Falling Into Style

While I tend to experience an anxiety spiral at the beginning of every school year (just tellin’ it like it is), the return of fall is still one of my favorite parts of living in upstate New York. It’s by far our favorite season. The colors. The crispness. The apples (and apple products). The corduroy jackets. The comfort food. What’s not to love?

I like to incorporate the different seasons into our home decor, but try to avoid the blatant leaf garlands and what not. Even at Christmastime, I try to use cozy items that will carry us past the holiday and through winter. I’ve even outgrown some earth tones (which I once really liked) and the rusts, golds, and oranges that usually encompass autumn. So, I’ve been on a search for some ways to switch things up a bit without falling prey to the old autumn gimmicks.

Enter Pinterest, stage left. It still takes some searching and sifting, since there is a healthy dose of bedazzled faux pumpkins (I kid you not; I’m all for using fake pumpkins year-to-year, but the sparkles…oh, the sparkles) and ghostly projects, but I did find some ideas that at least get my juices flowing (um, ew).

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Source (original Source)

Wait. Dude. Didn’t I just say no autumn garlands? Yes, yes, I did. You are correct. This, however, isn’t your mother’s fake leaves attached with tiny plastic tubing to attempt the look of nature in the most unnatural of ways. (Actually, I don’t remember my mother attempting this. I clearly didn’t acquire her taste in the gene pool of life.) And, for the record, I used to decorate with those things. 🙂

Plus, while this “garland” technically has some fall colors goin’ on, it’s also able to walk the line into other seasons pretty easily. I’ve also seen several garlands using rustic-looking cloth which I’d love to try.

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Wow, another Etsy find! I could just buy it, but then what would be the fun in that?? I don’t need the rhinestone awesomeness or even the swirly…what is that dusty messy looking stuff? Anyhoo… The decoupaging of book pages seems simple enough, but if I could find a stamp or book with a neat print or image, I’d be all over it. I have enough ancient books hanging around this place, I should be able to find something…right?

Not to mention, the styling of the other products at Cloth and Patina give me gobs of inspiration right there. Knowing that you can attain “AUTUMN” with creams, crystal, porcelain, and paper makes me pretty happy.

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If I did want a splash of color here or there, I’d totally try this. Painters’ tape + paint + pumpkin (real or fake) = a fun way to add some pattern (and the only chevron in the house is one of the fitted sheets for the baby’s crib…he’s so much hipper than us). If I didn’t want to ruin the neutrality from above, I can see a cream-and-gray tonal one. Can’t you?

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We can’t ignore the table, right? Even though I honestly can’t remember the last time we sat at our dining room table, as a family, to eat a meal. Easter? (We generally eat at our tiny kitchen set-up out of convenience.) And, odds are Thanksgiving will be another year of table hopping at out parents’ houses. But, a girl can dream, right?

The cool thing about this little tableau is that I already have an awesome antique drawer/box thingamajigger that would provide a neat-o replacement for this rustic box. Mix in some white pumpkins (vs. the traditional orange), and I’m a happy camper.

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It saddens me to take down the Beatles quote that’s currently hanging in our living room, but chalkboard art is meant to be enjoyed, then changed. Hey, much like a season! Look at that, being all metaphorical. Anyhoo, I like this Camus quote (although we’re working with a horizontal board, so I’d have to finagle it). Oooorrrr…

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…I could try THIS, or something like it. Hmm. Again, a girl can dream, right?


Here are a few pops of inspiration that only need a few words of explanation:

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Use this idea as a small piece of framed “art”?


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Three words: Mercury “glass” pumpkins. LOVE.

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I adore the simplicity of this one. It’s somehow earthy, textural, warm, monochromatic and modern, all at the same time. I’m on the hunt for some wheat.

So, while I may not implement all of these ideas, or even half of them, they give me a good jumping off point from which to start. And the first step is going through the stuff I have already, big and small, that might work. Goodness knows I have a buttload of candles and cylindrical vases. 😉

What do you think? Elegant? Rustic? Or too bland? Do you prefer warmifying your house with the colors of the season? There’s totally nothing wrong with that! After all, after I get past the initial “aw, crap!” of seeing the first leaves change, I get a huge thrill taking a short road trip to a cider mill amidst the colorful rolling hills. Ahh. Now I want cocoa.

P.S. Happy 14-month “birthday” to Hadman! Every Friday the 13th I find myself growing nostalgic for that day and sad (yet proud) of what a bright, sweet little person he’s become. *sniff, sniff*

Currently

Since it has been a rollercoaster week full of back-to-school, return-Hadley-to-Grandma’s, husband-starting-awesome-new-job, my brain is FRIED like those old egglicious drug PSAs in the 80s. Seriously, this is your brain on life.

But I still want to write and share and connect and, in essence, blog like usual.

What to do…what to do…

*light bulb*

HK


I tend not to take part in the “new topic every week” (or, God forbid, every DAY) linky parties. Don’t get me wrong. I love me a linky party as much as the next blogger. They’re totally like speed dating for bloggy friends! But, if you’re a regular reader, you know I have a hard time stickin’ with something. Case in point: The never-ending bathroom project. I’ll get there, just don’t put a timeline on it. I’m defiant, especially when defiance gives me an excuse to procrastinate. I’ve always been the “I’ll do it when I’m damn good and ready to do it and not a moment earlier” girl (my poor mother). Then, when I set my mind to it…I do it RIGHT. And in miniscule pieces at a time.

But, ANYhoo, the occasional “here’s a topic, aaaaand GO” post? I’m game. Here are this week’s topics….

