I didn't blog yesterday, FYI. Maybe you are so, so concerned and maybe even freaking out. If so, chill. You are way too invested in this blog, maybe even co-dependent. Now tell me, how did your mother relate to your father? Mmhm.

In other news, I am inspired. I checked out a very heavy load of books from the library about decorating on a budget (or free) and I have gotten a ton of ideas. Like this: (not my window)

So maybe you're like "Uh, no doiky. Bottles on a windowsill are a beautiful and inexpensive way to decorate, DUH." If so, you are a little hostile. Snap out of it.

So I went today and bought some bottles from the thrift store and some little decorative things... and I put candles inside my woodburning stove, which looks pretty. It almost helps me forget the mountain of laundry on the couch and the boxes in the garage. Almost.

I also bought this chair, and have been mocked. I don't care... I saw stuff like this in my book, and I WILL learn how to decorate or die trying. Or I will lose interest and give up. Anyways. This chair was $1.98. Yessss.

I have discovered, through my multitudinous books, that I like country. Now at first, I was alarmed, because I do NOT like ruffles, or geese. Or peach and blue. Well, whoda thunk that that is not country? At least not the Country that Country Living ascribes to. So I'm country, y'all.

My next step is getting some cash and a garage sale buddy... and keeping my inspiration.

R2 and I went to the eye doctor today, or if you're all fancy-schmancy, the ophthalmologist. It's been a year since our last visit, so you might not remember that our doctor looks like a movie star. It always surprises me. I mean, you expect to see stunning people at your run-of-the-mill 24 hour house of prayer, with awesome hair. But when you go to an eye doctor you kinda expect the scrubby short-haired glass-ed type with the lab coat. This one wears beautiful shiny clothes and has flowing curly blonde hair and a purse of magical toys. Anyways.

Going to appointments with just R2 is always a little strange. I mean, I did it for 6 years before Toby came along, but now I've gotten used to constant input. Constant. So now, to ride for a half hour with no talking in the van, and then around various elevators, up to the clinic where I answer all questions on his behalf, and so on. You'd think I'd enjoy the break from the noise. I tend to talk to him a whole lot, and kinda just keep both sides going.

His prescription from last year was a little strong, so we got a new and reduced one, which is fun because new glasses! I got him some hip little black frames that look pretty cool.

Also today: we got an x-ray of his hand and elbow- to determine bone age. This is über cool. He's about to go through some testing to determine if it's a problem that he hasn't grown in a couple of years, and the bone x-ray is the first step. I'm very curious as to how old his body thinks he is....

In other news, Toby has not been hellacious today, and I am feeling a little better. Chicken or the egg, who knows...

I have had the unmitigated gall to go and get sick. I know, I'm a nervy little broad. Now, before you buy your one-way plane tickets, Mama and Eva, I am not pregnant. Yes, I'm sure.

I am sick, though. I have some kinda flu that comes and goes... but for three days or so I have felt sick and achy and miserable... the problem is, I am the mama.

There is a bat-signal of sorts that goes out to toddler types when Mama gets sick. "Act bad!" it says, across the sky. "Act very, very bad! Maybe even draw blood!"

Toddlers house-wide receive the missive and comply like good little heathens.

"Steal the brownies out of Mama's room, and share them with your sister, and spread them as far as you can, in your mom's bed, and then in your bed and your sister's crib and all the way down the hall! More crumbs!"

"Nap? What's a nap? You aren't even sleepy! You should bite each other and scream instead!"

"You can't just eat that- you have to fall down screaming about how you NEVER EVER want pizza ever again first for a while. Okay, now eat it cheerfully."

and so...... on....

I had a meltdown today and tried to go to a hotel to take a nap. Couldn't find the keys, and besides, I wasn't really going to a hotel.

After I took out an ad and had it published on his forehead, the MOG figured out that maybe I needed help with HIS children, since I was having a psychotic break. I don't know exactly what happened, but I slept for over an hour, so whatever.

You might have heard me mention that this house has its quirks. Lemme tell you some. Obviously, you are hard up for some entertainment, lurking around here.

First, in the living room, there is a woodburning stove. Not so quirky, more like totally rad. We don't know if it works, since the landlord never tried it, and of course the Bachelors (previous residents) only used it to hold beer cans or something, or maybe to pee on, since they evidently peed on lots of things around here. (isn't that quirky?) (disclaimer: a bachelor really did pee on stuff, but the landlord cleaned it all thoroughly before we moved in. at least, we think it's all clean)

Another quirk: my stove is about 75 degrees wrong. Lucky for me, I'm good at math. (snort) It took incinerating cookies at about three different temps before I could gauge how off it was.

Oh, and there are TWO switches in the kitchen. Both operate the light and the garbage disposal, simultaneously.

And then there is the randomness. Somebody thrifty lived here once. The crown molding and chair rails are all the same color. So that is good. Now as to whether they are the same size, or the same design from one wall to another, come on. Nit.pick.y.

In my room, one of my windowsills is marble. That's the fancy one. On a different window, one side has a very ornate wooden trim running down one side, and one side only. Quirky.

The sunroom is pure quirk built in a drunken seizure of a man deeply in love with his wife. It is cheery, it is a huge, happy room, and it is a funhouse. Every windowsill starts out right and then things just get, well, quirky.

Let me also clear up any misunderstandings. I love this house. I just walk around geeking out all the time about how great it is, and how much I love it. I mean, I'm a little quirky my own self....

sliding door into sunroom

We have reached a discipline crisis of sorts with Toby. I say we because I am married to Toby's father. although he somehow manages to miss almost every infraction- just has his head turned at the right moment, or is deeply pondering the excellencies of Christ and completely misses Brynn taking a healthy bite out of Toby's elbow.... 

