The last time I posted pictures of the house (and the only time) was when I posted non-staged pictures of what it's like to live here. Since we spit-shined the house to get ready for company (Landen's First Communion) I seized the opportunity to take pictures of the house in that rare people-are-coming museum-perfection state of being. Though I have highlighted signs in these photos signs that despite its clean and polished surface, people do really live here. We'll start upstairs.
I went through all the trouble to do those cute little thought bubbles for my animals, and then you can't read them for the size of the picture. Lily is happiest when Murphy is out of the house. She is second happiest when he's pissed because he can't reach her. My boy would give anything to be able to hop up on that bed, though for all his exuberance all he does when he manages to get near her is put his front paws down. So this is the guest room, a.k.a. Lily's Room, and it's about to get pinked out. I'm refinishing a chest of drawers and a mirror in a raspberry color and re-using a comforter from my single-girl days when all my shit was pink. I'm subtly telling the universe when it's time to have a baby, I need it to be a girl.
This is the boys' room, which is undergoing a redecoration process. We got rid of the little-boy pirates theme, and now we're themeless, with browns and greens and blues. The pictures above the bed are photos Cydney Wilson took on a day last year when Justin took them fishing. They both caught fish and were photographed holding them up. There are curtains in the plan and two big blank walls. Like I said, it's a process.
This is my beloved oldest, Jake. I told them to get off their beds and out of the picture I took above, and they both opted to hide in the small crack between their beds and the wall. There are some signs of life you just have to allow in a kid's room: hats on the headboard is one of them that I hate but choose not to fight. Signs of sweet life are the pictures of his mother and a girl from his class that he lurves on the dresser beside his bed.
Landen has a picture of his mom by his bed, and behind all these pillows is the fuzzy purple heart pillow that belonged to Erin, that he sleeps on every night. Sometimes I think he's trying to put the pillow away and lose the crutch, but he's just not ready. Last night it wasn't on the bed when I went to put him in it, and when I asked where it was, he smiled and retrieved it from the trunk of costumes in the corner of the room. We don't push, except that I do hide it when company comes because it doesn't match. And other little boys might not understand why he has a fuzzy purple pillow and tease him.
This is the sunroom, in which we attempt to block most of the sun from coming in with lined bamboo shades. You may notice the blinds on the right are lifted a bit. That's so my puppy dawg can see when I've pulled into the carport and wag his tail SO HARD waiting on me to get inside to him that his head shakes from side to side. This is also the room where Jakes does his computer homework and plays Rome: Total War on the computer. It's the room where Landen plays Xbox and gets banished when I don't want to listen to SpongeBob in my living room. And where we shoot martians on the Wii as a family of snipers.
Behold our bedroom, with the chests I lovingly sanded, primed, painted and polyurethaned with help from the Mister. Most of those pillows actually live one of the two wingback chairs in the little sitting area on Corey's side of the bed - one othem holds five unused bed pillows and that throw and the other holds ALL HIS CLOTHES. Don't buy lamps from Ikea. They're garbage. But I like the way they look so much and I don't want to spend money on new ones. I'll have to wait for a happy accident to stumble upon a ridiculously-low-priced pair somewhere.
Our house has three larger-than-average bedrooms and two and a half apartment-sized bathrooms. This is the master bath. Thank God for double vanities. I hate these mirrors. They're leather-framed (?) and on my list to replace with something oval and frameless. There are two, yes TWO, blue-china monkey soapdishes in this bathroom, because they are my kryptonite and I cannot help but buy a blue-china monkey when I see one. That mirror leaning on the window is there because I sit on the toilet backwards and apply my makeup. Whatever works. That little spraybottle is this amazing stuff I got from my mom. It's called Poopouri, and you spray it in the toilet when you take a shadoobie and it makes the bathroom smell lemon-y and not poop-y!
Even though you don't see him, I promise that Murphy is in whatever room I am taking a picture of. He follows me everywhere I go. Every day. All day. My mother cleaned the fronts of my cabinets with 409 this weekend. My handi-capable mother, sitting on a stepstool, washing cabinets. It did not occur to me until I saw this picture that the stickers are still on my garbage can, and maybe we should remove them. Idiots live here sometimes. Shit happens.
I had a vision of coral-print curtains when I moved into this house, and it took me six months to find a suitable and affordable version. Affordable ended up being stalking several online fabric stores for months to find the lowest price on thirteen yards of fabric needed to make four 96-inch curtain panels. Corey also gave me shit when I told him how high he needed to hang the rods. Don't f**k with me when I have a vision, a Southern Living vision. I got the fabric on Wednesday and spent the better part of Friday night cutting the fabric and lining and pinning all of it. Don't scoff. When you pin shit, you have to measure at every pin to make sure the seam is the same size on each side. I'm not meant to be crawling around on my floor. The bedroom was the only place in the house where I could lay 105-inches of fabric flat to pin seams. Then my mother spent Saturday morning sewing the panels on her 40-year-old Singer. Oh, what a glorious difference they make!
Signs of a party: fresh flowers on the ottoman and a sheetcake on the bar instead of my grandmother's silver tray with carafes and wine glasses that live there normally.
Dining room ready for guests, except (signs that people live here) the backpacks in each of the (broken) chairs by the sideboard. I got that mirror on sale with a gift card my parents gave me for my birthday. The next piece of furniture to move for an extended period of time into the garage for a facelift is that sideboard. I'm thinking about painting it a blue so dark it looks black from a distance. That's a project that shan't be started until after the hot sumbitch of a Louisiana summer passes.
I do have a kitchen, but I don't believe in taking pictures of it. Nor the laundry area or half bath, and the boys' bathroom hasn't changed since we moved in and hung the map shower curtain and the picture of Bo Obama in front of the White House. So yeah, this is our love shack. It's 1,850 square feet of moi, or the version of moi that's married to an Army dude with two little boys, a bulimic cat and a dog who takes every toy out of his toy box and hauls it into the living room every morning. I love to turn down my street, and I get excited every. damn. time. because I know I'm going to be reunited with my house soon.
We're in a relationship together, my house and me.
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