97 times

since her birthday last week.

Who hates medicine

(and getting her hair combed),

but loves M & M's like her dad,

chocolate like her mom,

milk like her imaginary kitty

(and drinking it from a dish like one too),

marshmallows,

and olives.

Whose favorite color is green, like her Grandma's.

Who wants a real puppy for Christmas,

and a baby sister,

neither of which is coming.

Who gives good kisses

and perfect hugs.

Happy Birthday, Doodlekins.

With Grandma on Day One

And a display of my pathetic I'm-in-a-hurry scanning and non-existent photo-shopping skillz.

With cousin Anna's dog, Gigi at the close of our weekend in heaven because we got to play with a dog 24/7 for five days. Which apparently included playing in the dirt and eating tomato sauce somewhere--hey! I think that's Flying Pie Pizza sauce on her jacket.

Okay, waiting now for you to tell me what camera to buy.

The Best Snack Yet

Hurry and pause the music at the bottom!
Can this movie come out already?
I would click on this to see the whole screen. (Or apparently to see it at all without waiting half your lifetime, I just realized.)
Watch quick, because it won't be on the blog long--the ding-dang music starts automatically--even in post mode.
Sorry, I had to take it off--too many automatic musics to pause and I canNOT figure out how to make my playlist not start automatically (believe me, I tried--I couldn't find it!).
[ SEE THIS VIDEO ON TWILIGHTERSANONYMOUS.COM - FIRST SITE TO PUBLISH IT ]

Bad Housekeeping Tip #1

How to Have a Pungent House With

A Mysterious Odor

The first (and maybe only due to lazy editing and contributing) article to Bad Housekeeping.

Be it ever-so-helpful.

40 ways to make your house extra smelly.

The condensed list.

1. Be relatively poor by North American standards.

2. Buy an older (I don't want it to feel bad by calling it old) house.

3. Make doubly sure the previous owner had dogs.

4. That peed on the low-quality carpet she put in.

5. Check to see that said older house has a crawl space that wafts. Absolutely essential.

6. Be relatively poor.

7. Don't get the carpets cleaned.

8. DON'T clean them YOURSELF. Hello? Who are you? This is Bad Housekeeping.

9. Have children. Also essential. The more the better. Or worser. Whatever. You especially need the kind that spill entire ding-dang water bottles on the carpet once a week. To meet their quota.

10. Try the let's-just-put-panties-on-her potty training method.

11. Fail at the let's-just-put-panties-on-her potty training method.

12. Let your child pee several times on the low-quality carpet. Hope the wood underneath is surviving all the puddles.

13. Clean infrequently.

14. Do NOT buy air fresheners. Duh.

15. Don't change poopy diapers right away. Let them sit at least one hour. Two is better. The odor needs layers.

16. Have a leaky dishwasher.

17. MOLD? Bring it on.

18. Let linoleum around dishwasher swell and change color.

19. Cross fingers and hope it's not molding.

20. Don't bother checking.

21. Be relatively poor.

22. Buy a new dishwasher after a few months. You know, in February. Thank-you IRS.

23. Discover how bad the mold really is when pulling the old dishwasher out.

24. Enough with the dishwasher already.

25. Have a mysterious odor hit you in the face every time you walk through the back door into the kitchen.

26. Wonder if it's from the floor.

27. Keep windows open all day and part of the night whenever possible.

28. Let odor pervade.

29. Try to identify odor.

30. Fail to identify odor.

31. Get air ducts and furnace cleaned out and sanitized for rip-off prices. (For locals, do NOT call 1-800-AIR-DUCT, call me and I'll give you a better guy I should have gone through!!)

32. Smell new mysterious odor once furnace comes on several months later. Curse and mutter and grhh under breath constantly. Burns calories. Sort of.