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(I heart Microsoft Publisher)


I’m growing the heck out of some man-eating tomato plants. I kid you not. The rest of the garden looks like the Land That Time Forgot (namely because *raises hand* I was a bad Garden Mama this summer…I was an awesome Hadley Mama, if that’s any consolation). But, I threw three cherry tomato plants into a little plot next to our front porch instead of flowers…y’know, to make better use. I’m SO one of those folks that would love to convert the front lawn into a garden full of medicinal herbs and heirloom what-nots, but this experiment taught me something about myself: I care a tad too much what the neighbors think. These plants have grown OVER, UNDER, AROUND and THROUGH the porch. Our. Poor. Mail carrier.

Irony? I hate tomatoes. What I hate even more? Picking…you guessed it…tomatoes. Especially when there are squishy ninja ones just waiting to pee tomato juice and guts all over my roaming hand. I want to throw up just thinking about it.

We’re buying shampoo (and have been for a little while now). Yep, I’m no longer ‘poo free, although I’d like to get back to it. I’m a tad more worried about the sheer number of grays popping through lately and whether or not there’s a more “natural” way to handle it. Oh, and especially with the Hadman back at his grandma/sitter, we’re buying the heck outta diapers. And food pouches. Just keepin’ it real. We’re consumers. Guilty ones, but consumers nonetheless.

I’m earning my keep again. READ: School’s back in session. This year, I’m really EARNING it, too. Next to no down-time in a day. But, it’s a job and I’m lucky.

We’re judging our finances. Seriously, we’ve made a Money Date (to take place during one or more baby naps this weekend) to analyze the crab cakes out of what we make and how we use it. I’m thinking of Dave Ramsey-ing our life a bit. And while we’re on the subject of “judging” – I’m judging myself for the fact that I technically do not use a black-and-white, set-in-stone budget. And I really, really need to. *hangs head in shame*

Dave is embracing his new job, and I’m embracing the “new Dave”…which looks a lot like the “old Dave” but with a huge weight off his shoulders. It’s a relief to me to see how well he’s responding to the new gig, and that it’s not a case of “the grass is always greener.” When the grass is half dead and overrun with weeds, anything’s an improvement. In this case, however, it’s truly a luscious field rife with long green grass and fragrant flowers. I don’t use this word much (and we don’t look at life in religious terms), but we are blessed. And you’d better believe we’re grateful. It’s a refreshing change of pace for the whole family. Peace.

And, as always, we’re embracing every single moment of Hadley-ness. As all babies tend to, he’s growing up so fast. The crisp fall air means a change from shorts to pants, and just seeing how long they make his legs appear…and the mini-sneakers he trots around in…holy crow, it’s insane. He’s a little boy. Sure, he’s still a toddler, at least, and isn’t very verbal (if at all), and gets needy here and there, but he’s SO not a baby anymore. Excuse me while I go sob into my pillow. Side note: Frost advisory tonight, but next week it’ll be warming up again. Hooray for toddler shorts again, just for a few more days!! Grasping at something I can’t hold.

So, that’s what I’m up to “currently”. Linkin’ up? You better believe it. Have a slaptastic weekend, folks!

Shout-out to Nekaro, whose blog I enjoy creeping…which is how I found this linky party. (I so invited myself. I’m a party crasher, but only on the interwebs. SO not brave enough for that in reality.)

Proud

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Courtesy Corbis Images

I couldn’t be more ecstatic to announce here for all the world to see (all 3 of you who haven’t yet heard! ;-)) that my husband will be making a huge career shift from the wacky world o’ news to the calmer realm of P.R. in his new role in the SUNY Institute of Technology Public Affairs office tomorrow! It has been a roller coaster of emotions, from when he first considered applying, through the interview process, to his being offered and accepting the job and, finally, his last day at his previous job.

See, the emotions stem from several places. He moved his way up at the station from being the guy who posts stories to the web to the guy who assigns stories and works as the assistant news director to a full-blown anchor (mind you, while still wearing all of those other hats). As have a few others, I see that he has given not just the six very long years to the place, but he has had years shaved off the end of his life with the stress that has accrued. It has been challenging, to say the least, to watch the once vivacious man I knew beaten down into the ball of nerves and anxiety-driven ailments. It was time for him to recapture his life. I’m happy to say, as his final workday came and passed, the responsibilities that visibly weighed his shoulders melted away and his old self seems to be reemerging.

I know that there are some bittersweet aspects to this change for him and us, and more so for many who have known him in a “local celebrity” role (one which he has always been humbled by and kindly about, but that has messed a little with his mind; I imagine it would for anyone). As with everything else, he has dealt with this change with his head held high, proud of the work he has achieved and happy about the friends he made, yet unapologetic that he will now have a much less stressful day to contend with and easier hours with which to cherish life, his family (yay!), and his creative endeavors. Plus, the college is an incredible place to work, especially with its growing opportunities in fields that will make our area and America’s future brighter. It’s practically a dream come true after all the stress he’s endured. It’s well-deserved and was hard-won.

We realize that many folks will question this change. It brings us to discuss the meaning of “success” and recognize that this holds a different meaning for everyone. While he has been exceptionally proud of the work he has done (be it his coverage of the brewery fire – our first broken date, the first time that I realized I’d be up against many more disappointments that turned into opportunities for him, and would have to learn to deal with them – the shootings in “the valley”, his daily anchoring of the noon, or those countless forgettable spots or middle-of-the-night runs to get a tornado, flood, blizzard or fire covered), being on television does not equate success.

One’s pride in one’s work and the ability to enjoy a work-life balance is what means the most to us. To others, just the idea of being on TV for thousands to see is success. There is not one right or wrong way to live life, and to each his own. 

We know that it will be a tough transition and don’t expect all of our worldly problems to be answered by the change. (Nothing’s that perfect!) But, I can’t wait to see the work he’s able to do here, with the luxury of TIME to perform it properly. The wonderful thing about enduring a high-stress situation is that the simple things seem so much sweeter.

