cottage

Identity Crisis -of Sorts

It’s in those times, when you’re ready to do a full-on overhaul; because nothing you’ve done seems right, when you have to ask yourself the hard questions: “Who am I? …Do I even have a style?” It’s as if all the sudden, or actually maybe it’s been progressively happening for a while… anyway it is in this moment… that I admit I can’t stand the color of my kitchen!

Oh sure, like half of America, I’ve been watching Fixer Upper. And I’ve convinced myself that unless Chip and JoJo Gaines come and do a complete renovation; tear down walls, access all natural light and put up as much shiplap as we can find, my home will never be complete. Of course, without any real experience taking care of animals, I consider myself to be a farm girl. So naturally I have a tendency to think my home should resemble a farmhouse… But in reality I’m far more traditional (and my backyard is more pool than lawn). I do appreciate country decor; primitive, traditional and inspired by folk art. I really love English Cottage. I can be carried away by the contrasting elegant and rural touches of French Country… the idea of a beautiful chandelier with tear drop glass prisms over a rustic farm table. Swoon. I’ve been known to walk out of Pier I with curtains replicating fabrics straight out of Bombay. I love my traditional Irish plaid wool blanket we brought home from the Emerald Isle (it’s my favorite throw for the back of our rocker)! Maybe my “look” is considered eclectic? But I don’t want to be eclectic! What does that really mean anyway? Hodgepodge-esque? (Which is even more upsetting when you add in that on any given day I’m really inclined to feel like I live in a toy store!)

Thankfully, before I got too crazy, my mother talked me out of painting all of the refurbished brick in my living room around the fireplace. It seemed far less permanent to paint the walls a trendy light blue/gray. So in true DIY form I put down drop cloths and rolled out a color coating adjacent to the brick, and fortunately I only covered 1 and half walls before I came to my senses and realized I hated it. It’s sooo bad. Ugh! But I really like the black cast-iron-ish paint we put over the out-dated brass fireplace frame. And I love the darker stain I put on the mantle. Baby steps. Slowly I’m figuring it out, I’m thinking I am Country Cottage (it makes sense in my head)… and soon I will tackle that kitchen. 

The Perfect Weekend

I imagined it all going very differently. It was going to be an outdoor wedding. My husband was the best man for his long time dear friend. We rented a house on a lake with my husband’s sister and her family for the weekend. The kids were all packed, from swimsuits to wedding guest attire. I could just envision myself writing stories while the kids played on the beach. At its peak, we would dance on a floor under a grand white tent in the woods. My sister-in-law was stopping at the grocery store to have the house stocked with muffins, pizzas, fruits, veggies, sodas, etc. upon our arrival. It was going to be perfect.

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There was a minor set back the night before we were leaving my 9 year old came down with a 104.3˚ fever. Alternating Tylenol and Motrin, we had the fever was in control, and by morning at medicine time he was a steady 98.7˚. Hoping for a fluke, some kind of fast and furious 24 hour bug, we decided to take our chances and head out for the 4 hour journey north. The car ride was as expected; hungry kids, potty breaks, diaper changes, music and movies. I forgot my laptop! Oh well, no work this weekend, all play. Pulling up to the rental was exciting, choosing our beds, checking out the scenery and the kids greeting their older cousin.

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We opted out of attending the rehearsal dinner with my husband. We’re kind of a distraction, a traveling circus if you will. Besides, since the fever, Isaiah could use another night of recovery. Everything was under control as my husband left to fulfill his Best Man obligations. Pizza was in the oven, the kids just started a movie and my sister-in-law had gotten the baby to sleep. I got this.

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I’m not sure what went wrong first. I guess it started with the baby waking up as soon as everyone left the house. He was starting to have some sort of reaction, and the preexisting rash on his face was getting inflamed and starting to ooze. All of the sudden the house felt cold and damp. I started coming down with an upper respiratory thing. Isaiah’s fever was back and his nose was bleeding. Elijah began a cough. By the time Owen got home I was spent. Things seemed to go downhill from there. Needless to say, there wasn’t much sleeping. By breakfast Naomi had an upset stomach so badly that she had two clothing changes. I was completely overwhelmed, and missing the wedding was inevitable. Owen of course had a commitment, but I would have to take one for the team.

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Maybe it was because Elijah was licking up his spilled water off of the basement carpet? Maybe it was because Noah was in a constant state of scratching and my arm was exhausted before we even had lunch? Perhaps it was because Naomi was out of clean clothes? I felt like the walls were caving in. (Although that could have been the sinus pressure in my head.) I needed to get some fresh air and a moment to myself. I decided to walk down to the lake and take in some of the calm. Naturally as soon as I got to the dock, the next door neighbor needed to cut his grass with a jet powered lawn mower.

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My precious niece opted to stay with me and the kids in lieu of attending the wedding. And I am forever grateful, because it was her optimism and suggestion of duct tape and one of her shirts that kept me going when I realized Owen had taken the diapers to the ceremony. At this point things were so ridiculous; all I could do was laugh. So much for the perfect weekend! Hey man, sometimes that’s how the cookie crumbles. Of course, I’m home and reasonable now, so I can say that.


Congratulations Lee & Amy! Wish I could have seen it in person!