The dog days of summer ...

So it is truly the middle of summer.
I am glad that it is half over, truthfully.
But before you shake your fists and curse at your screen in outrage over such foolishness, hear me out.
Because that is definitely how I react to most things that make me mad, like when I cut my own bangs and they turn out like this:

Instead of this:

Or when I am certain a new episode of Glee is on and I frantically hurl my kids into bed early only to flip on the T.V. and find that Wipe Out is on instead.
That show. It is really bad.
Or when I get out of the shower and find Micah unloading an entire bag of popcorn kernels onto the floor, right next to the couch that he drew on with a pen, gorging himself with a sticky fruit-by-the-foot that is oozing down his chin and onto his clean clothes. That I just changed. Right before my two-minute shower.
A lot of fist shaking and silent cursing happens in my life.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, my life is tedious and involves a lot of cleaning.
That, and I am not a fan of hot weather, or warm weather even.
Plus I crave structure and schedules.
And for Micah to start acting like an adult.
Oh, and at the end of summer we will be moving away from Crapwater Tumwater.
I cannot wait to head back to Oregon.
But until then, I am trying to stay sane by locking my kids out of the house and turning up the fan full blast.

This is what happens on my back patio. We live in a community of townhomes. And so do a lot of other children. Obviously. Where are their parents? I don't know. Lucky for them, I don't like other children and will not steal theirs.

And our home is very near a sweet, little lake. With a stellar playground.

Excuse the quality of my photographs. I do not yet know how to use my camera, that I have had for a year. And, yes that water is really cold.

 



But apparently, Ezra does know how to use my camera. To take a picture of me and my skin mustache. Seriously, could I look any more like a man? The answer is no. I buy man glasses and cut my hair to look like the Biebs. Why do I do this? Because that is how I roll. At least I am wearing a swimsuit, you know, to show off the lady lumps.

 

p.s. I reread this post, and realize it has no point. Sorry.



What is going on here

Well, I am back to dust off the 'ole blog.
I have had nothing of note to really report, hence the radio internet silence.
Now if this were a blog about all the embarrassing things that happen to me, I could post daily.
Because I embarrass myself and those around me constantly.
You know, perhaps I should begin sharing all the things I do that subsequently make others uncomfortable and feel sorry for me.
I don't do it on purpose.
Similar to Zooey Deschanel's character Jessica on New Girl, except without all the hunky roommates, and Donald Trump's hair.
Moving on.
Now I know that it is summer, and most people spend it outdoors doing fun things, but here in the Pacific Northwest we have a different tradition.
We stay inside while sheets of rain pour down and stare at each other, just as we did the previous nine months.
So I have, like, eight pictures of my family playing in the sun, that were all captured on the same day, right before buckets of rain flattened us to the sidewalk.
We tried to take the kids to a spray park in Oly (that's what the cool kids call Olympia) and force them to run through the water on a windy summer afternoon.

Micah never really got "into the spirit of things." Maybe because it was 65 degrees outside. Or perhaps because the jets were very vigorous. Not sure.

Ezra on the other hand, had to be dragged away from this park, not even to be dissuaded by the storm that erupted 30 minutes after we laid out our towels to dry. Figures.

Ryan was enthusiastic, clearly, despite the ominous clouds towering behind her. This pose is very natural.

What the ...?
I was zooming in to capture a picture of Ezra and instead got a look at this man and his enormous red underpants.
I don't understand this fashion choice.
But wanted to make sure everyone else got a good look too.
Kinda like when Scott and I are cruising Wal-Mart (we're classy) and he spots the long and hairy
crack of someone's buns and instead of discreetly turning away, points to it and says, "Brianne, I want you to see something ..."
Like that.

Anyway, despite the fun we have in our apartment, breathing in each other's personal space, we decided to visit school friends in Portland once more before they all scattered to the four corners of the earth now that their hubbies have also graduated.
We really miss them.
And by we, I mean I am a huge lonely loser.
And luckily they don't mind me calling them today only to announce our arrival tomorrow, and can we all crash at your house and eat all your food and wake you up in the middle of the night with our crying?
I have the best friends.
And their kids are pretty cool too.
And I don't normally like kids.
So there you go.

