she speaks, she writes

There’s nothing like paying for a sitter so that you can go to the Panera parking lot, eat lunch on your lap, contort your body to type on the keyboard that has mayonnaise all over the “w” and update your blog by mooching off their wi-fi. Not because you don’t have internet access but because you have 3 kids.

There’s also nothing like having people walk by your car, see you on the computer and think you are doing something important. But really you are just desperate for some time alone and for a place to speak it. Which I guess is important after all.

I know I could go inside. But there are people inside. So I sit here in my car with mayonnaise on my keyboard, thinking about why I write and those of you like me who write because you can, because you want to, because if you didn’t, you would be denying a part of yourself.

And I think about blogging and how it is a place for those of us who love to write and kind of sometimes have something to say but don’t have to have an agent or risk rejection to do it. And we can be the editor, publisher, AND the author and use all the run-on sentences that we want. And begin lots of fragment sentences with conjunctions.

It’s all very egocentric, really.

I’m going to She Speaks tomorrow. It’s a conference held by Proverbs 31 ministries to encourage and equip women who speak, who lead and who write.

I will be among those who write.

I signed up back in February and, like a raving mad lunatic, also signed up to be in a peer review group. That’s when you bring something you’ve written and let other people read it while laughing and pointing and throwing rocks at you. Who would sign up for a peer review? Why am I subjecting myself to the madness?

Some of you I will see there, I know. I look forward to meeting you, as long as you kindly leave your rocks at home.

imperfectly beautiful

The Nester is hosting a party over at her place, posting photos of things that aren’t perfect but still beautiful. And she’s asked us to do the same. I was going to post a photo of my laundry room all lived in and dirtied up, but then I thought: Who wants to see photos of other peoples dirty laundry? Don’t answer that.

I’m discovering that I feel the same about taking photos as I do about writing. I’ve always said that one reason why I write is because it’s hard for me to know what I think unless I write it down. Kind of a pain during an argument, but whatever. Taking photos is a lot like that for me.
When I have a camera in my hand, it forces me to be observant, to notice everything and not just the main event. Each snapshot has a little story to tell. Simply, beautifully, the photo speaks long after the event is over. And when I look through my photos, I am able to form a more complete picture of the event as a whole by piecing together all the little things.
One of my favorite things to do is to bring my camera to weddings and capture all the things that the bride and groom don’t have time to notice. They’ve hired a real photographer to get all the “perfect” shots of family and wedding party and main event type stuff. But I would rather get the fun stuff, the real life stuff, the stuff that is imperfectly beautiful.
A bride is always beautiful, even when all she’s doing is leaning into her getaway car, popping balloons with a safety pin.
The parents of the bride are always beautiful, too. Here they are just after the couple drove away…windblown hair, not a suit jacket in sight. Can you imagine what is on their minds at this very moment?

I’m thankful to the Nester for giving us the chance to remember all the things that are beautiful though far from perfect. In a way, that kind of makes them perfect after all.

And one more thing.

unpacking treasure #3

I’m half-asleep in my bed this morning when I hear the pitter-patter on my hardwood floors. It’s my girls coming to wake me up. And they want something.

“Mommy,” says the soft voice in my face, “will you put this on her?”

She is holding a Polly Pocket in one hand and a pink shirt in the other. I grab the doll and begin the process of forcing the rubber clothes on her without opening my eyes. But something isn’t right. What’s going on? Have Polly’s hips…gotten wider?
I finally managed to stuff her new curves into the pink outfit (we women know how to stuff the curves). Then I opened my eyes, and I saw this. This is no Polly, people. This is a genuine 1982 gal of glamour. Better known as simply, a Glamour Gal. She is one of three that I have leftover from the early 80s. I don’t know what happened to the rest of them. Or the ocean liner that went with them. Somehow in all the unpacking, she has turned up.

Welcome to the 21st century, Glamour Gal.

This chick has all the Polly doctors scratching their heads. Why, you ask? Check her out.
She is a Polly of unbelievable proportions. An Amazon Polly. A Pituitary Polly Giant. She’s HUGE. Yet, not. Take her neck and hands for example, as shown here.
That long, delicate neck makes all the other Polly’s look like Rachel Ray. And her hands are so small, those Polly mittens would fall right off. She is tall with wide hips and an over-sized bust, but her waist is tiny and her little nub feet…they wouldn’t support her on the moon, much less here with all this gravity. Time has not looked kindly upon her hair, but she has somehow managed to keep her youthful figure.
These Polly’s may have smiles on there faces, but don’t let that fool you. They are not one bit happy about this Gal being around, stuffing her curvy self into their Polly clothes. They won’t even look at her. All the attention the Pollyrazzi have been giving her is bringing out the worst in them. And that reality show gig she’s been offered may be the last straw.

my first (and second) kitchen

I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately and about why I enjoy being home so much and what things cause me to enjoy it more than others. There are those days when I want to be anywhere BUT home. Stressful days. Sick days. Whiny days. But even on those days, I’ve discovered one of the things that makes those days just a little bit better.

