The End of 9 Stupid Mirrors.

It's okay, we thought it was weird, too. When we first looked at the house we stood in the kitchen, looked out the window at the beautiful yard and neighborhood... then hesitated, like really hesitated, because of the 300 sq/ft of awkwardness we were standing in. Don't you just love those mirrors? All nine of them? They're especially great when you're doing the dishes and you look up only to see yourself 2 feet wider covered in food splatters. Holy crap.

And thanks to my husband... here she is!

Dustin took out the cabinet to the left of the fridge and moved the wall over 2 feet, thus creating a spacious 5 foot opening to the kitchen instead of just a 3 foot opening (again, weird.). He demo-ed the mirrors, completely refinished and antiqued the cabinets, built a new wall, made an island, built and refinished the butcher block, patched the floors, installed the backsplash tile (that took me 7 trips to Home Depot and Marshal's Tile and Stone before finally deciding), and had one of our electrician friends pull new wire through our hot attic for the new lighting fixture. He also demo-ed the bi-fold door closet in the hallway where the washer/dryer used to be and added cabinets and a small built-in desk. The biggest difficulty of all was endured many trips to Real Deals, TJ Maxx, and Downeast Home with me... and who knows how many hours of looking at pictures of all sorts of kitchens on google after the kids went to bed. 

No wonder it took us 4 months.

Question: Wall paint suggestions? 

So there you have it. All of your wildest dreams really can come true. Especially when you marry a guy who apparently can do anything. Like, help me paint the kitchen... who knew, right?

Growing up slow.

16 months. That's how old Lillie was when she finally decided to stand up and walk. It was instantaneous, as if she had been secretly practicing behind my back and waited until the precise time to show off in front of pretty much everybody in that church gym cultural hall. Well, technically she took her first steps at 12 months but then resorted to walking on her knees for the next 4, forcing us to readjust the budget for little white tights quite dramatically.

Oh how I wanted her to be one of those genius babies that crawls when before they even eat solid food and could speak in sentences by the time they reached their first Birthday. I bought toys that encouraged walking, I placed her toys just barely out of reach in hopes she would develop some intrinsic motivation to get that darned toy. I started reading her books when she was still in the womb. I spent her entire infant life wanting her to be the smartest, the fastest, the tallest, the first to catch on to the next biggest thing, and then worrying about it it if she wasn't.

Today, I am delighting in watching our 9 month old baby girl sit on the floor and chew on all her toys only taking minor breaks to babble at them or me. With subsequent babies, I don't want them to crawl or walk so quickly because that's evidence that they're not little babies anymore. She'll do it eventually. I know I will soon crave the days when all I have to do is open a window to hear Lillie and Jack squealing in the trees, inventing new games, or even squabbling about if it's even possible for Jack to be Spiderman when he grows up. Lillie's relentless practicing her violin downstairs, Jack stomping around the house in his cape, Chloe's ma-ma-ma-ma-ma's--it's the noise that makes me want to turn off this computer, look around, and take this slow, hot summer all in. Growing up slow, the 1950's kind of growing up slow, is my new ideal. They'll be forced to grow up fast soon enough when the world makes them.

She grew up good, she grew up slow, like American honey. -Lady Antebellum "American Honey"