These sweet littles were my kids' playmates for four years. In fact some of them didn't even exist when we came here.

And these were my playmates. Seriously I was crying as we left. Because I love them. Now who am I going to talk to (in a fake southern accent) about thrifting and food and why our boobs deflated after having all those children pictured above? (There are 14 kids between the five of us. I know.)

And another shot of most of our kids playing one more time. I can't believe I just wrote that. I take it back. It will not be the last time. Not while I am alive and kicking.

And finally a shot of my kids, as they looked today. They requested this picture. And, yes, that is the foam from the inside of a bike helmet on Ezra's head, that he insisted on wearing to the library so, and I quote, "my hair won't get wet."
Nice.

Moving, furniture, and eyeball cupcakes, how's that for a title?

 This is what we have been up to:

Yes. We moved. Again. And then again a week later.
The first townhome we moved into was awesome.
Awesome if you are a dog, and you need to use the bathroom.
Our carpet would have served you well.
And did, in fact, do just that for the four-legged canines who resided there before us.
As you can imagine, it was ripe.
And as soon as we stopped dry heaving, we called and complained loudly with really descriptive words.
Needless to say, we were then given a new apartment.
One with clean carpet, new flooring, and no odor.
Kinda like the one they showed us before we signed the paperwork.
Gross.
Anyway, once we got settled into our "new" 70s-tastic pad, I turned my attention to my furniture.
Because our housing sitch is temporary but my furniture is forever.
First up is our entertainment center.
We have had this piece for a while.
We picked it out when we got married.
Oh yeah, we celebrated our 10 year anniversary in the midst of our move.
We basically turned to each other, and said, "This blows. Our ten-year anniversary and we are living in a dump, paying way too much into student loans to go out, oh and our kids are insane. Fun for us."
Next year will be better.
Anyway, I digress.
The entertainment center started off as a blonde-colored wood with glass doors.
I don't like light-colored wood.
So I painted it a bright, cheerful turquoise.
Which I loved.
All of our other furniture is neutral, so the pop of color worked perfectly.
That lasted about five years.
But after I accidentally busted off one of the doors by close-lining myself during a frantic run to the stove to keep a pot of rice from boiling over, he got another mini facelift.
I started by tearfully removing the other door.
You know, to keep the cabinet from looking like a pirate wearing an eye patch.
Luckily, he still looked okay sans doors, and I didn't do any structural damage with my acrobatics.
So now that you have heard his entire life story, I can reveal my latest update.



Before

Ta-da!


After

He's green. Clearly.
I love it.
I wanted a rich color and I needed some new doors (mostly to discourage the he-devil from playing with our electronics) and so I picked a glossy emerald and my dad made and attached the doors.
I added the loooong handles and I think it pretty much turned out perfect.
I have always loved this sleek look and I also enjoy how high he stands.
So sexy.

This picture is the best example of his true color. Not sure when "he" became a he. 

Moving on.
Next is a picture of the coolest napkin holder you will ever see.
And you will only see it here because I found this treasure at the Goodwill.
Brass seashells? Yes. Always.

And last, but very certainly the opposite of least is my table.
I made him.
Okay, so really I forced Scott to drive all the way to Seattle to pick up these hairpin legs I found on Craigslist, then swing by IKEA to grab an unfinished tabletop.
I stained and polyed the top, and bolted on the legs.
I still think that means I made it.
In any case, I love the way it turned out.
I would love to have a bigger table (one that could seat at least 8-10) but we aren't quite ready for a beast that large.

Another shot.
Isn't it pretty?
I seriously love the clean, simple lines.
Although I think white chairs would look better with it.
Perhaps that will be my next project?