Wanna know what that is?

It’s if I have dinner planned. I know it’s small. But really, it isn’t. Because meals are such a tangible way to care for and love my family. And spending time in the kitchen is so much more enjoyable when I’ve thought through why I’m there.

Enter my friend Kendra. She is has been married for 5 years, bears a strong resemblance to Martina McBride and is just generally fabulous. She loves to be home. More than that, she loves to make her home. And a lot of that making happens in her kitchen.

So guess what she did? She started a business. It’s called My First Kitchen and she teaches people how to cook. Whether you are a young bride, an empty nester or even a MAN, she has a little something for everyone. And she does it all from her own kitchen. She’s for real too…licensed and everything.

I figure a girl has to cook. Why not be good at it? Why not make it fun? Why not take a cooking class?

So I took a class with Kendra on how to make your own pizza. And then I did make my own pizza with my girls and it worked. It actually worked. So I took another class with Kendra on items to make for a brunch. Here is the blueberry scone with lemon glaze that our class made together.There was more than one scone, just to be clear. But this is the one that I ate. And it was divine.

Even more than the really great food we made (and ate), I am drawn to my friend because she took her love of home and food and all things cooking and she is building something that wasn’t there before. (Is anyone else singing Beauty and the Beast right now?) When I asked her how she learned to cook, she said by watching lots of cooking shows, reading lots of recipes and by making (and eating) lots of mistakes. Nothing like eating your mistakes to force you into some skill. And fast.

Now don’t try to lie. If I know you like I think I do, when you saw the title of this post you thought I was going to post photos of my kitchen. That will come. I will also bet you’re wondering how much Kendra really does look like Martina McBride.

So go ahead. Check her out.

the office: a history

I know I’ve not been that great at showing photos of our house like I said I would. Part of it is because I want to wait until everything is done and unpacked before I show it. But at this rate, that may never happen. Ever.

So here we go. If your name is Nester like my sister, then you can move into an already cute house and nest it all up and show photos of that and everyone ooo’s and ahhh’s because you are just that good at the nesting. If your name is Nester’s sister like mine is, then you have to go out and find a house built in 1963 and take before photos so that your after photos look that much better.
Take this, for example. This is what the office looked like when we walked through the house for the first time. It also looked like this when we closed on the house because we are lunatics and let the previous owner leave all the trash to keep the price down.
I stood on the built-in desk for this one. Yes, that is an old copy machine. And no, of course it doesn’t work.
Here it is a bit more cleaned up. What I haven’t told you yet is that this office is actually the laundry room. But they were using it only as an office. Where did they wash their clothes, you ask?
In the kitchen, of course. Right next to the fridge. Duh. The after photos of that will come later. Apparently the woman who lived here before me had magic clothes that never got dirty. How else could she avoid having piles of dirty laundry on the kitchen floor? Besides, I would end up pouring marinade in the washer and downy on the chicken. But that’s just me.

The first thing we knew we had to do was hook up the washer and dryer back in the laundry room. When the house was built, that was the purpose of that room and someone along the way turned it into an office. The plumbing was already there just waiting to be used again.
Remember the 1963 orange cabinets?
All was did was paint them. We didn’t even replace the old hardware, as there are 21 knobs and pulls in there and it just isn’t a priority. I don’t even think they look that bad now that the cabinets are white.
I originally considered taking out the built-in desk. But once I saw it painted, I changed my mind. It’s so handy!
Notice I took some time to mistreat the window with my $10 fabric, a handful of upholstery tacks and some sage advice from the Nester. Speaking of sage, the wall color is Svelte Sage from Sherwin Williams in case you were wondering. Here’s one last look at the before…And the after.
Now I can fold my laundry while listening to Billie Holiday and checking my email. All I need is one more arm. Or two.

a reason to celebrate

The Nester and her family came to visit this weekend. They just moved from their old neighborhood (which also happened to have a community pool aka: GOLD MINE). So they’ve been hot, which she recently posted about here.
Nothing a hose and a couple of Rubbermaid storage tops can’t fix.This one was especially glad to have her boy cousins in town. She is all about some action. They were all here because somebody turns 2 today.
It seems like just last week I was writing this post. And now poof…it’s been 2 years. I haven’t had a lot of time to sit and think about the past 2 years since he made our little family complete. I tend to need lots of time to think and process before I can truly appreciate how crazy blessed I am. For now, I am simply thankful to celebrate life with family. And cake. And Rubbermaid tops.

*sigh*

I have 12 drafts sitting in my post list.

12.

I have a lot on my mind but nothing to say. And so I have started 12 posts but am unable to finish a one. Which is strange because I don’t normally have this problem. I also don’t normally post on a Friday night.

But coming your way soon are before and after photos of our office/laundry room and my take on housecleaning and a google search that has had me rolling.

Oh. And a Barbie that looks like Conan O’Brien. But I think it’s just me.

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