vanity for bathroom

Now we get to find some muscles to help us move this upstairs. It's heaaaavy.

Note: it would have been extremely helpful if we would have purchased this BEFORE all the plumbing and sheetrock was in. A furniture height vanity requires plumbing to be about six inches higher. It also means that the electrical outlets are too low so I can't use the granite backsplash that came along with it.

I think I have a solution though. Stay tuned.

bathroom floor finished

Here's the slate floor - all installed and sealed.

I'm very happy how it turned out.

casualty three

Here's why I love living on acreage.

This child actually got the scissors out to remedy the situation, but eventually (after cutting off a few hunks) decided that Mom had better get in on the fun.

The first thing Mom did of course, was to grab the camera. His reaction was somewhat appropriate.























Yep, that would be about 25 burrs stuck into his lovely, curly hair (that looks oh-so-attractive here.)








The good news is that Mom knew exactly what to do. But only because a few days earlier, she too was caught several times with burrs stuck into her ponytail and bangs.

For future reference: do not pull the burr. That will only tangle things more. Pull the hair close to the roots, and it will gently slide right out of the burr. Eventually, enough will come loose and the burr will come free with little to no hair loss. Scissors are not a solution.

help me please!

These hands were made for working, and that's just what they'll do. One of these days these hands are gonna fall off.

I actually had to go to church looking like this. The mortar simply would not come off and I was too tired to scrub and too sore to care.

Feel free to donate to the "Mom Needs a Manicure Fund." (I have never had one, but I think I might need it after this job is done.)

snooze

This is proof that children can sleep anywhere, in any position. At least he didn't have the finger up his nose.

casualty two

I'm starting to wonder if I'm accident-prone.

This is what happened when I went garage-saling yesterday. I usually take only one child out at a time (the rest are confined with snacks, 25-cent toys and a three-year-old singing to entertain them). After 10 minutes of arguing, it was finally determined whose turn it was to escape. I was a bit frustrated by that point and ended up slamming the van door on my shin.

Limping across the road, I noticed #3 was lolly-gagging and I turned to see if he was going to make it or not, not wanting to miss out on any "bargains."

Unfortunately, my knee-eye coordination must also be defective, because just as I told him to hurry up I managed to walk right into the hitch on the back of a minivan.

This is the end result.
























But the skirt I got was kind of cute.

casualty one

This is what happens when 11-year-olds play baseball with five-year-olds.

This child is usually...shall we say...a bit dramatic, so I didn't even comfort him when he came in crying. No blood. No broken bones. No need for tears. (That's our motto around here.)

The next day, I told him to get up in the bathroom and wash his face off. (It looked a bit like dirt.) Only after it didn't come clean (and I very nearly chewed him out for not listening to me) did I realize he'd actually got hurt the day before.

So, I did the only thing I knew that could remedy the situation.

I went out and played 500 with the boys. I was the batter. And the baseball turned into a tennis ball.

Problem solved.

bathroom

Finally got started on the slate for the bathroom floor. Here's the progress so far.

my apologies

Not finding anything remotely humorous in my life right now to write about.

If/when I do, I'll be back.

morning glories

One of my greatest pleasures in life is sleeping in. A good day would start out by being able to stay curled under my down comforter until at least 9 am.

Notice I say would be because it’s next to impossible to sleep late in a house of early-risers, some of whom drag themselves out of bed at ungodly hours - usually somewhere around 6:15 am.

Hubby will often find the littlest one next to the tub, waiting to give him his towel after showering. (Don’t be tempted to think he’s being quite helpful - he’s only there to sit next to the heater.) The two middles ones will be downstairs, fighting over who gets to pour his cereal first, who gets which blanket on the couch, and on a good day, they’ll yell at each other to be quiet so they don’t wake up Mom. On days like those, I’ve finally learned to pray before I get out of bed.

Did I mention (or did you assume) that I am not a morning person. I do not get up and get going willingly, and never without coffee. I could work a night shift much more easily than I could get to work by 8 am. Night owls are usually like that. And we’ve usually figured out that 11 pm is the only time the house is quiet and we can actually get something done. Something that will stay done until morning.

Occasionally I do get the opportunity to sleep in, but so many things have to fall exactly into place that the odds are about one in 978,643 that it could happen. First, there has to be milk and cereal available. And clean bowls. The temperature can’t be below 68 degrees in the house. One child can’t have woke up grumpy (that should show you how impossible this is.) And there has to be a new toy, game or activity to entertain them. Quietly.

You’d think checkers would be a quiet activity. Wrong. I have waked to wood game pieces being pelted into the walls and banshee howling by one who got hit. You’d also think that Qubo’s cartoons would keep them quiet, but only if all four are in pleasant moods and willing to compromise on a seating arrangement.

The only thing that seems to work is if at least two are sick. (The oldest is off reading a book somewhere and the non-sick one knows better than to bug the others.) Then they just sort of sit there. No one pesters anyone. No yelling. No whining. No noise. I’d consider them true morning glories, if it weren’t for puke buckets and sick breath.

I’m 11 years into this raising kids business and God has finally gifted me with the ability to tune out just about anything. It’s a great talent. Not only does it allow me to catch a few extra winks in the morning, so I can get up at, say 7:30 am, but I can ignore someone whistling the theme song to “The Andy Griffith Show.” I don’t even flinch when something bangs or smacks or goes splat. I can tune out whining so well that I miss noises the van makes. And I’ve taught Boy #1 how to make oatmeal. That trick works well until it’s time to divvy up frozen blueberries - that’s a Mom-sized job because no one dares to argue with me about whether they got less than their brother.

I’ve been praying that those little eyeballs wouldn’t pop open every day at the crack of dawn. But, so far that selfish prayer hasn’t been answered.

Complain all you want about teenagers. I’m looking forward to those years - they might actually sleep in!