And a picture of eyeball cupcakes.
Don't they look morbid scrumptious?
We celebrated Scott's birthday, and being the innovative person I am, I made eyeball cupcakes for our eye doctor.
My creativity knows no limits.
Anyway, I also got him a new pair of dress shoes and a cool, vintage satchel.
His reaction?
"Oh honey, you are so thoughtful. Did you keep the receipts?"
On the plus side, I am now the proud owner of a cool, vintage satchel.
And I have store credit for the cost of the shoes.
Next year, he is getting a gift certificate to Cabela's.
Which really was my initial gut instinct when thinking of a gift.
Darn my creativity.

He works really hard for us and we really appreciate his sacrifices.
Happy Birthday to my handsome Scott!
We love you.

xoxox

Easter

Easter.
I like Easter.
To me it signifies the beginning of things.
The atonement provides an opportunity to start anew anytime we seek forgiveness.
It is sweet, calm, and bright.
And it was also the only half day in the last 8 months that it hasn't rained here in Olympia, so that's noteworthy.
I mean, really and truly, it rains every darn day in this city.
I don't generally mind the weather in the Pacific Northwest, but enough is enough.
Anyway, we had company for the holiday which was good because I am not very good about celebrating holidays with any kind of fervor and the kids would have missed out on egg-dying had it not been for Grammy Heather.
I despise egg-dying (and pumpkin carving for that matter) so there you go.
It is fun to be my kids.
But despite my complacency, I did deck out a basket for each of them (as did my folks) so the kids weren't totally deprived.
We still have stale peeps and all the gross-flavored jellybeans in a bowl on top of the fridge. Barf.
So, as I was saying, my Dad and Heather came to visit, which we love.
And we had a very fun and productive weekend.
We did haircuts, cabinetry, thrifting, Easter things, and Heather and I wept our way through Les Miserables.
Okay, Heather held it together, while I sobbed like an infant.
Even though I have already seen it. Twice.
Anyway, now I am going to show you 3 million grainy pictures.
Starting with a baby in a cabinet.
Hahaha.

Don't worry, he was fine.
Moving on.
Ryan and Ezra did most of the egg dying. With their fingers.
They have on their "art smocks" which I also make them wear when eating dinner.

 Everything was going really well until Ezra dropped one of his eggs on the ground.

 It was upsetting.

And yes that tacky man, with a see-through shirt and black bra is me.
Pretty.

The kids were very excited to find their baskets Sunday morning.
Especially Micah.
See below.

Then we headed outside for an egg hunt.
The older kids were super sweet and let Micah "find" a lot of the eggs.
And there wasn't any fighting or tears over the amount of loot each kid collected, which as any parent knows, is a Christmas Easter miracle.

So happy. Obviously.

And last, but not least, a picture completely unrelated to any of the previous ones.
This is the face Micah makes when he has done something naughty.
I believe it is a defense mechanism.
As soon as he knows he's in trouble, which is hourly, from doing any number of things, like, I don't know, jamming my nails files into the dvd player, filling the toilet with an entire box of tampons, pushing the whole pot of soup off the counter and onto the floor, smearing the syrupy contents of three ant traps all over the walls, or perhaps unraveling at least a dozen spools of Christmas ribbon, he flashes this grin, showing all of his teeth.
And no, he is not being neglected. And usually has proper supervision.
This usually happens when I am using the facilities. Ahem.
Anyway, this smile makes is much more difficult to reach the right level of anger when dealing with his shenanigans.

We've started calling him Turd Ferguson.