Anyway, this crisis falls primarily upon me. Toby steals food. All.the.time. It is more than crazy-making.... 

I think I don't feed them enough. It's tricky, though. Toby and Bean both can't have milk or fruit or juice- just tiny amounts or their stomachs get messed up... so I feed them lots of crackers and cheese sticks and granola bars and the occasional carrot stick... plus meals, of course. Actually, they eat a lot. Just never enough, I guess. 

The thing is, he steals fruit, and sweets. Today, he climbed on the chair, then the counter, and somehow got the box of cookies from on top of the refrigerator. I noticed the silence in the house and deduced correctly. He and Brynn were hiding in the sunroom with fists and faces full... (sigh) 

I have spanked him, threatened him, talked to him, etc. I have put locks on everything before, but I wish I could FIX the problem instead of just finding a way to limit it. 

If you aren't me, which all of you aren't, then this could be pretty funny. Actually, my inner imp finds it funny- the sneakiness and the LENGTHS the boy goes to for a brownie. And his partners in crime- if they happen to be there when he pulls half of a watermelon out of the fridge and sticks his hands in to the elbow- they don't turn down a free snack. 

But I would also like to be the boss of my kid. Also, I would like to eat the brownies myself. 

I have always envied girls with sleek straight hair, blonde with smooth honey highlights. I envy their manicures and their pedicures, and their tan arms, and their glorious white clothes. Growing up outside the Woodlands, you come to accept strawlike bleached-at-home tresses, and home manicures on splintery nails and even freckles. But I can never get over my white clothes envy. They are just so, so smooth.

Today I went shopping at the thrift store. I tried on about 15 pair of shorts and capris, looking for something that a) covers my thighs b) does not make said thighs look gargantuan and c) can be worn around people who eat spaghetti with their hands. I looked longingly at several pair of blinding white capris, but I don't live in denial. I cannot wear white. Especially white pants.

Maybe you're saying, Oh, because of your kids... no, because of me. I have spent most of my life advertising my last meal on my clothes. Just me, pre crud-wipers. I am a wee bit of a klutz. Maybe you have always noted my gazelle-like grace and now you are in shock and disbelief. Yes, I drop stuff. EVERY day. Food, clothes, valuables, especially dishes. I break a dish maybe once a week. So yeah, I tend to spread food around a little. I imagine, if I bought that gorgeous solid white tank with eyelet lace, I would manage to stain it before I even got home from the store, while it was still in the bag. ((sigh))

I love white. But we will e'er be star-crossed.

Oh, and if you are my friend or my sister, and you have sleek perfectly highlighted hair, and perfect nails, and you wear white pants, I don't dislike you. I just look wistfully on, the way I imagine a penguin would watch a giraffe, wishing he too could fetch leafy greens from the sky....

The thing about moving is, you need your stuff. But not everything. Just a few things out of each box, because everything else doesn't have a place yet, and if you brought it in, it would just sit awkwardly in the middle of everything until a) the MOG threw it away or b) you stop noticing it, and keep your Conroe Tigers Senior beer stein on the counter for a couple of years, maybe eventually putting loose change, guitar picks, and random screws and paper clips in it.  

So we have boxes full of things in the garage, and are currently unpacking 1-2 boxes a day and assimilating their contents into our daily lives. Other boxes are just being ransacked, and having one key item removed, leaving the forsaken remainder staring wistfully from within, packing tape hanging askew. 

I know we'll get most of it done, and then we get to get to the funner part, repainting the "orphanage green" stairwell, and various crafty projects I am envisioning. The reasons I am a little stressed about it are a) we might never unpack it, and our garage will just stay in its fallen state forever  and b) there is a MOUSE.

I know, it was too good to be true. Perfect house, albeit quite a bit quirky on its random assortments of crown molding and various other "special features". The other night, as I sat eating my sad, sad excuse for guacamole from Price Chopper, I saw something dart across the floor. I actually found myself hoping it was a cockroach. I was so alarmed I squealed like a little girl, and then remained frozen on the couch until Han and Richy came home. I tried to break it to them gently.

"I have TERRIBLE news," I explained

(concerned noises)

" We have....a...... MOUSE." 

(laughing at ME noises, explanations of the goodness and friendliness of "mouses")

"Mouses are not bad," Han explained. Imagine my relief.

Lucky for Mighty Mouse, I haven't seen him again. Because if I do, I will break Hannah's little heart and destroy him. 

I'm so happy I'm about to start composing poetry, to an appliance.

better to live on a rooftop, I know.

As I was making this video, the MOG interrupted me and forbade me to continue until more things are set right around here. Hopefully, that will be tomorrow.

So this is what happened since Tuesday. Sheesh, Tuesday was like a lifetime ago. Okay. Tuesday, Richy and his IHOP band took all the big furniture to the new house, and we sat on the floor and slept on mattresses on the floor and ate at McDonald's.

Wednesday, the boys started driving stuff over to the new house and me and Ham stayed (and the wee ones) and cleaned and packed some more, ad infinitum. Then I went to the new house with the little people and started unpacking boxes and never had internet again. Actually, I guess I never went back to the other house. I have a little sad twinge- I hate change but the new house is so exciting.

Oh, and we led worship for ATC Wednesday night and Fascinate 09 yesterday afternoon. In other words, insanity. In.san.it.y.

So here I am in the new house, with internet, although not wireless yet, so we are dragging around a massive cable to various internetting locales.

This morning, it rained on my skylight. That made me so, so happy, just the sound and the rain washing over - beautiful.

It's going to be a ton of work to assimilate all of our stuff into the house, as most of it is currently in boxes in the garage. Luckily, we have a lot of space to work with.

The thing is, this is a housey house. Like for grownups, with kids, and a lawn and stuff. Very exciting.