Assortment

Funnies on Sunday!

Pencils, Paper, Paints & Beethoven

  

 

  

 

What?  It's 2:00?!  No wonder we're so hungry!

 
 
 

Nest this House: Art

 

 

Some thrifted wooden spools...

 ...a bit of jute twine, two screws, and a big, blank wall.

 

Some thrifted wooden spools, a bit of jute twine, two screws, a big, blank wall, and a handful of clothes pins.

Some thrifted wooden spools, a bit of jute twine, two screws, a big, blank wall, a handful of clothes pins, and lots of artwork.

Yes, even the lion.

Er...uh...

The goat-lion.  

(It's really a goat with a big mane, pretending to be a lion.  I asked the artist, and that's what she said.  [And we all know that there's only one she artist in this house!])

And don't forget one for the calendar, too!

 

This One's for Scruffy

Remember the knitting?  Look what Scruffy's wearing now! 

Just a bit, just enough, of the softest green yarn I found tucked away in a box and some wooden buttons taken from a thrifted shirt came together in this little vest.  It was a perfectly simple practice piece for me, the rusty knitter.

Scruffy's got a bit of a belly on him, but we managed to fasten up the buttons without too much trouble.

Suck it in, Scruffy!

 

 

Do you like it, Scruffy?

 

 

Sorry, he's a bit shy.
 
 

 

 

Oh, yes, and when you decide that today will be the day that you will sit yourself down for the 10-15 minutes that it takes to sew up the seams, weave in the ends, and sew on the buttons of this cute little vest, some sour candy in your mouth makes the process even better!

 
 
 
 

Somehow, The Letter

 

Following is a bit of a view into the home of a busy Mama who has an important letter to write one afternoon.  The thing is, she's go three little boys...

 

 

This was not my June Cleaver day.

It was more of a Miss Hannigan, only with boys, kind of day.  You know Miss Hannigan, the wild-haired snag of a woman on the movie Annie, who is driven batty by an infestation of little girls in her orphanage, the last of her good sense dribbling out with every liquor-laden note as she warbles out the song, Little Girls.  Yeah, her. Well, this was a Miss Hannigan kind of day - minus the booze.  The forces of our three little boys were against me, and one skittish look around the house told me that everything that could be shaken, had been shaken. 

There weren't just crumbs underneath the dining room table, there was a grocery store under there, provided effortlessly by The Three.  The sugar ants had voted hands-down for the Frito crumbs, and were mounting their forces to haul them off to the Frito Crumb Festival behind the baseboard trim.  Well, let them fest.  Fester.  Feast.  Whatever.  I couldn't deal with it right now.  I had to write a letter, The Letter.  You know, the "have to write it today even if my  house has exploded and my offspring have to gnaw on dry shredded wheat for dinner," sort of letter.  I swept the crumbs from my mind and left them on the floor. 

Passing the bedroom, I barely escaped a mocking glare from the precarious Everest of laundry that sat loitering on the bed.  Loitering.  Since Tuesday.  A week ago Tuesday.  But, I couldn't stop to fold it and put it away, not right now.  Had to write The Letter.  I walked on, needled by a vision of The Three as grown men: There they sat, their chins resting heavily in their hands, and with orphaned looks on their faces, they said in pinched voices, "Back when we were boys...the only things ever in our drawers were lint and echoes.  Never were any clothes."

Bah!

Nearing the school room and my desk, I passed the bathroom of The Three.  An acrid odor reached out and buckled my nose hairs.  I was afraid to look.  But, with a deep breath held and my scrapes of bravery pulled to attention, I risked a peek.  The rancid evidence jeered at me from its puddle on the floor.  No! Somebody couldn't aim for the third time today!  Please, just tell me how it is that a little boy can pee on a bug, dead aim at three feet out, but he can't hit a toilet bowl twelve inches across that's right in front of him!  I mean, really!  You can talk about gravitational pull and massive flushing force all you want, but this toilet bowl will not just slurp out of midair anything that's squirted in it's general direction! 

Lysol and I skidded around the floor together while I croaked out the song, Little Boys. 

On toward my desk, I carefully picked my way across the school room floor, which had become a minefield pocked with toys.  Carefully, I say, because stepping on a Lego contraption is almost as painful as having your foot blown off.  Almost. 

But, that's not all that was on the floor.  No, the floor had become a massive confusion of tiny bits of paper that had been carefully cut, cut, cut (brows furrowed), cut, cut, cut (eyes riveted), cut, cut, cut (concentrating), cut, cut, cut (almost drooling), cut, cut, cut (shuddering sigh), cut, cut, cut (could sit there for hours), cut, cut, cut by the youngest of The Three.  Confetti, if you will.  Everywhere.