xo
-B

Ryan the Lion

So I am going to end my little "series" and then move the heck on.
I mean we have been talking about my kids for like a month.
It is time to refocus on what this blog is really about ... me.
So last but certainly not least is my girlie.
The first-born of my womb.
I once heard someone compare their first child to the first pancake.
They are the "experimental" pancake. 
This is true to some extent, but unlike my first pancakes, Ryan does not belong in the trash.
She is bright, attentive, creative, and a good helper.
She is a sweet sister and obeys everyone else me most of the time.
She excels at school and makes friends easily.
She loves kindergarten. Her classmates' examples have done wonders for her once cooperative attitude.
Apparently sassiness is the new polite.
And I hear that this behavior will only blossom.
I can't wait.
But honestly, we can't blame all her bugging on the public school system.
She is, after all, related to Scott and myself.
She is emotional and dramatic.
So basically she is Scott and I in a little girl body.
And just to clarify, Scott and I are both emotional and dramatic. Equally.
She is a perfectionist.
And a hoarder.
She saves every single thing that has ever come into her possession. I hate it.
I am constantly sneaking things into the garbage and then quickly taking the trash out before she digs through it to find all her tossed-out "treasures."
She has also decided that she wants to be a singer.
Because, and I quote, "Singing is my life."
She knows all the words to every Top 40 song playing with any regularity on the radio.
Which is slightly inappropriate for a small child.
Have you heard the song "Scream and Shout" by Britney Spears or "Whistle" by Flo Rida?
I cannot reiterate enough what a good mother I am.
Anyway, back to the sinful music (which thankfully she doesn't really understand).
She belts them all out, but they are usually sung off-key.
Or not in any key I recognize.
Maybe some sort of music lesson would strengthen her ability to recognize whether or not she is in tune?

Oh, and I need to mention that Ryan is ALL girl.
In fact, she was putting on her chap stick makeup the other day and turned to me with all the seriousness a six-year-old can muster and said, "I'm so glad we're ladies. We can wear makeup. We need to stick together since there are only two of us in our family."
Well said.
She loves it all: the nail polish, the sparkles, the heels, and the long hair (just as long as it never needs to be combed or "done").
She literally screams over each individual hair as I try to brush through it every morning.
And styling it?
You'd think she was being tortured.
The other day, she actually bawled, "You are torturing me."
Her words. Which, of course, is exactly what I do.
Yep, right after the French braid is finished I shove bamboo rods up her fingernails.
While playing a tape of crying babies in the background.
So dramatic. And emotional.
Anyway, a few more things I don't wanna forget about this silly girl.
She isn't a breakfast person.
She doesn't want to eat before school.
I didn't realize one started to develop those kind of opinions/habits so young.
And who doesn't like to eat?
And speaking of eating, the two things she absolutely cannot manage to gag down?
Salmon and honey. Not necessarily together.
And she loves to snuggle.
Actually I think that I have written that about every one of my kids.
Well, apparently they ALL want to be touching me at all times.
Which I have been told I will miss one day.
And I probably will.
Even though it sounds heavenly today.
And she also has had the same baby blanket her whole little life.
It is a huge pastel afghan. What the ...?
And she pokes her fingers through it every night in order to soothe herself to sleep.
I often come in to check on her only to find all ten fingers and both big toes sticking through all the stretched-out holes in her blankie.
She is funny and has the prettiest, freckliest smile. You can see all her top teeth.
And I love that she wears glasses.
She is very responsible with them and always removes them and puts them somewhere safe before karate-chopping Ezra and goading him into a fight.
I am so glad I have my Ryan, the lion.
I just love her so much.
She will always be my baby girl.
And we girls gotta stick together.

xo
p.s. Is that singing not the cutest thing you have ever seen? I love listening to her. It is a medley from the movie "Pitch Perfect." This movie is so funny and totally has a PG-13 rating for good reason. Seriously, I should get an Awesome Mom Award of some sort.

The Fezzy Wig

Well, since I did a whole rundown on our youngest, or the Anti-Christ, as Scott fondly nicknamed him, I thought perhaps the other two Pittlings could use a little attention as well.
After all, this is supposed to be a family blog, and not just the rantings of a lunatic opinionated mother slash wife who clearly needs to get some friends/life/nookie.
Anyway, about Ezra.
He is very funny.
He is by far the most entertaining one of our brood because he is so honest and direct.
He fills us in every morning on whatever bizarre dream he had the night before.
They usually involve someone in our family and space, in a perilous situation.
He obviously gets quality REM sleep. Probably because he is the best sleeper.
Ever.