He’s already appreciating that he’ll be getting an actual daily lunch (like, taking time away from work to…y’know…eat), and, although it’s a basement area, he’ll have his own office – he’s chomping at the bit to have his own phone, to decorate, and to close the door if he needs some privacy. Even a far-off parking spot gives him happiness that he’ll get to walk on the beautiful campus everyday.

But, the biggest amenity is his time. We are beyond lucky for all the extra time (including the time he’s not busy worrying about work) that we, as a family, will get to spend with our Dorky Daddy. He was already the best father I’ve ever seen; now where only his heart was, his mind and actions will be. And all the creative ideas, be they general writing, film or theater, can now have time to percolate and find their way to reality. I’m so excited for him! Can’t you tell?

Let me just take the opportunity to say, above all else…I’m still his biggest fan. 🙂 Signing off. 

There Were Never Such Devoted Sisters

Today is my big sister’s birthday. I won’t divulge her age…’cuz nobody’s happy to have that information out there for the world. (Well, maybe she is, but I won’t push it.) She’s an awesome mom and wife (um, I assume; I’m not married to her ;-)), but I know her better as an incredible sister and BIBF — built-in best friend.

I have two older brothers and Mary, and while I know I was always a bit of a nuisance to all of them growing up, and I’ve put them all on pedestals for years, Mary and I were automatically lumped together being a) closer in age to each other and b) girls. We shared EVERYTHING; a room (and bed when we were younger), friends, clothes, bath time (again, when we were younger), oftentimes presents, and the less concrete; tiny issues that seemed so big, giggles ’til one of us fell asleep (usually her), and secrets.

After Mary went away to college, leaving me an only child for the first time EVER, our relationship changed. I was suddenly less of an annoyance. We’d receive homesick calls and my mother would be so excited to hear her voice…only to grow disappointed and hand the phone over to me. I was suddenly an equal rather than a buzzing mosquito, and it was wonderful. Through bumps in the road and issues big and small, our friendship has remained. As other longtime friends fell out of our lives, we still found that we could call or shoot a lengthy email divulging whatever gripe or real concern we had with the world without fear of judgment or condemnation…or, worse, losing the friendship.

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The funny thing? We’re not that much alike. Mary’s the sensible one; I’ve always been less than rational (compared to some, this might not be true, but in our family it’s simply how it is). She’s relatively reserved unless prodded; I’m generally boisterous to a fault. She’s business-minded; I’m scattered and lack a head for numbers. She’s level-headed; I romanticize things and get over-emotional. Yet, we work. It works.

Why am I telling you about her? Well…for one thing, to embarrass her. Betchya it’s working. 😉 But, more importantly, to not only celebrate Mary and her turning another year older, but to celebrate all that Mary has done for me. See, I wouldn’t have the life I have right now if it wasn’t for Mary. Not only did she help discipline me, teach me how to deal inter-personally with others, and keep an eye on me in my formative years (among about a million other little things), but I literally wouldn’t have the life that surrounds me at this very moment if not for a few key steps that SHE made. It brings tears to my eyes to consider it, and how fate works.

See, way back in what seems to be a different lifetime for all of us, Mary was looking for a new outlet for creativity. Something that she could enjoy as a hobby. Being a relatively quiet, shy person, what happened next astounds me still. Mary saw an ad in the paper mentioning an open dinner meeting at the Ilion Little Theater Club to welcome new members and anyone interested in becoming a member…and, all alone, knowing not a soul, she showed up. So. Not. Mary. Hell, I don’t think I could’ve done it.

She learned a bit about the place and started her foray by helping backstage…then taking a role in a musical (I still love that part…a young orphaned archaeologist with dirt on her face)…then in an awesome comedy that our grandmother would’ve been proud of (in which I distinctly remember her borrowing a pair of my “Katharine Hepburn pants” — she was an outgoing, modern American married to a traditional British vicar). I loved going to see her in the shows and enjoyed visiting the place. I was just downright proud and happy for her.

She warm-heartedly allowed me to (just like the old days) tag along with her to a dinner meeting or two to learn more about the place, myself. I was fascinated by it, but never thought I’d get deeply involved. It was Mary’s thing and I didn’t want to take it from her.

But, then, the call came. A first-time director (and, at the time, the president of the club) knew that Mary wasn’t interested in a part, but wondered if I’d take a crack at it. It was a long-shot considering that I hadn’t acted since high school, but I took it and the rest is history.

I remember calling Mary immediately to find out if it was okay (I hadn’t said “yes” yet) and she seemed almost relieved that I was willing to take the role. Since then, I’ve come to feel the same way when I’ve helped a director find someone to fill a role I was unable to perform (usually due to time constraints…or just hating the part), but at the time I didn’t want her to feel like I was taking over HER hobby; once again nudging into her life just as I had tagged along on her dates in high school. (Yes, I did that. Thank God she married her high school sweetheart and we can still laugh about it today.)

Yet, Mary was gracious and almost grateful that we had a common bond to share. We even ended up doing a couple of shows together.

But here’s how this whole thing changed “the course of human events”: I met my husband at the theater. The first show we did together on Ilion’s stage (there was a prior show we worked on together, but didn’t have any lines or interactions with each other and it was an “on the road” production) was a musical called “1940s Radio Hour”. Dave was talked into joining our cast by a co-worker/friend. We were friendly, but far from friends or even “more than friends” back then. I was generally happiest that Mary and I finally got to joke off of each other and even sing together quite a lot (and in period ’40s costumes, at that!). 

