What's the story, morning glory?

Full disclosure: Because my OCD, which is caused by intense anxiety, over this stupid "For Sale" sign in my front yard that shows no signs of leaving, raged out of control, I had to go back on a med I have not taken in a while. I really believe I have traded creativity for calm. So I am registering lower on the Basketcase Meter, which makes me a better mother and sleeper, but I fear I have lost the wit to write about it.

 

So here is some of the sitch, of late.

 

I mentioned in this post about my fireplace facelift that I would be spending the weekend with a bunch of cousins. For a concert. At a casino. You might opine that this is the perfect setup for trouble, and you would be right. Somebody fell down, but it was not me. I almost fell down, which in my thirties means I need to go to bed. In my twenties, it meant an eventual emergency room visit, not a reason to be concerned or curb bad behavior in the slightest. The older I get, the longer the hangover, well, hangs, so I am not the excessive libator (that's a made-up word) that I once was. Casino wine is cheap. Cheap wine is more toxic to the system. It's biology and chemistry, people, which is why I threw up, had room service, threw up again, and slept through breakfast. I am way too old for that sh*t. Sometimes you just need to go balls to the wall and have more fun than your system can handle. It's okay. Jesus still loves me.

 

Early.

Not Early.

Two very disorienting things are going on in my house. I am staring at the beastly face of puberty with a boy who is in no way emotionally equipped to handle it. He wants to know how to ask someone to be your girlfriend, because he really wants a girlfriend. I remember enough about twelve to know that he cannot just walk up to a girl and ask her to be his girlfriend. This takes grooming. I rang that bell with his dad. Let's be honest. I have not always enjoyed his dad's approach to dealing with the opposite sex, so I hope his lessons are about what's RIGHT and not what's EASIEST. They are different.

 

I threatened to sell the other one on eBay. Y'all, this one had the cajones to tell his dad to "shut up" over the weekend. I'm shocked he came home with no visible injuries. He is very smart, and often his observations about life in general are incredibly witty. Or cute, like when he asked me if his grilled chicken was "unfatted." Then he asked if I was having a stroke when I could not remember a name or the word "kitchen." He wants to know how much money everybody makes. Yesterday morning we fought because I packed his swimwear for camp, but he insisted he did not need it, because they never swim on Tuesdays. I won, but victory required slamming my hand down on a table. When he came home with wet swimwear and a wet towel because they did, indeed, swim on a Tuesday, I asked him why on Earth his swimwear was wet because he assured me that they never swim on Tuesdays. His answer was "you got lucky."

 

Jake's face IS the caption.

Last week I left on a jet plane for four days in Richmond with Funny Emily's new baby. I love this baby. His mom says he's tropical, because he likes to be outside all the time, but I'm an indoor girl, so we napped together and sang and danced to country music. We rocked and smiled at each other a lot. At nine weeks old, he shows quite the proclivity for musical genius. He also will advance to be the World's Most Famous Male Jewish Model, so he'll need an agent.

 

 

But...you know that video of that little girl standing in front of the mirror affirming everything she loves about herself? One afternoon as Silas and I were rock-rocking the household's frustration away, I told him every single thing that I was grateful for - that my kids could tell me what was wrong, wipe their butts and work a toaster; that he was born to an active mommy and daddy who like the outdoors; that I would get to sleep late all alone in my own house the next morning. I think he understood, and respected that those things are important. So he even let his mommy sleep a wee bit later the next day.

 

I love these two with my entire being.

My Richmond trip did include a trip to Williams and Sherrill, an interiors store that is owned by my Nashville's very own Funny Emily (did you follow that? It's her best friend forever's store.) A couple doors down is an outlet, so between the outlet and the store, I scored three fabrics for a living room fabric shuffle.

 

I do not remember who made the coral, but it is what my mom and I will use to make a slipcover for my Ikea Ektorp ottoman. The blues are Robert Allen Crystal Lake in midnight and Schumacher's Randolph Leopard in indigo, both of which will be made by Nashville into throw pillows for my living room. If you do not have a sewing friend who will receive fabric and return finished items for you, go get one. But you cannot have mine. She's busy.

 

I want my life to be this room, which requires an upholstery budget that I do not have the disposable income to include:

 

Everything that Darcy Goodman did with this Laguna, CA cottage is to die.

Except I always look at these rooms and think "where is their TV?" Lucky people probably do not have children or neuroses that require a TV to be on in almost every room all the time.