Playing Wii. Look at the baby. #anotheronebitesthedust

Once I put him down, he lapses into a coma and doesn't stir for the remainder of the night.
He is also the most diligent about our bedtime routine.
Every night, after I tuck him in he asks for a head butt, an Eskimo kiss, a real kiss, and a hug.
In that order.
Then he finishes off by saying, "I love you, do you know that?"
I can't remember exactly when I began saying that to him, but my night wouldn't be complete without it.
However, in an attempt to keep everything balanced, he also has the title for pickiest eater.
And by picky, I really mean impossible. He likes nothing, except pizza.
So in order to give myself and the rest of our family a break from the incessant whining that accompanies our meal every. single. night. we have pizza night on Fridays.
In his honor.

I know this bathtub is very deep. WTH?
Clearly, we will only stay places with huge a$$ tubs.

I justify this by making it homemade.
He literally asks if it is pizza night every day.
Because, and I quote, "It is the night where everyone is happiest."
And speaking of happy, nothing makes this boy happier than using potty words.
In case you aren't familiar with what constitutes as a potty word, it is basically any word used to describe anything you might use or do while in a bathroom.
Really. The word "buns" literally causes fits of laughter.
And "toot" is another favorite.
Both saying and doing. Gross.
Not that I am surprised really, with a father that may or may not have challenged his brother-in-laws to a farting contest on Christmas eve and found so much success that it was deemed necessary to open all the doors and windows, whilst a blizzard was raging outside, just to prevent asphyxiation to those unfortunately present.
But I digress.
This isn't about how disgusting Scott is, it is about how weird our son is turning out to be.


No that is not pizza he is eating. Treats are apparently an acceptable substitute.

Moving on.
He works out with me every day.
We do P90X, Insanity, and Jillian Michaels.
While I use weights to perform my exercises, he uses cream of chicken soup cans.
And instead of losing interest after three minutes, he sticks out the whole video.
He is also a movie monster.
He loves movies, especially Wallace & Gromit.
If I let him, (and I don't) he would sit and watch movies or play Wii all day, every day.
He loves the Wii. And is really good at it.
Scott tries to tell me gaming skills will, in fact, help Ezra's coordination and fine motor skills, and that playing them together is considered bonding.
Ha.
What else can I say about our Fezzy Wig?
Yes, he does answer to Fezzy Wig.
And he loves to vacuum out the couch, talk to anyone who will listen (usually about his dreams or the Wii), snuggle, make cookies with me, play PBSkids on the computer, work on his preschool workbook, and play with Barbies in private.
He is the best.
I absolutely cannot imagine my life without Ezra in it.
It would be very boring and quiet.
We love our baby Ezzy.