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A couple of shows later and I found myself doing a cockney accent as a hotel maid in “Perfect Wedding”. It was a much smaller cast, and Mary wasn’t in this one, so we found ourselves growing much friendlier during rehearsals. I think I appreciated the dedication Dave had to the role and his perfectionism about getting it right; I’m pretty sure he liked the same thing about me. (If you’re gonna do an accent, DO THE DAMN ACCENT! Am I right or am I right?) We just got along. By the end of the run, we both found ourselves single and the rest is, as they say, history.

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The theater is our family history. From there, our first date was at a local Broadway-caliber show, we saw a few Broadway shows (and other area theater shows) over the years, and even got engaged in NYC. The evening we found out we were having Hadley was Halloween almost two years ago — and we had to immediately head to the theater to rehearse “Arsenic and Old Lace”. (Side note: It’s one of Dave’s FAVORITES, so now we can say that Hadley made his debut onstage with us. Although technically that would’ve been gross. Ew.) Now, THAT was a lesson in acting, keeping that little piece of news to ourselves. 
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Whatchya hidin’ in there? A seeeecret?

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Thank goodness for first trimesters…

Some of my favorite memories at the theater are of sharing moments with family. Mary, whom if not for a horrific bout of tendinitis might have a career as a musician or music teacher today, has performed the role of musical director many a time. When we did “A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum” a few years back, it was the first huge musical role of its kind that Dave had had (although he did some kickass musical reviews in high school that I only wish had been videotaped), and her patience and kindness working with him was one of the things that gave him the confidence to get up there and put aside his misgivings; he proved that, yes, he had/has musical talent. 

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When Dave made his directorial debut, he chose “Clue! The Musical” and ripped it to shreds; I should say, he made it GOOD. It wouldn’t have been high on many lists of favorites if Mary hadn’t led the way musically. That one was, by far, a family affair. I played Miss Scarlet, did choreography and picked up slack wherever Dave needed me to. I’d done stuff like this for other shows, but this time was different. We were doing it as a familial team. Oh, and I almost forgot — Dave had to make a cameo once or twice, and Mary’s husband, John, played a superb Paul McCartney (just kidding; he was a back-up dancer/one of many husbands to Mrs. Peacock).

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Falling Into Style - image  on https://megactsout.com

Falling Into Style - image  on https://megactsout.com


At any given time, we three served on the theater’s board, too. That’s a lesson in itself!

And, in the process of it all and as time tends to allow, we’ve picked up a second family. Sure, it’s one that has its share of oddballs (I may be one of them) and moody personalities (again…me?), but for those who have fallen in love with theater in the tiny one-room dressing room and equally tiny stage (what scene change?!), through tripped power switches and square-headed screws vs. Philips head screws and paint parties with donuts…the ILT family is to thank for it. And maybe George, our resident ghost, has a little hand in it, too. (No, we’re not chatting with the ghost in this picture.)

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So, quite literally, I owe the family that is currently dozing around me as I type this to Mary first, and the theater second. That’s huge. I’m humbly grateful. And, yes, we will return…some day. When Hadley’s old enough to play independently backstage without getting into the tools.And when he can get a walk-on and actually walk…on.


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A very happy *mumble mumble* birthday to my sister, my best friend, my second mother, my unknowing matchmaker, Mary. Thank you for being such a huge part of my life, for giving me an awesome brother and niece, and for being the proudest aunt ever. Lots of love and I’m sorry if this post was too much about me than you; it got away from me! 😉

Pinterest in the Dining Room

I’ve been feeling a tad “blah” the past few days, so how’s about indulging me in a little Pinspiration, m’kay? Thanks. I knew you’d understand.

Let me introduce you to Red Riding Hood. Er. Red Dining Room. Our dining room is a small-ish box of a space. We inherited the red walls. Wait, okay, actually we inherited purple-red walls. To see if we could live with them (in a slightly less Barney fashion), we purchased some crimson paint several years back and slapped it up there. It toned down the purple, but the red’s still there in all of its BAM, POW, SMACK glory.

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That iPhone picture makes it look more purple, but it is actually burgundy red. The table set was something we purchased a year and a half ago (and put together last July 4th when we were trying to get the baby to make his arrival). We like it very much, along with the awesome vintage sidebar under the window (which we purchased on our honeymoon; how’s that for a story?) and the ladder-style bookshelf to the right. Can’t even see it, huh?

There’s also a set of windows to the right of this shot, and some large art in a rustic frame to the left. It’s a darn near impossible room to take pictures of thanks to a) its size and b) the weird built-ins (see the white on the left and right of the shot?) which go halfway up the wall and create a doorway into the room.

I know the first step will be to finally paint the walls a color that wasn’t all the rage in 1995. Not that there’s anything wrong with 1995. Okay, there was; colors, patterns, and some fashions were questionable. So, yeah, I’ve been considering greiges (beige + gray = the awesomest neutral at the moment). At the same time, it’s the first time in recollection that Dave disagrees. He likes the red, and encourages friends and family to agree when they visit. Ha. Not gonna work, buddy. There’s no way I’m going to ever sell this house with a red dining room, and if I’m going to paint it for some future owner to enjoy, why can’t I enjoy it while I’m here? Good reasoning, I think.

While we’re at it, the trim needs a coat or two of the bright semi-gloss white the rest of the house has. Why people paint their trim a dirty shade of cream, I’ll never know. I know I’ll be relieved when that procrastinated project is finished. I may be even more relieved when the rug is gone. It was a cheap, on-sale find, but just isn’t our style anymore…if it ever was.

So, while keeping the aforementioned warm, medium-dark furniture (and books and art, at least to see if they work), we will then have a clean slate of greige + white trim. Here are some finds that inspire me enough to want to pick up a paintbrush (whether they’d work in our dining room or not):


My faves? The drum pendant lighting (we actually put in the chandy we currently have, but it’s a tad too traditional; although I have a feeling it would help sell the house down the line better than a drum…we live in a traditional area) and the geometric curtains rock my socks off. I like our current cheap-o white curtains, but the room is asking for a little suntin’ suntin’.