33. Wonder how to make 1-800-AIR-DUCT come back and do. it. again. until it's done. right. Losers.

34. Succumb to air fresheners and scented candles as a LAST resort.

35. Only to have mystery odor return once Glade's through and candles are blown out.

36. Or to have odor linger under air freshener so you smell both at once. (Remember--you need layers.)

37. Consider letting burglars have free reign at night just to keep windows open 24/7.

38. Start to hate odor. Like, with a vengeance.

39. Start to hate house that's too small anyway for your budding (and promising!) rat-packing career.

40. Be relatively poor.

yeck

Nothing kills the desire to use a pan faster than when you pull it out and it has a spiderweb,

with the creator still on it.

Bonus points for being a bad housekeeper.

Maybe I'll start a new magazine, call it Bad Housekeeping.

Don't Drool on the Cabs

For those who know me in real life and are remotely familiar with the interior of my house, and it's kitchen, and my endless complaining about the smallness of it, will know that I do not like it. (Our kitchen at it's very worst, with Dan the Man gearing up to work hard and beautify part of it.)

Well, today I really feel kitchen antagonistic after looking at these on The Inspired Room. Go and look at them now, get a towel for drooling, and just know...

I call dibs on the first kitchen.

No, the one with the ladder! How awesome would that be?

No, the one underneath that--or rather the one under that!!

I cannot decide.

What are the odds one of those homeowners will gift me their house

or that D will be able to commute? Legacy only goes so far.

Skimming Along

Did anyone think I fell off the face of the earth? Nope. Been spray painting while the weather's still good. I might show it later. Depends on the level of laziness I'm pursuing later.

Here are more pictures from our Boise trip a month ago.

One day we went boating and I pretended I was rich for a day. (That's for you, Anna.)

Two follicle-challenged husbands.

Dad went skiing. Oops no pictures.

Mr Destructo and Dad tubing.

We fed the ducks.

(That was a 6 1/2 month baby belly there by the way. Be jealous. I am.)

It was cool to drive by and watch the flocks of ducks lift off the water and go flying. All in synchronized motion.

Lexie rode on the tube forever.

Like 30 minutes forever.

Sawyer had a snooze.

With half the beach on his face.

Why doesn't his mother clean him?

His grandmother wonders that all the time.

Yes, I fed him real food for lunch. What he chooses to consume is his choice.

Just kidding.

Mr Destructo had a snooze. Still going.

And going.

Swimming.
The best part of the day was stopping for lunch and finding ...

the ultimate camping stool.

Might be a triple meaning there. The people who owned this were a little ornery. (Think it's due to recurring digestive issues? Hence the porta potty?)

I wonder if they're the ones who siced the boating police on us. Ever been pulled over in a boat? We were. It was awesome. Only because they were nice and didn't give us a ticket for not keeping our flag up with a person in the water and having an irresponsible person, i.e. Lexie, in charge of holding it. SO. It can happen. You can be pulled over for not putting up your flag. Good thing they didn't catch us when Sawyer had it.

"Uh-oh, am I supposed to be watching the person in the water?! Nobody told me!"

Oh and we held on to the boat really tight so we wouldn't fall out if it flipped over.

Boating was fun.

When we were through, we went to a reservoir, or something, place by the dam with a huge fountain in the middle of it that was cool for swimming. So cool I forgot to take pictures. So incredibly cool that when we drove past it on the way to the real reservoir, I was trying to check it out and drive at the same time, careful to stay away from the edge, leaning toward the lane next to me. I realized I was weaving back and forth pretty badly when a grumpy old man on a motorcycle, clearly too old and wise and good for a helmet, hollered most ungracefully at me to stay on my side of the [insert french bomb here] road. That was a direct quote. Apparently the old people in Boise are so freakin' friendly. They use French bombs and carry their own seat regularly. Or for regularity. Your choice. I hope no bombs are dropped in them. Or that at least they're buried.

Anyway, after all that, we even had enough energy to go to Texas Roadhouse and gorge on rolls with cinnamon butter.

Who doesn't want winter to come?

Me either.

I need another vacation.