xo

Our baby

No not another baby.
Our current one.
The last one.
Before I endured enjoyed pregnancy for the third time, we decided that we were so done.
And by we, I mean I.
And if there were any second thoughts about producing another pint-sized Pitts, Micah has definitely put that to rest.
Yes, you Micah, are the reason we have sworn off children.
Because the shear amount of patience and energy required to keep up with you has stolen my youth.
Changing your diaper is like performing an exorcism.
There is a lot of thrashing around, screaming, and clawing at the ground.
I need an old priest and a young priest.
As you pummel me with your tiny, but surprisingly strong fists, I basically pin you to the ground with my knees.
That's fun.
Nine times a day.
And when we aren't acting out the scene from 8 Seconds, you are climbing on everything: the counters, dining table, microwave, beds, bathroom vanity, siblings, every chair anywhere, coffee table, fine china (true story).
Standing your slippery nude body up in the bathtub only to loose your footing as I dove in slow-motion to catch you is what caused your chipped tooth.
I tell myself your curiosity and keen aptitude for complete destruction is the price I pay for having spawn a baby genius.
Isn't there a saying somewhere about geniuses also being slobs?
Did I make that up or hear it on Spiderman?
Anyway, in addition to leaving our house in shambles daily, and crying for most of your life, you are also very opinionated.
Can you eat an Oreo whole, without both sides being pulled apart so you can lick the frosting off first?
No, of course not.
Can you go to bed without having a full sippy of water tucked neatly beside you?
Wouldn't hear of it.
And my favorite is the tantrum you throw when I insist you put the Swiffer back in the broom cupboard in order to avoid popping everyone in the kneecaps. That and smashing our TV.
But despite all of your "charisma," I am madly in love with you.
Which is why I impatiently affectionately embrace your strong personality.
You are starting to talk.
It started slow.
Your first word was "sick."
And then "Daddy," "cheese," "trash" and "cookie."
I agree. Daddy is a cheesy trash cookie. Sick yo.
But now you have expanded your vocab to include "Mommy," "Hi/bye" and something that sorta sounds like "Ryan."
And you give most words a good attempt, with a sly grin.
And even though I could look up the word clingy in the dictionary and find a picture of your handsome face, I secretly love it, except when you pants me. In front of strangers.
Or leave a booger trail on my skirt at church.
And I love that your favorite stuffed animal, your "lovey," is a spindly monkey named Winky that was purchased at the dollar store.
Or that you stand faithfully by the door awaiting my return every time I venture outside.
And that you become frustrated when wearing onsies because you can't lift up your shirt to check out your belly.
And that when I give you Lucky Charms (I am a good mom), you pick out all the marshmallows and push whatever is left over across the table in disgust.
You are obsessed with your binky and I sorta am too.
It is one of the few things that makes you blissfully happy.
I will miss your rosy naptime cheeks when you grow. And your slobbery, wildly dramatic kisses.
A special emphasis on the Mmmmmmmmwaaaaah!
Micah, you are a handful.
But I couldn't imagine getting my hands on a more perfect baby boy.

 

xo Mommy

Valentine's sushi and a growth chart

I should be compiling my grocery shopping list right now.
Maybe even folding laundry.
Or if I was super responsible, I would be in bed sleeping.
However, watching New Girl while scouring Pinterest seemed like a better use of my time.
That and blogging.
Plus, I figured I'd better whip up my Valentine's Day recap soon before it became irrelevant.
Too late?
Well, I am going to tell you about it anyway because the fact that it was celebrated around here at all is indeed a miracle.
You see, Scott and I aren't the sentimental type.
Oh, I have every intention of draping our house in festive banners and bedazzled crap, but can't. quite. commit.
I did make "love crepes" for dinner ... with strawberries and whip cream.
And I even got Scott a card that read as follows:

"You know when you ask me if I'm mad,
and I say "No."

And then an hour later you ask me
if I want a soda and I say,
"Why the hell would I want a soda?"

That's fun.
Happy Valentine's Day.

I'm sweet.
But despite my empty well-intended attempts at gift-giving/celebrations, Scott always manages to outdo me.
Shocking, I know. Especially after telling you how I am lame.
As unlikely as this may seem, Scott is quite thoughtful, and isn't afraid to try something new.
This year he announced, "I am going to make you Valentine's sushi."
"Uhhh, I am not sure that is a good idea. Why don't we just have "valentine's" ramen and call it good?"
"No, really. I looked it up on the internet and it is going to be really easy. I will just whip out a few rolls and we can have a late, kids-free dinner."
So we put the kids to bed early and retreated to the kitchen.
I pretended we were in a romantic comedy.
You know, the one where the guy and girl are sipping wine and laughing, exchanging witty banter all while preparing a fancy meal together accompanied by snobby instrumental music.
Only I was perched on our baby's highchair, drinking warm sparkling cider while Scott wrestled with the seaweed wraps all while discussing our daughter's excessive farting sensitive digestive system.
And I am pretty sure Family Guy was playing in the background.
That is romance. Or it is ten years together.
Either way, I just love mah man.
And the icing on the love cake?
The sushi was delish.
Scotty is a man of many talents.

Here they are. Salmon, avocado, cucumber, and carrot. They were so fresh and light.
And that justifies eating a dozen. Right?