I ignored the feeling of paper bits crusting my feet as I plunked myself down at my desk.  Deep breath in, deep breath out.  I rested my fingers on the keys, and stared at the blank page on the computer screen.  And now, for The Letter. 

Or so I thought.

You see, The Three had followed me into the room, and had started doing that hovering thing.  You know the hovering thing.  They climbed on my chair, leaned on my desk, wanted on my lap.  They were needing me, wanting me, clinging to me as if I were their mother.  Oh.  I was their mother.  Right.  But, right now, gathering my thoughts was like herding cats, and I just couldn't do hovering.  Not when I had to write The Letter.  The fibers of my patience and good resolve were fraying out rapidly, so, I scraped together my jagged shred of sanity and my crumpled last nerve, and resorted to what any desperate mother would. 

The vacuum.

Now, scratch the shaft of heavenly light and the high angelic voices, this is not where June Cleaver comes in.  I'm still very much Miss Hannigan.  Back into the school room I marched with the hand-held vacuum, and thrust it toward The Three, muttering in a huffy staccato voice something to the effect of, "You made the mess, you clean it up!"

Now, usually, a directive of "clean it up" is met with three sets of slumped shoulders.  Not today.  Today, the directive was met with awe-struck faces, and three sets of perky eyebrows, for this thing I was handing to them had a motor!  And it sucked!  Their thoughts ran across their faces, "Oh, baby!  Come to Papa!"

The Three dropped to their knees, attacking the doomed confetti with the gobbling vacuum.  They were completely and totally enraptured.  One enlightened soul made the discovery that if he held a piece of paper just so over the end of the hose, it sounded just like a... well, let's just say that it sounded exactly like something that sends boys into fits of side-splitting laughter.  Over, and over, and over!  After the laughter died down, they tried hanging the sucking hose from their cheeks.  (No, not those cheeks).  Cute, guys, an elephant of sorts.  Just don't leave the hose there too long. 

They didn't listen.  Hickey cheeks.  Nice.

Next, they realized that they could take the hose out of the sucking end of the vacuum, and stick it into the blowing end.  Life had just gotten even better!  How about blowing confetti instead of sucking it?  How about blowing their mouths bigger than grapefruit?  How about blowing their hair up?  Really!  Powerfully blowing air can create a fantastic finger-in-the-light-socket effect in mere seconds!  Wiry-haired boys come out with the best up-do.  There was simply no end to the entertainment value of air!

And, me?  I was sitting contentedly at my computer (cue the light jazz in the background), taking full advantage of this wonderful space of uninterrupted time, courtesy of a vacuum-induced diversion, while sporting my new Miss Hannigan hair-do.  Uh-huh.  My hair had been blown-up, too.  But, you know, it was actually relaxing, having my hair blown-up; nobody talking to me, nobody asking me questions, just the wind in my hair as I strung words together.  My train of thought stayed firmly on its tracks, and all character resemblance to Miss Hannigan quietly slipped away as my fingers happily slapped out The Letter.

It was a good hour plus of time that I got to myself that afternoon, all because of a small household appliance.  Now, who would have thought?  A vacuum!  The kind that sucks in one end, and blows out the other, just like a boy.

Everybody should have at least one.

Band of Brothers

It was a cold, early spring day in Alaska, and from the warm restaurant where I sat, I could look out the large windows and see the rocky beach bend around the point in both directions.  Occasionally, my gaze would wander back inside and across the table to my husband - the man whom I'd been married to for eight years, the man who was the father to our two little boys back home, the man who was father to the little life that was making all those squirming, fluttering feelings in my womb now.  I reached across the table for his hand, and he took mine.  We smiled, holding each other's gaze a moment before we turned once again to the ocean view outside. 

It was then that we saw them: three boys, stair-stepped in age from about nine to thirteen, hiking, throwing rocks, wrestling, wielding sticks, bumping, shoving, roughing; their bright eyes showing that they were, in fact, very near heaven right now.  Silently, our heads turned as our eyes slowly followed their playful movement all the way around the point. 

A band of brothers. 

In the space of just a few moments, those boys had sent my knees weak and my heart to fluttering.  I was utterly and completely captured.  Reaching across the table, I took my husband's hand once again and said, "Oh, wouldn't it be fun to have three boys?"

Indeed!  A few months later, in -20 degree temperatures, we drove home from the hospital - with our third boy! 