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There are parts of this room that I’m not in love with, but for the most part it suits a small space wonderfully. The upholstered chairs flanking each end are pretty darn rad, and a mirror helps broaden the space (I need me some of that), plus the lighting fixture is purdy. Downright purdy. 

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Okay, so this isn’t an entire dining room, but it gives me an idea. Check out the gold…and do you see the accent color? Yep, reddy pinky PURPLE. Like the purple monstrosity we began with! Anyone else think it would be a sweet homage — like saying “Let’s still be friends” and actually staying friends? — to the ugliness we started this project with to throw in a few accents of this pretty-in-its-own-way color? I guess I don’t mind it as a hit here and there, but to engulf the walls or rug…ick.

(Oh, and there’s some “Keep Calm and Carry On” art on the wall. Love that.)

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Speaking of rugs…while I’d like to get one a tad more modern (since we’ll be using it in any future dwellings, too), this style would work for a few reasons. a) It’s just modern enough without going crazy, making it a good transitional piece that wouldn’t stick out in our 1925 home, b) the cats SHOULD leave it alone…should, and c) the deep tone (with walls exactly that color) grounds the room superbly. Side note: I SO want to DIY that fixture. I’m also flip-flopping — orchidy purple-ish or fun mustard yellow? Drats.

So, there are just a few ideas for our lovely little dining room. That Pinspiration almost makes me want to pick up some paint…almost. I foresee it being my just-around-Christmas project. (In the past, we tend to take on vast painting projects…you got it…just around that busy time of the year. We so crazy.)

Art!

YI’ve been looking around for some ways to freshen up the ol’ walls around here. Since the bathroom is starting to look more “done” than “in the midst of chaos” I threw some paint onto a canvas (something I’d pinned from here awhile back) that coordinates with the shower curtain.


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Here’s the art; kind of an ikat/modern type thing…

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By the way, since our easel was in the basement (and I did this project during nap time), I used a couple of glasses to dry the piece. Use what ya got!

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Now I’ve hit a wall. Namely, our bedroom wall(s). The space over our bed is sparse, and the room is small, so I don’t want a headboard. I’m scoping out some headboard alternatives…

Maybe a DIY headboard with a low profile, or just some fun mirrors?
Or some more art (perhaps three canvasses) in gray, white and navy (and maybe a touch of chartreuse). It could be similar to the ikat I’ve got going on in the bathroom (ie the above style) or something simpler and more graphic, like stripes…maybe.


                     Or perhaps some subtler, more earthy/botanical/natural art?

Opinions? You know me; I suck at making up my mind, and the hubs doesn’t seem to have much of an opinion on this stuff most of the time.

And then there’s the wall opposite out bed. I’ve had these clearance pieces from TJ Maxx (less than a buck a piece!) for a couple of years, but they’re not working for me anymore. (Dave thinks they’re fine.) The tv and honking dresser are no help, but they’re kind of unavoidable.
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Still doing some searching to figure out what to do there. One huge art piece? (A huge art piece over the bed, then two smaller over here?) Or something more sculptural?

Plus, DANG do I have to start taking better pictures. Stupid iPhone.

Anyhoo, yeah. Any ideas or opinions would be greatly appreciated! Thanks a lot, guys!!

A Day for Fathers

The oh-so-recent recent Father’s Day holiday has always been a bittersweet one for me, and I assume for my family. While we live our lives in completely normal ways (normal is relative, of course), this time of the year always breaks me down a tad. Okay, sometimes more than a tad. I’m a freaking wreck.

I have two memories of Father’s Days past.

The first one involves sitting in our tiny chairs and desks in Mrs. Golembiowski’s third grade class, working hard on our gifts. Kids were sitting and talking about why their fathers were special, all clearly focusing on the person to whom their gifts would so lovingly be presented.

A handful of years prior, my father had passed away from melanoma. It was just shy of my fourth birthday, and though I was so young, I had some basic memories of him. When I figured out the meaning behind what had happened (namely, he was gone F-O-R-E-V-E-R), I mentally aged about twenty years. After that, I always felt slightly detached from my peers.

However, my heart was full of joy. While I don’t remember the gift we were making, I fully recall that I was excited to be giving it to my grandfather – “Grandpa Heidi.” I adored him more than any person I knew. If I could be a shadow, I’d be his. I still feel this way.

My thoughts were shattered by a sudden blunt question.

“Megan, why are YOU making one? You don’t have a father. You shouldn’t be allowed to make a present.”

I don’t remember which classmate made the comment. I just remember that I knew it was said with no other reason but than to make me feel horrible. Of all the hurtful things that were said over the years to me or about me (we had quite the drama queen-filled grade, and I hate to admit that there were times that I was a part of the problem), this was the worst. Chalk it up to “kids being kids”…?

So, as I silently finished my gift, tears streaming down my face and leaving a puddle on my desk, I focused on who would receive the gift. This is where the second memory kicks in.

That Sunday, as with all holidays, we piled in the Buick and headed to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It was a day that left a heavy lump in our throats, but a day to celebrate the wonderful grandfather who played the role of surrogate father, showing more love to us, in some ways, better than he did his own children.

As the gifts — a new L.L. Bean shirt, a bottle of whisky — piled up at his feet, he finally opened mine, a wide smile spreading across his face. Of all the gifts, he treated that little tchochke with as much value as a new car. It was enough to heal my heart of the harshness dealt me earlier in the week.

