Settled (lessons learned in 2012)

I’ve written this post a thousand times in my head.  So much that now it seems I really feel like I’ve already said it all even though I haven’t written a word.  But here’s the shorthand version of what I’ve learned in the past year or so.  The little tidbits God taught me about Himself, myself, adoption, and life in general.

Don’t Feed the Crazy.

I’ve said it before.  Crazy is like a gator on a golf course—feed it and it will hang around and eventually will bite you in the bum.  Ignore it and it’ll leave you alone and, perhaps, go away.  This advice holds true whether it’s your in-laws, some yahoo commenting on Facebook, or even that little voice in your head.  Just let other folks be crazy.  It’s not your job to make them sane or correct them.  Leave the room.  Block the feed.  Tell that voice to sell crazy somewhere else.  Life is short and you’ve got real stuff to deal with.

There’s Dr. Pepper in the Dr. Pepper Can

I have been known to lose my temper.  Because the kids don’t listen, because the seat was left up, because all I asked was for him to take out the recycling and it’s still on the back porch.  But guess what?  I’m angry because I have anger inside me.  I can’t be made angry.  It’s already there, bubbling under the surface.  And I have to own that and repent.  Then, and only then, am I able to quietly return to my daughter and ask her to try again to come when called, to remind Henry about bathroom etiquette, and calmly say, “Hey, I went ahead and took out the recycling but please try and get to it next time, thanks.”

And the same goes for other people.  It helps to ignore the crazy if you remember that it has nothing to do with you.  Or even the topic at hand.  Scripture describes it this way “Out of the overabundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” (Matthew 12:34)  So when someone is angry with you, remember, it’s about them.  They’re just angry.  You don’t have to soothe them or fix it or convince them to calm down.  Generally, if you just listen and try to figure out exactly what it is that let the anger out, you can love them accordingly.  

And when dealing with a toddler’s anger, remember this sage parenting advice:  Don’t negotiate with terrorists. 

Less is less and that’s More

When we moved, we purged a lot.  A lot.  And after the move, we purged some more.  I seriously have no idea how we had so much stuff crammed into the old house when the new house is literally twice as big and still it was too much.  

And I’ve purged elsewhere.  I was just doing too much to be the kind of parent, wife, daughter, friend, and follower of Jesus I want to be.  Every time I say “no” I’m saying “yes” to that.  Though I feel as though I’m introverting a bit, it feels right.  It feels like home.  I have room to breathe.  My main ministry is to my growing family.  That is who I’m serving.  

I’m a Stay at home Mom, and that’s enough

Since I’m a missionary to my kids, I need to treat that with the same level of professionalism and respect that my working friends treat their jobs.  It has value and meaning, even if it only has benefits and no paycheck.  If I’m too busy doing other stuff, then I’m slacking on my job.  Yes, yes, I still facebook and Instagram like a madwoman, but that’s generally in the carpool line or while sitting in time out with one of my little terrorists.  

Patience doesn’t mean liking to wait and Impatience is a sign of mistrust

After the loss of the referrals of K & N, I felt at peace.  It was like I had been splashing about just trying to keep my head above water until then and then we just sunk.  We drowned into Jesus.  And we were fine.  More than fine.

So it has been easier to wait on our adoption journey.  Because of our agency’s unwillingness to participate in unethical practices in a country full of corruption, they won my trust.  I trust our case worker completely.  I know she will keep me in the loop.  I can rest knowing she is advocating for us and our family.  And I’m happy to report that not only is all of our paperwork is in the DRC and we have a court date at the end of January.  We are on track for hopefully traveling this summer to pick up our kids.  

But don’t confuse this with liking the wait.  I’m just trusting that it will happen when God deems it appropriate.  Because when Henry complains that I’m not bringing him a snack fast enough, all high pitched and whiny, it tells me he doesn’t believe it’s going to happen.  And in his case, I do sometimes forget.  But God does not forget me.  He is for me.  He is for my family.  Our names are written on his heart. 

I will say that I owe a lot of these lessons to our new house.  The flow of it just calms me. And the knowledge that we will never move again until it is time to pay someone to bathe us makes me happy. We’ve got a huge basement and a great yard, so to be clear, the kids are elsewhere a lot.  That makes my mothering a tad easier.  But they’re playing and jumping and running around like banchies til they fall asleep in their new Ikea beds.  We are beyond blessed.  Beyond.  Our cups runneth over.  More than enough for our two newest little loves. 

A Tale of Two Paintings

Ummm...why is she sitting in fruit eating the bible? 

Notice that this little sweety in in a cart.  That would be my cart.  

For my youngest daughter's new room.  The room with the pale blue walls.

two months---in bullet points

When you've blogged pretty regularly for 5 and half years and then  you go dark for almost two months, you have a choice.  Explain why you were gone and catch everyone up, or just start from where we are now. 

So the short explanation is I've been busy.  REALLY busy.  I thought giving up the blog would just kill me.  But it didn't.  I think sometimes it feeds my crazy a little too much and lately, well the crazy level has been so high and things have been hectic that, well, the crazy has not needed feeding. 