 

Did you know?  Boys are loud.  VERY loud.  They're rough and can be very, very messy.  They tell it like it is.  (You'll know when you have bad breath.  And when you've started growing your own mustache.  Yes, Mama, you.)  They love sweets and are positive that generous servings of dessert should be consumed after every meal, preferably with a tall glass of milk.  And, my, they can't wait until they become bachelors so they can swig their milk straight from the jug!

Think for a moment, just what they can do to a bathroom.  Three boys, one bathroom.  I've been known to choose the word 'crusty' to describe it for good reason.  Taking showers is a huge waste of their time - even once a week would be far too often.  And after brushing, their teeth may or may not be clean (probably not).   

I get concerned, at times, when I wash load after load of laundry, and find only one or two pair of boy underwear to fold.  Wha?  Huh?  Why?  Actually, I don't think I want to know.  
  

They'll declare that their room is clean, and upon inspection, you find a clear spot of floor in the very middle of the room, the rest?  Meh.  If you ever had the chance to look in their junk drawers, you'd see string, pocket knives, drawings, broken things, batteries, rubber bands, candy wrappers, broken things, business cards, feathers, rocks, pocket notebooks, broken things, army men, rubber balls, treasure chests, gold medals, and broken things.

They drink coffee in their milk.  Sometimes.  Those are really good times; their mustaches grow a little.

At bedtime, they plead with you to snuggle with them in their beds, then, there in the dark, they talk your ear right off.  In the morning, they make their beds in the most delightful sort of way.  The rest of the time, they scrap, fight, argue; they defend, protect, and nurture.  They thump on each other; they hug on each other, these three boys.  

 

 

{Photo taken last fall}

They're a band of brothers, they are. 

*   *   *

 

 

This reminds me of something I wrote when they were six, four, and two.  Tomorrow, I'll share.  It's all about one desperate Mama, one vacuum cleaner, and three little boys.

Have a wonderful Monday, friends!

 

Funnies on Sunday!

  

 

Nest this House: Found

The curiosity snags me nearly every time. 

Just what fabulousness might be sitting, lonely and unnoticed, on the thrift store shelves today?  I'm amazed at some of the things I find.

I'd passed by this gray, industrial-looking lamp several times, and it had always caught my eye, but the price, I wasn't satisfied with the price.  No matter which angle I tried, it just wasn't fitting into my silken-thread budget.  So, yet again, I left the lamp lay.

(But that sweet vintage school chair up there?  It just giggled and hopped into my car.  Or maybe it was I who giggled as the chair and I hopped into my car.  I'll never say for sure.)

But, lo and behold, the very next time I was snagged and pulled into that store, all lamps were 50% off, and my beloved gray industrial lamp was still there! 

This, people, was a miracle!

 

Hello, little guy, you're comin' home with me!

Now, our resident cartoonist and his two puzzling brothers can have illumination on their work surface whenever inspiration hits!
 
 
 

*   *   *

 

Oh, this has been fun, sharing the beginning stages of the nesting of our home with you these last few days!  I'll be sharing more here and there as we go along, so keep a look-out!  

Have a lovely weekend, friends!

 

 

 

Nest this House: Inspiration

 

I found it in an old (2003), quirky issue of Country Home.  When I turned the page about mid-way through, there it was, the full color story for the main living spaces in our new home.  Never mind that what I was actually looking at was the cover photo for an article about how to display your favorite found pieces; what I saw was something else entirely. 

I saw alabaster, honey, gun-metal gray, silver, glass, and that oh-so-perfect muted straw color relaxed with a good twinge of green.  Have you met this color yet?  See it?  There.  Right up there in the lettering.

In looking to nest this home, I've kept my eyes open in all sorts of places for inspiration.  Of course, shelter magazines and design blogs are a given, always good stuff there, but have you ever looked at stationery?  My, those stationers do know how to coordinate colors.  Just stand in the card aisle at a good stationer's shop (or even Target), and look at the color combinations.  Search 'stationery' at Etsy - it's like candy! 

Another one of my favorite places to look for color and decor inspiration is wedding blogs.  Oh, yes.  Take those fab ideas, re-interpret them into your life and space, and see the wonderful things that can happen.  How about packaging?  Some amazing designers are creating wonderful packaging these days - don't forget to take note when you see it!   

And then, there's nature.  It never goes out of style, have you noticed?  The colors and combinations of colors found there have been soothing us for thousands upon thousands of years, and we aren't tired of them yet!  Begin to train your eye to zoom in to colors found together in one square inch of tree bark, then dial back and look at how the colors are worked together across a whole mountainside and valley.  Quite inspiring, yes? 

