Prints Charming

Gosh, I would love to purchase prints of these photos I found via Pinterest but have not been able to figure out who took these shots... How great are these?

Rot Spot

As promised, a sneak peek of our rot spot in the making. Can you spot our uber-comfy couch with the massive pores? AHHHHHHHH. Even nanny Marbles digs it. Next up? Some color to lighten-up all the poopy browns...

When in Doubt

"Make it big and paint it gold..."

I think this piece of design advice may very well be applied to the world of home rehabbing as it can to fine art.


I suspect that this Victorian is a zillion times cooler than it was because it's now hangin' in head-to-toe black (with a tint of blue).

Bad ass.

Photo plucked off Remodelista

Pat

To all my stalkers, my former-classmates and lifelong pals Alexis and Jeff and I have joined forces of "awesome." Together, we are creating a series of animated shorts highlighting our awkward, shared sense of humor, and yes, we are committed to getting our shorts made while working our day jobs. We've managed to meet up two weeks in a row to brainstorm characters and plot lines and have lots in the works. Not going to share our main dish with y'all, but will surely share a side. Meet "Pat." Yeah, she's a square of butter...

Baby Phat

No doubt about it, five foot tall pregnant women are phat. They're as tall as they are wide. I should know. That's what I was when preggers. PHAT! When Olive was still residing in my belly, I went from being a 100 pound midget to a 142 pound one. Le husband complemented me by telling me I was "fun-size", and I reassured myself that I a few extra pounds here and there weren't going to hurt. "What's another five? There's that much more of me to love! Plus, they're all going to melt away when I start breast feeding, yeah?" Um, NO. Three months and a mega-failed-attempt-to-breast-feed later, I'm weighing in at 121 pounds and still sporting maternity jeans. Shoot. To make matters worse, my narcissist-in-the-making baby adores looking at herself in the mirror, and I'm then forced to face the scary reflection before me. *cue me some old-school Christina Aguilera circa "Mulan"* "Who is this girl I see?! Staring straight, back at me..." I'll tell you who. Fatty McChow, that's who! Need to do something about this baby weight a-sap. Just afraid that the "something" will involve lowering my calorie intake and upping my physical activity - a solution so obvious, it's laughable.

To Each Their Own

Everyone has a fetish or two. My husband I conveniently share one for large pores. *Collective "EEW!* Okay. I mean "tufting". We have a thing for tufting. The shot above is one of our master bedroom bed. Alas, this is where the magic happens. On an enormous saltine! A Nickey Kehoe saltine, no less. Bottom shot is of our most recent home purchase. (Husband is no Vanna White.) A Timothy Oulton leather two-seater covered in pores. Super duper strange-looking, but after eyeing it for some time at H.D. Buttercup, le hubs and I ultimately decided that this weirdo will go perfectly with the rest of our eclectic decor. Contrary to what it seems, this couch is compact (the camera added ten-thousand pounds!), incredibly comfortable and completely childproof. Can't wait to share a shot of our living room once it gets closer to done...

Do You Hear What I Hear

When Olive was born, a nurse informed us that our lil' monster was the loudest baby on the hospital floor. Now, if looks could kill, that nurse would've died a graphic death, as I'm pretty sure my eyes were shooting daggers at her for pointing out the painfully obvious while not teaching us helpless new parents how to make the deafening screams STOP. In all seriousness, Olive's first month out of the womb had me wanting to slice off my ears, a la Van Gogh. And Beans? If he had opposable thumbs, he probably would've done the same.

Olive has since improved her behavior. She's still a cry-baby, but the intensity of her cries have, for my nerves' sake, come down. Well, that or I have simply grown accustomed to the wails. Mommy loves you, Olive...

Boy Oh Boy

It's 3am. Do you know where your child is? I do. She's on YouTube gushing over the Biebs.


Olive: "Omigosh, Mommy... it's Justin Bieber!"


Olive: "Ahh... I think I'm in love."

Boy oh boy. Unlike normal babies, Olive does not spend the majority of her day sleeping. She eats. She poops. She cries. Or better yet, she "parties" (my new code word for Olive when she cries). Here she is at 2 months and 1 week, NOT sleeping at 3am. I played infant-appropriate music for her, but none of it had the silencing effect of Justin Bieber. As you can see, she is mesmerized by his "Baby" video. She also likes "One Less Lonely Girl." My little demon is growing up already...

Baby's First Heartbreak

Avery: 'Sup Olive? Why the frown?
Olive: Just found out dat all babies, including us, eventually have to sleep on our own. Dat and the fact that Justin Bieber has a girlfriend. *sniffles*

My baby girl loves the Biebs.

Fridays

Source: kindovermatter.com via Debra on Pinterest

Husband is home.
Family's complete.
I am all smiles.
Like this old lady.
Only I have teeth.