Years later, as we cleaned out his house after he had moved into a nursing home, we found several of those gifts that I had made — particularly, a chunk of wood with a cool little bird decoupaged on the back and a clothespin glued to the front with “Megan” scrolled in my teacher’s best cursive. He was still using it to hold bills on his intimidating bank desk in his dark cave of an office.

After awhile, my mother remarried a man who has since become a great stepdad and a doting grandfather to my son, despite my efforts to make his life miserable (ahh, teen years). Even with so many father figures in my life, it’s still been a lifetime of bittersweet Father’s Days.

But, now there’s a new focus. While the incredibly sexist, grillmaster-golfing-with-bermuda-shorts-laden commercials (Honestly! Where’s my dorky daddy commercial with Dads snuggling up while reading comic books to their offspring?) relegate the holiday to yet another Hallmark Holiday, I embrace it, for I now know a daddy who deserves all the attention, love and, yes, gifts this day will allow.

This year, it was time to celebrate a first-year father. One year ago, Dave knew nothing of diaper changes and was quietly terrified of doing ANYTHING wrong, but was eager and 100% supportive (not to mention trusting that I knew what I was doing…which I did…kind of). I watched a fast evolution from sweet husband into incredible father. Not knowing the ins-and-outs of fatherhood, myself, I saw his protectiveness take form. I saw a man who literally spent an afternoon sitting in one awkward position on the couch because the baby had slipped down and he didn’t know how to get out of the position shift into a daddy completely comfortable picking up, holding, carrying, moving, buckling, and snuggling (and, yes, even sleeping) with his son. I saw a man fall in love, his heart full of wanting the best of everything — knowledge, safety, freedom for the child to follow his heart and happiness — for this little, clueless being. I saw a father born.

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Daddy with a 6-week-old munchkin monkey. My, what a year does.


So, this year, the baby and I stopped for a visit with Grandpa, yes. We skipped a trip to my father’s headstone, but mostly due to weather — we will raise Hadley with the knowledge that he had a grandfather that he won’t meet (and that sometimes it’s what makes Mommy a tad crazy), but also that he has two on earth who love him more than life itself. Over the weekend, we visited with my stepdad and Dave’s dad, exchanging gifts, stories, and appreciation. But, mostly, we celebrated a new daddy with new clothes (a polo, gasp!), some homemade baby wall or desk art (silhouette!), and a pretty kick-arse french toast breakfast. And, we’re lucky, he loved it all. Our dorky daddy.

I hope everyone had a very happy Father’s Day — all those inspirational dads out there, be they biological, grand-, step-, adopted, or simply fill an important role for someone in need of a father; whether your kids are grown, still small, or just a glimmer in your thoughts, for the fathers in life and the fathers in heart and the fathers in spirit, you’re what gives the world its solid foundation, and we couldn’t do any of this without you. We love you, dads.

Birthday Bash Brainstorming

Mmm, alliteration. Truly a girl’s best friend. And after re-reading this post, parentheses.

So, the monkey’s big birthday (you know, the BIG birthday…the FIRST birthday) is coming up July 13th. Sure, it’s still May, but I live in this little place called reality, where once a child is born, time starts playing horrific tricks on us. He’s practically shaving.

Okay, not shaving, but he’s insanely mobile (mere moments from walking, I swear) and even says a few words. Wait, “oof oof” is totally a word, right? It is when it’s associated with dogs (and, for the time being, cats…they’re the same thing, all the cool kids say). And the time seriously feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. The blink of an exhaustedly blood-shot, tear-filled eye.

To stave off any further waterworks, I’m focusing my emotional energies into creating an awesomesauce birthday party. I’m using Pinterest, oh evil mistress of perfection-flaunting in the face of mere mortals, to glean some ideas that might be fun to try. But, you know, since I live in reality (and am the mother of an active 10 1/2 month old who demands attention; would he prefer to have free reign and complete independence? Sure thing. Do I want to have a child with numerous concussions and cats with mental scars for life? Hellz no.), I’m fully aware that most of these aren’t attainable.

We can dream, can’t we? If I hit 40%, that’ll be doing something.

Oh, and I also live within a reality which involves people who would think me a tad overboard for implementing all this stuff. So, I have to reign it in, too, simply as not to have any heads exploding come July 13th. Not a pretty way to celebrate a fun day. Horrible replacement to fireworks.

As with most things we do, I’d like to keep it green. Recently, I stumbled upon a website that is essentially nothing but a depressing sob-fest (for softies such as myself) displaying hundreds of pictures of animals who have been injured or killed by balloons after being allowed to float away or even just after being thrown away properly. Damn, Hadman loves balloons. That’s okay, social responsibility comes first — and he won’t even know what he missed. Tissue pom-poms or Chinese lanterns, it is, son! 

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What’s a birthday party without hats? A regular ol’ barbecue, that’s what. So, for those who want to wear one (sign me up, please!), we have a couple of options…

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(These are wooden, but you get the idea. I guess they make birthday crowns from newspaper in England. Not only eco-friendly, but classic! Hadley’s not a hat guy, so this is only an “if Mommy wants to get all Martha Stewart and sleep very little” option.)

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source
I’ve already purchased some hats (to reuse over time), but dude. Just dude.
That whole site is chock full o’ birthday sweetness.

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Like these!!!!! I’m on the hunt for some sans serif cookie cutters. Baking in inevitably 90° weather with an almost-toddler? I’m an idiot. But, if I find an “H” I can use it every year! Y’know. In the sweltering heat. *smacks forehead* Oh, and of COURSE I’m searching for natural (ie fruits and veggies) alternatives to food coloring. Blueberry’s a must, simply because Hads loves ’em.

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Or I could always make (or buy?) cake pops. I’ve never had them but I hear they’re the rage. Or, at least that’s what the kiddies are shouting into my Miracle Ear. Could also buy cupcakes (maybe the ones we used for our wedding!!!) and make a smash cake myself for the monkey. Ha. More baking.