He also got me a gift certificate for new glasses.
Which I have been obnoxiously subtly hinting at for some time.
I already have the perfect frames picked out. Can't wait to show you.

And because the title of this post says something about a growth chart, I will now unveil my latest Pinterest-inspired project.
Right after I show you a picture of a baby.
Who is starting to look more like a little boy.
Sniff.

Stop it. You precious thing, quit growing so fast.

So my motivation behind creating a growth chart was driven by the necessity to scrub all the door frames of every place we have ever lived ... or visited ... or possibly driven past.
Our kids are obsessed with seeing how tall they are.
And are convinced that their growth is changing rapidly every day.
So I thought I would make them something that we could move from place to place, oh and then to the next place. And the one after that.
Until we die.
From moving.

I first searched Pinterest for a few ideas, and then decided on a direction.
After staining my board, I taped it off in a chevron pattern.
Can you believe that this is my first chevron project?
I am a chevron virgin.
I made the white chevron arrows six inches long so that once applied, they are one foot from point to point.
After painting the white and gray, I used vinyl stencils as an outline for my numbers.
Then just filled them in with black crafters paint.

 

I placed them above their respective marker.
If that makes sense.
After looking at my handiwork, I jumped up and down, clapping wildly.
And made up a song about how much I love blue painters tape.
Then I showed Scott, who said it looked a little like a railroad crossing arm.
Thanks.

Look at me, all fancy with a close up shot. Don't worry, I don't have an delusions that this is a real craft blog.
I added the close up to show my stellar sanding job.

I decided to sand it after the paint dried in order to give it a more beat up look.
I don't want it to be too precious, since my kids are going to be drawing all over it.
I'm gonna find a gold sharpie to use for the actual measuring of growth.

And a pic of Ryan showing off my mad skillz.
Technically I designed it to be hung exactly six inches off the floor in order to get an accurate measurement.
And don't forget that we are staying at Scott's grandparent's house, lest you think I actually decorate with ... well everything going on in this photo.

Didn't know I was taking a picture of him. Even though I am like four inches away.

And just for good measure, a picture of Ezra eating what looks like a cookie.
Shirtless.
With skinny little noodle arms and every rib showing.
And that belly.
Just want to pinch him.

Well, that about does it for me.
I am off to indulge in my daily 1/2 cup of ice cream.
It is the reason I get up in the morning.

xo
Brianne

Eleanor

I am back.

Nobody panic.

I wasn't here last week, but now I am.

Come down off the ledge.

Because I know that is how you must feel during my absence.

I am still determined to post at least once a week, and I actually have another mediocre exciting post planned for the weekend, so technically I will be right on shhhedule.

But my silence was for, I promise, the most incredible cause.

I went to Eugene.

'Cause my sister had a baby!

A tiny, beautiful six-pound peanut. With the skinniest little curled-up frog legs you ever did see.

Baby Eleanor Jane was born just over a week ago with the fluffiest black hair and the daintiest little lips/snot-shoot.

She is perfect.

And my sister is pretty darn incredible too. 

She is now the proud momma to four, FOUR, girls!
Thinking about even thinking about having that many kids causes me shortness of breath and severe sweating.
Hysterical. That is how I would probably feel.
Heck, I feel that way now with only three.
Like I am being ripped apart by a pack of wildebeests.
But I digress.
This isn't about me and my delirium.
It is about how amazing Britney is, and her sweet baby with sweet baby skin.
Couldn't you just breath baby skin in all day?
Just me?

Look at her. Is she not the most precious thing? And picking her up is like lifting a feather.

Anyway, naturally she looks nothing like any of the other three.

Because they all look nothing like each other.

You would think after four you would get a repeat but they are all different and beautifully unique.

So I did my best to keep up with the house work and not get in the way too much.

And sneak in a few baby skin whiffs.

And while I was sniffing the baby like a fruitloop helping, my amazing in-laws took care of the two oldest kids all week.

They had a blast.

And McDonalds. Apparently every day.

