Bedheaded Randomness

Monday I took advantage of a husband home and a temporarily sick baby to tackle a project. I think this is the first thing I've ever done within a few days of thinking I wanted to do it and then buying the materials and finishing the whole thing in one day.

I might actually be shedding the procrastinating shell.

Yeah, I'm dreaming on.

I even bought the board and had the nice man cut it at Home Depot for me all by myself. The fabric store was not so easy--apparently I've mixed up my holidays and Monday was the Day For Sewing Ugly Things Day. (And the let's be redundant day)

I seriously do not know what those ladies were thinking up in their heads. My favorite was the little old lady with a shopping cart full of cut pieces of fleece. I admit it has been cold.

Then there was the lady who looked like she'd just travelled a time machine and came straight from the 90's with no detours to Macy's who was buying green shiny sequiny trims (3 kinds!) and told the cutter she was making a St Patrick's Day sweater.

?!

Anyway, I digress and get a little rude.

Seriously, I'm worried about that sweater.

Moving on.

Any guesses to what this is going to be?

It was at this point that I began to wonder what I was thinking trying to do this by myself and if I'd finish before the kids and husband got back from sledding.

Anyway, here's a before of the intended project's place.

Which obviously is a headboard.

Yes, we've been living with ghetto bed for a while.
I haven't talked the Money Maker into this or this from Pottery Barn yet.

Here's what I ended up with:
I made the bed especially for you.

I really did this on Monday and not last summer.

Here is where I highly recommend having a lot of boxwood shrubs outside and then letting them get overgrown so you can enjoy them from inside all year.

Even though you might not enjoy still having nasty metal windows with holey screens.
Stupid economy and 1960's windows that are 17.2 feet wide and cost $500 but were less $$$ three years ago when the rest of the windows were replaced. And of course we have two. Apparently they still didn't have much electricity in the early 60's, hence explaining the large windows on every wall and the average of 1.75 outlets in every room. No, we never worry about fire at Christmas time.

Yeah we don't ever leave our bedroom in last place to get beautified. There aren't Huggies boxes full of pictures from the living room piled on our dresser. Nor is there a broken rocking chair at the end of the bed.
All kinds of classy going on over here.

Clearly I though I lot of pictures of the same thing at different angles would be vastly fascinating for you all.

Consider that wish fulfilled.

Now can somebody please explain the need to watch TV (or not) like this?

This is the safe version--usually that rocking chair is on the table. The new stadium seating.

Now I would like you all to think that the windows are entirely covered in snow to elicit pity from those not living with us in Klondikeville, but I think we actually had sun shining. Reflecting off the multitudes of snow.

Wii are so glad this lives at Grandma's.

Notice his hands are a blur.

Speaking of Grandma, for Valentine's Day she gave the grandchildren stickers,

and markers.

Yes, that's my couch. This time it was Mr Tornado, who was home alone with Dad.

Oh, and could someone please explain the meaning of this?

That would be the Dora potty-training seat for those who might not recognize it.

Apparently we're all kinds of desperate for summer.

And should not be left alone for any amount of time during a bath.

Untacky Valentines

Wish I were smart enough to come up with things like this on my own.

Want to make awesome Valentine's (assuming you know how to use Photoshop, which I don't)?

See what this gal did.

Yes, go right now, it's a short post.

Home Improvement, Destructo Style

Warning: This post contains potty talk.


Methinks it's snowing again. At least this year we've had breaks between storms and it hasn't been like last year that felt like the transition stage of labor when the contractions are horrendous and before one finishes, another begins. Why am I describing it? You've all been there--at least those brave enough to skip the epidural. Which I was not every time, I am not ashamed to admit.

Anyway, I was talking snow, and totally digressed and am hoping that Mr Destructo is going in the potty and not in his pants. Why is potty-training such a pain in the nethers?

So, you'd think that while I'm stuck in the house, I'd take advantage of the entire lack of yard work and do something inside the hovel. Like finish painting. So far, out of the entire house, one room had 2 and 1/18 walls painted. That 1/18 looks fab, let me tell you.

( Ooh--heard a flush, that augers well, right?)...(Woo-hoo one less stinky to change for me! Now can someone explain to me why the underwear has to put on backwards? The front looks like saggy Granny undies while the back looks like a too-small Speedo complete with cheek peeks. Too much information? I did warn you.)

So, the other day, feeling ambitious, I started washing another wall to paint and accidentally put a lot more water in the bucket than I needed. After a while the kids decided they needed to help me. To boost their self-confidence, I let them. It wasn't long before they were holding their rags in the bucket watching TV. (Oh-and the bucket was sitting on a little table we have in front of the TV so I didn't have to bend over as far to rinse my rags--I do believe I have mentioned before my extremes of laziness.)

So, thinking the kids might eventually finish the washing, I started the never-endingness-of-fun spackling. At which point, the chair Mr Destructo was standing on fell over of it's own volition (of course), taking Mr Destructo with it, and since he was up to his armpits in the bucket, taking that and it's 3 gallons (I'm estimating) of dirty, soapy, wood chipped water with them.

Needless to say, any self-confidence boosted in my kids got smashed right there. Some french bombs may have gone off. A putty knife may have been thrown that may have dinged the supposed-to-be-indestructable wood laminate floor. The carpet may still be wet today. I'm surprised it doesn't stink yet.

And now we all know why I don't bother doing much improvement around this house because it's destructoed before it's even bettered. At least it's water and not--you know--the stuff that might be all over the Thomas the Tank Engine Speedo and my new already stained couch in ten minutes.

By the way, I put a once a month limit on washing the couch slipcovers or it would be every other day, I tell you. Like slipcover labor. Because you were dying to know.

Lexie B. Jones

Have you ever read the Junie B. Jones books by Barbara Park? They are hi-lar-ious. So funny, in fact, that I'm a little mad at that Barbara for coming up with the idea first and being so genius with it. Every time I try to think of writing a children's story, I hit a block. I just cannot figure out how to make it clever. For a whole book. I would be like that bad author on Elf writing really stupid things, leaving his publishers in a quandary as to why they're not making sales. Mine would be those books that come with kids meals at the fast-food places jilted by McDonald's who gets all the good movie toys, that end up in the garbage or at the thrift store.
Anyway.
My favorite parts of those books, you ask? Or don't ask? Is when Junie B. starts explaining something with, "Yeah, only here's the problem..." Like in the book, Junie B. Jones Smells Something Fishy, she's running around the classroom and her teacher grabs her by her suspenders to stop her and Junie B. says, "Yeah, only here's the problem. If you pull off the s'penders--boom--the pants fall down."
Barbara must have a 6-year-old. Oh, wait! I have a 6-year-old. But no books supplying an income. However, Lex lately has not disappointed. She's been saying the most interesting blessings on our food.
Once it was, "Please bless that uncle Aaron will play with us every day that we go to Grandma's house."
And when her dad went caving with the Scouts, "Please bless that Dad won't go into a bear cave and get bitten by a bear."
Brothers. "Please bless that Mr Destructo will not take my toy while I'm saying the prayer." (That one might not be ver bedim. Sue me.)
And the other night I was trying to talk her into letting me blow dry her hair with the hair diffuser, and with her chin in her hands and lips pouting, she whined, "I don't want you to use the hair confuser."
Okay maybe she wasn't that funny, but it was good at the time.