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Speaking of smash cakes, here’s a lower sugar, all-natural option I’m considering.
Plus, bananas and blueberries = very happy almost-toddler. I did not just type that word. *sigh*


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STILL from the aforementioned party (man, that Beckham’s got swagger), I love just the simple container for napkins, utensils, etc (I was searching Target today for eco-friendly of all of the above; think I’ll have to hit up Peter’s Cornucopia; love that place) and a chalkboard for the menu. Of course, this is the one area that I’ll be considered crazy if I just say “Let’s just do a cheese/cracker (I guess we don’t do “bread”) and veggie tray, some cookies and cupcakes, and maybe some cute sandwiches on baguettes.” Inevitably, there will be mounds of salads — green (specifically for my husband, who eats nothing with mayonnaise), potato, pasta — possibly several types of grilled meats, perhaps a pizza will show up…food’s one thing we do, and do to excess. No point, really.

See, in my mind, which is always grasping for the aesthetically-pleasing, slightly quirky and quasi-hip method, I’d want the money (hell, if no one else wants to pitch in, I’ll do it!) on organic soda (it exists! And in purdy bottles, too!) and a craft beer chilling in a galvanized tub with some homemade lemonade in mason jars, and a display that looks something like this (sans tomato soup and pie)…

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Darn you, Beckham.

I am also considering, food-wise, something along the lines of this…

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Not that font or description, but the thought behind it. Our kid’s got a pretty refined pallet (read: will eat anything, particularly off floor). Avocados. Extra-sharp cheese. Pasta. A plethora of fruit-and-veg blends including kale or beets. Oh, and pizza…and generally anything that adults eat that we literally need to fight him off to consume. It turns into a scene from Oliver!, I kid you not. “Please, sir…!!!” So, I’m thinking pizza, homemade guac with chips for dippin’ (maybe salsa, too), fruit salad (bananas, kiwi, blueberries, cantaloupe), veggie sticks (the ones in the organic chip aisle; he can’t handle the raw stuff quite yet), and cheese ‘n crackers (or a cheese dip of some sort).

By the way, we’re not doing a theme this year. We considered it for one mad minute, but then realized “Um, he’s one. That’s a theme right there.” (If we wanted to get all dramatic, we could do the “Not yet a man, no longer an infant…” theme. Mustaches abound! Or giraffes. God, the giraffes.) We’re just going with the colors of his nursery, for the most part — y’know, turquoise, orange, green. Good times.

(Maybe one day we’ll do the Mo Willems theme…or the Fred Astaire theme…or whatever the heck else he’s interested in. But, we’ll strive to keep them home-grown events without the rigmarole of inviting an entire freaking grade of kids. We’re not here to show off, just have fun. And Mommy totally has fun with aesthetically-arranged sodas, mkay?)

Speaking of which, one thing that our parties tend to lack is organized fun. It’s a tad tough to do this (same goes for favors) since we don’t really have a plethora of kids coming. There’s Hadley, his cousin Lizzie (who will be 2 months shy of 2 years old *more sobbing*), and MAAAAAYBE one more friend of the family who’s not school-aged yet. Tada. The rest are teenagers *yet more sobbing, I changed their dipes* and a buttload of grown-ups. So, rather than force people to violently whack something whilst wearing a blindfold (never got that), I’m thinkin’ we’ll do a variation of this…

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Halleluia, it wasn’t at Beckham’s party! (No hard feelings, kid. You seem pretty darn cool. Future play date! My child is far less crazy than am I.) Anyhoo, I was thinking more of a card that folks could fill out — one would write something loose like this while the other might have fill-in blanks (what he wants to be, what color his hair will be, what his favorite animal/instrument/food/hobbies/sport, etc.) and folks can do either one. I also considered a photo booth type thingie (just hanging a backdrop and leaving directions and props for photos), but I’m not sure anyone will do it. Party poopers.

Oh, and as far as entertainment goes, it sounds like the hubs hopes to make a video of the kid’s first year. Talk about emotions, gah!

Another “oh, and” — this whole thing is kindly taking place at my mother’s house since she has a perfectly-sized backyard for stretching out, playing, and so forth. I mentioned inviting non-family members (it reaches about 16 or 17 just with close family) and I think I heard smoke come out of her ears through the phone. She nervously mentioned not knowing what to do with folks if it rains, but I brushed it off. (Sure, neither of our houses is big enough to handle that many people. I get the concern, I do.) But, it ain’t no thang. We’ll make it work. I know folks with “pop-ups” and we could always run and grab an extra tarpy tenty thingie or two. I’m on it, Mom!! If you read this. In which case, HI!!!


One last thing (check me out on Pinterest if you really want to subject yourself to more) is probably what I should’ve showed you first: a possible invite.

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Okay, forget the “possible” part. I already “borrowed” this idea, downloaded some fonts, and stayed up until almost midnight last night hashing out a similar design (orange rather than red, close-but-no-cigar on the fonts, and a cool black and white tree trunk background). Sorry, Magnus, your time’s up — HADMAN’s in town, and he’s a-takin’ over.

So…think I’m nuts to put so much thought and effort into a one-year-old’s party, or do you get where I’m coming from? Aside from my aesthetic-loving self, it’s about celebrating the life-altering first year of the specialest little guy ever. That’s all. 😉

Bird is the Word

Raise your hand if that song is now officially in your hand. Raise both hands if you think of the obnoxious “Family Guy” episode that featured it. Consider me guilty.

(Side note: I guess I could’ve labeled this post “Put a Bird On It”, which is relatively on-trend…but kinda irrelevant to what I’m talkin’ ’bout, Willis.)