But that is what you do at your grandparents.

And now everyone is home again.

And forced to eat my sob-inducing meatloaf with broccoli.

 

Britney, you are my best friend and I love you so much I pretty much can't stand it.

I am so proud of you.

You are the best mom and such a good example to me.

Congratulations Basting family!

 

-B

xo

It's about time ... pun absolutely intended

So I am back with a little project post.

As I mentioned last week, I am a big lonely, loner all alone on a mountain top. 

With wild animals my kids. 

So in order to keep my sanity (I use this term loosely), I have been crafting.

Well, really I don't consider myself a crafter.

I think that the word "crafter" brings to mind someone with a large collection of washi tape, colored paper, ribbon, and stamps.

I do not have any of these things.

What I do have are every kind of paint brush, sand paper, stain, and polyurethane, along with a rainbow of paints (both spray and liquid) and a "chick bag" of tools my dad lovingly assembled for me.

Oh and a hand sander that I asked for for Christmas.

So I don't know what that makes me.

A headache for my husband?

Har. Har.

Anyway, he tolerantly expresses feigned interest as I plunge ahead with all my "projects."

And then he even pretends to like them when I am done.

Bonus.

So here is one of three I have been busying myself with this week.

It is a makeover project.

On my big a$$ clock.

And in order for you to truly appreciate the finished product, I must first show you what it looked like before I started.

I love a good before and after.

It is very satisfying.

Before:

Naturally I selected the most flattering picture.

What I love about it is it's size.

And starburst-like shape.

It wasn't really offensive before but I was kinda over the shabby-chic vibe.

And I have decided I don't like red.

So I decided to give it a more neutral look.

Which, in turn, will harmonize more with the direction I am taking my home décor (said as I take myself far too seriously.)

Could I sound any more like a looney?

Basically I wanted something with a little glam and a lot more versatility.

 

After:

 

p.s. Isn't the plush baby blue carpet fab? Not.

Bam.
I love the gold, the wood and the black.
I am a genius.
It only took me a year to finally stop fiddle-farting around and do it already.
I think it will be a lot more timeless.
Get it?
Since it's a clock?
Clearly I need to go to bed.
Anyway, I will be back with pics of my other two little treasures once I am done.
Tell me, what do you think?

-b
xo

At the edge of the world



We are living right outside of Tumwater, just a skosh south, in Olympia for the time being.
Scott's grandfather generously offered his home to us while he sunbirds in Arizona.
While staying here, we are looking for a more permanent place, and by permanent I mean a temporary apartment ... for the next six months.
And then in the fall, we move to Eugene.
Permanently.
As in, if I am ever asked to move again I may throw myself into traffic.
I plan on dying there.


Anyway, our address says Olympia, but as you can see from the pictures below we are really in the wilderness.
Now to some of you, this may seem idyllic.
Up here among the trees, all alone, with only the birds and the occasional dear to keep you company.




The view from our back deck

Well I think it blows.
I feel like a friggin' mountain woman up here.
Who is also a hermit.
On top of my foggy, lonely, deer snack of a hilltop.
I am expecting Bear Grylls to pop in for lunch after winding up a documentary on how to survive if you are ever caught in a forgotten forest.
We are literally miles from civilization.
And all I have are my kids and the deer.
Oh and coyotes. From what Scott tells me.
I am at home with my three precious, darling children who certainly don't fight 23 hours of the day.
With no friends.
And nowhere to go.
I may throw myself to the coyotes ... seeing as there is no readily available traffic.



Same view, extra fog.

I consider myself to be a social person, so being banished to BFN (Mormon lingo for "butt-freaking nowhere") is a little bit of a challenge.
I just remind myself, that I do indeed have friends, or at least used to.
And that it is a temporary situation.
And that this stay will give me an opportunity to work on some projects I have stored up on Pinterest.




The view from our front deck.

So stay tuned for some stellar DIY goodies.
Because it is all I have.
And my fun children.
Who absolutely do not whine.
Every minute.

xo