 

One of the things that I especially love about my inspiration colors for this house is that they're neutral!  You might not realize it at first, but think about it for a minute.  Mentally throw in different colors, one at a time, alongside the color story there, and see what happens.  Try shell pink, fuschia, grass green, robin's egg blue, peacock blue, sunflower yellow, lavender, plum, navy, pumpkin, red. 

See what I mean?

Now I'm curious. Tell me: Where do you find your inspiration?

 

 

 

Becoming Home

{All photos taken by the resident six-year-old boy}

The making of your home is kind of like the making of a relationship.  You meet someone who becomes a friend, then as you spend more and more time together, you get to know each other better.  After taking strolls through the park while licking ice cream, after sharing books, meals, and backgrounds, you begin to know things.  The quirky things, the beautiful things, the less-than-lovely things (we all have them, don't we?) 

[Yes, after years of plucking, my eyebrows are still conspiring to unite, and we won't even talk about what happened to my mid-section after three boys (at different times, thankfully) took up residence there for nine months each] 

We all bring things into a relationship, and houses do, too.

It's been about six months since we "met" our house, and for the life of me, I can never put up a single picture, or really "settle" into decorating before I've lived in a space for a matter of months.  I'm convinced that each and every house has it's own personality, and I've taken the time to get to know ours.  Oh, the designer in me could kick in and stage a place pronto, but it probably wouldn't reflect the hearts of the residents and the soul of the house like it would if time was taken with the relationship first.

So, I've taken my time. 

 

 

The living room is fairly small and carved up with traffic patterns.  The walls are a shade of light caramel, which I will be happy to send along its merry way. 

We chose to leave the lion's share of our furniture in Florida when we moved, so, aside from a few pieces, the living room is a blank slate.  Perfect opportunity to keep a look-out for just-right thrifted pieces.

The boys' room is one I painted a few months ago, because the walls were pink, and if you happen to be a ten, eight, or six-year-old boy, pink walls night after night and day after day are terribly shriveling to your masculinity.  A light sage green and an inky blue on the walls perked those boys right up. 

This room is set for furniture, but I have fun visions of duvet covers in a spicy orange corduroy, and wall art made from an old calendar.

 

  

As you can see, the master bedroom does not, right now, spell 'haven'.  The folded sheets on the chair speak to the fact that there is no linen closet in the house, and I'm the first to admit that baseball caps aren't the best dresser accessory.  No, I should say not. 

But, it'll come.  One day it'll spell 'haven'.  One day.

Ah, the kitchen.  It's filled with south-facing windows, so you can imagine the great natural light I get in there.  But, how about that counter top?  It's the previous renter's attempt at a DIY tile job.  A tile job gone wrong.  Way wrong.  But, bless his heart, I hope he enjoyed every minute of his DIY, and felt pride in his accomplishment. 

I just hope that he doesn't read this blog, because I'm afraid the only remedy for the counter top problem is a complete tear-out and re-do.  It may happen one day.  I know people.

Bananas anyone?

The orange chair still sits in the corner of my kitchen.  Handy for sitting and visiting with the cook.  I love it when I get sitters in that chair visiting with the cook.  Those sitters have been known to become maniac drivers of a hot orange race car, round and round the kitchen island.  Have you ever cooked in the middle of a race track?  No?  It's a little tricky.  Watch your toes.

But, really, I've got my eye out for a different piece of furniture to put in that corner.  I'll know it when I see it. 

It probably won't have wheels.

Tractor anyone?

 

The flooring in the kitchen is a builder-grade vinyl, but with no plans to change that, strategically placed throw rugs will cover most of its blemishes.

The kitchen/dining room is open to the living room by a six-foot opening, so all the rooms will be painted the same color, unifying the spaces.  Can hardly wait for this to happen!

There's just one catch.  All of the painting, decorating, organizing, and beautifying of this house has to happen on a reeeeally skinny budget.   You've heard of shoe-string?  We're going skinnier, much skinnier.  I was thinking dental floss, but it's even skinnier than that.  Our budget is more the size of the silken threads that are laced together into spider's webs. 

Yes, that's it: Decorating a House on a Silken-Thread Budget. 

I wonder what it'll be like?

*   *   *

P.S.  I must give a shout-out to my little photographer who took all the shots that ended up in this post.  You never know what you'll find on your camera after the boy 'takes a turn' one quiet afternoon!