(Side note #2: I started writing this post the last week of March. Shame on me for waiting. I sit within view of a veritable blizzard. Blerg. Oh, well, if I didn’t continue on and finish this post, you would’ve gotten a pretty bleak one. So, you’re welcome! ;-))

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Do birds know how ecstatic they can make humans? Or, at least the non-desensitized, finds-joy-in-simplicity types? Because they do. Truly.

I saw my first robin today. I’m pretty sure it was a lady bird (’twasn’t as pretty as a male, wop wop), but it was jumping around on the side of the road and suddenly my Monday became MOOONNNDDDAAAAAYYYY sung from the mountaintop with Maria. I literally sat up straight and grinned. Oncoming traffic didn’t know what to think of me. A robin! Amidst a colder-than-usual “spring”! It means SOMETHING!!

Sure, I saw some crocuses sprouting green this morning (below freezing here, folks), but the bird had me spastic.

Then, as I inched my way into my school’s parking lot, what soared proudly overhead? A frickin’ bald eagle. You can’t make this crap up. I became glass-half-full and ready to attack the day.

And, at the end of the “I can DO this!” day, I arrived home again to see several more robins and sundry other birds feasting on goodness knows what. The cats were having a field day observing, chirping, and generally gettin’ their feline on.

Bird. Ya heard? Word.

A Note From My 16-Year-Old Self

I’ve read some incredibly inspiring “letters” from individuals to their teenage selves, in the vein of “if I’d known then what I know now…” When I look back, however, I tend to find more inspiration in the person I once was. So, I thought I’d do a little method acting (think of that) and try to place myself into the brain of my 16-year-old self and see what advice I might have to give…to myself.

So, you reached 30, huh? That blows my mind on so many levels. Here are some things I hope you’ve remembered along the way…or, if you haven’t, START remembering:

Don’t stop being weird. There was a time that we were hurt at the prospect of being considered strange. I still remember telling Mom in the car on the way to the farm that kids at school (we were in about 5th grade, remember) were calling me weird. It wasn’t in a bullying way, but I found that it bothered me and even hurt. I liked different music. I read different things. I watched irreverent TV shows and old black-and-white movies. I was sensitive but outspoken. I wasn’t quite a tomboy, but was far from a girlie girl. Today, as my 1998 self, I’m terribly proud of the fact that I’m still that person. As far as the tiny school bubble in which I live, I exist amicably with most everyone, and have been lucky enough to find acceptance. I’m hoping that you’re able to maintain who we are without apologies.

Stay friends with the people you truly trust. You know, the ones who don’t talk behind your back and make you nothing but paranoid. The ones who accept your weirdness. And try to remember to be a good friend back at ’em, ‘cuz they may stick with you for the long haul. Oh, and anyone who’s put up with your Monkees obsession…yeah, they deserve a place in some Hall of Fame some place.

Say what you feel, when it matters. I know we have a tendency to be loud-mouthed, opinionated and incredibly outspoken when we’re around people we’re comfortable with, but at the same time incredibly insecure and shy when we’re intimidated by larger-than-life personalities (like a certain teacher we all know) or unknown experiences. It’s okay to be shy, but don’t let that stand in your way of doing things. And DON’T let ass&%#@$ pile-drive you. ‘Cuz there’s always gonna be ass&%#@$.

Try new things. I even have a hard time with this one today, myself. Remember when we were sick for “Oliver!” auditions and you didn’t take the chance to try out? We were lucky when Jen moved and you got her part, but it didn’t feel very earned, did it? Nope. Just go forth and have frickin’ fun. We’ll only live once, and as cliche as that sounds, it’s damn true.

Don’t live life for anyone but yourself…er, us. Recently, I told Mom (remember, after church school on our way home?) that I thought I’d like to get better at guitar and maybe try seeing if I could make a go at a folksinger type of life (ie not necessarily go to college). She immediately put us down. Didn’t feel so good, did it? While it’s important to make her happy, at what point will you realize that you have to make YOU happy, too? I hope you’ve been successful with this one. It’s a biggie.

– In other words, do what you love. Whatever that may be.

Marry a nice guy who you can laugh with, and who you don’t mind taking care of when they get old/sick. And if you can’t find someone you can laugh with, or who can accept you and your weirdness, just keep looking. ‘Cuz the dating pool here in Mohawk is not the end of the line, thank God.

Keep busy! Play at least one sport, and try to do something creative, like, always. I personally think you should stick with tennis, especially since Katharine Hepburn is STILL doing it in her frickin’ 90s! Plus, you can be competitive without needing a full-blown team. Oh, I suppose I should also clarify — keep busy DOING FUN THINGS. Things that you enjoy doing. Don’t keep playing oboe if it’s not fun for you…and DON’T feel guilty if you stop. But, if you ever miss something, try it again and see if it’s still in your blood. It’s okay to do that, especially since these days it’s more of a chore to do homework and practice oboe, sax, piano and voice for SoloFest, on top of tennis and marching band. It might be more fun when it’s less pressure.

Long live the Monkees. And Dave Foley & KITH. And Jimmy Stewart. And Bruce Ward. And NEVER, EVER wear tapered-leg jeans again, if you can help it, even if they come back “in.” Always keep a pair of flared legs on hand. No more perms. Oh, and no matter how much we love Peter Tork…don’t do the bowl cut ever again. That is all.

Be a mom. Don’t ever let anyone make you question whether you want kids; you do. Not only have you always wanted them (hell, remember cracking the JC Penney catalog to the nursery section every time we got a new one, instead of the toys? Gave Mom a heart attack, alright! Heh heh.), but you were born to be a mom. Even if you don’t have everything else figured out, HAVE KIDS. For me. And be a cool mom. Strict, but cool.

Lessons learned. And apparently I’ve always had a thing for bullet points.