Here is just a taste of what has happened since I last posted: 

• Henry had pnemonia and had to receive IV fluids.
• We put our house on the market and it was discovered that I can keep our house perfectly clean OR be a patient wife and mother.  But not both.
• We rode Thomas the Tank Engine, went to Field Days of the Past, the VA State Fair, walked in a fundraiser for Prader-Willi research,  and visited both sets of grandparents.
• Hosted our last Phillips Family Homecoming parade extravaganza for the high school homecoming parade that goes by our house.
• Regressed from potty training to being back in pull ups because Grace pooped in the foyer 30 minutes before we had a showing.  (But that's Ok, because we...)
• Accepted an offer on our house.  20 days after we put it on the market.  (GO GOD!  GO Elliott Gravitt, realtor extraordinaire!)
• Made an offer on a new house and are under contract.  (I will write about this house later on because it is ridiculous.)
• Given Gracie roughly 300 nebulizer breathing treatments (fall is not her friend).
• Had both kids LOVE LOVE LOVE their new teachers at school.
• Completely changed the way we parent Gracie because of some behaviors she's been exhibiting that we suspect are from the crank she was exposed to in utero.
• Prayed for more and more patience as we await news on our kids in the Congo.
• Discovered that Gracie has imaginary friends.  They are adults.  Their names are Mrs. Fox (?) and Mrs. Walker.  (Mrs. Walker is also a teacher at school.  But sometimes "Mrs. Walker" has tea parties here.)  Gracie also sometimes plays with Jesus.  She REALLY wants Jesus to come to her birthday party.  Because He is her best friend.  
• Henry earned his yellow belt in Tae Kwon Do.  
• Henry can now count to 10 in Korean.
• Gracie started dance class and it is the cutest thing in the world.
• Learned some upsetting news about our son in the Congo and prayed him back into our family.  
• Hugged our kids who live here extra tight every night because never ever did I think I'd see the day when I'd be praying for one of my kids to get INTO foster care.  

I think that's it.  There might be other stuff.  I don't know.  I'm going to try and get back into the habit of posting more regularly, but my guess is that it will be shorter.  And probably kinda trivial.   But y'all gotta hear some of the things that come out my kids' mouth because they. are. hysterical.

Sometimes the Cat in the Hat fixes things up

Remember when I thought that Henry killed our bathroom by putting a dixie cup in the toilet?  As it turns out, the erupting kitchen ceiling was NOT his fault.  (Sorry, Henry.)  If anything, having the plumber out when we did, saved us.  As it turned out, there was a leak in the wall behind the kids vanity and it had to be replumb.  So, we would've had to tear out the kitchen ceiling anyways.  And, of course, to get to the leak, we had to rip out the kids' vanity which was so waterlogged it was beyond repair.  (Not that you would've wanted to repair it.  It was builder grade faux wood circa 1978. With a snazzy puke green sink and countertop.  To match the floors.)

Yeah, I know.  Who redoes their bathroom when in the middle of a two-child adoption?  Well, first of all, this would be why the adoption account is separate from the savings account.   It's also just one of those things about home ownership.  We recently had to replace the siding on our house.  Which, of course, I felt bad about since we were fundraising.  But one of my friends said, "Um, replacing your siding is only more exciting than replacing your roof or hot water heater."  She later signed off her email, "Enjoy your fancy schmancy vinyl siding."  (I have really encouraging friends.  But sometimes I need to be made fun of.  Because I can be ridonkulous.)  We also realize that a move is somewhere in the not so distant future for us, so having a newer bathroom would've had to happen anyhow.  I was able to find things on ebay, at Lowe's, as well as a great reasonably priced handyman who can plumb, did the painting myself,  so it actually didn't break the bank.  (That said, to repaint the kitchen and kitchen ceiling, Sloan and I are giving each other painters for our anniversary.  Because we are nothing if not romantic.  So in case you are wondering, 8 years is painters.  If you're traditional.  For you modern folk, I think it's scuba gear.)

So without further ado...I give you the new and improved kids' bathroom.

Yes.  The walls of this bathroom are the same color as our front door.  I love me some Benjamin Moore Golden Honey.

My etsy wall art--Wash your hands and say your prayers because Jesus and Germs are everywhere.  Along with my Ebay Pottery Barn Dr. Suess stuff.

A toothbrush holder big enough for four kids.  And I painted tumblers so there would be no more dixie cup incidents.  (And yes, I picked up two extra for mes petits enfants.)

And there's the cat.  In all his cake eating the bath tub glory. 

The one where a chupacabra ate my ceiling

On Saturday, the kids’ toilet was clogged.  I plunged.  Sloan plunged.  We poured a kettle’s worth of boiling water down it.  We snaked.  We wire coat hangered.  We (gasp) put on big gloves and inserted hands.  (Let us never speak of this again.)  All to no avail.  

On Sunday, we tried again.  And then Henry confessed that he had flushed a plastic Dixie cup down the toilet.  

Upon googling and facebooking about what we could to rectify the Great Dixie Cup Incident of 2012 (heretofore referred to as the DCI), knowing there was no way I was going to purchase large animal vet gloves or  do anything requiring pliers or actually lifting the toilet, I knew I was going to call the plumber on Monday morning.  

Oh, and did I mention that Sloan left for a business trip Sunday afternoon?  Yeah.  Awesome.

Oh, and did I also mention that Sunday night I saw a little black mouse dart across my family room floor while I was watching the Bachelorette’s hometown dates on Hulu?  Seeing as our last mouse was David Schwimmer, I decided to name this one Matt LeBlanc.  Except since he was black, I decided Matt LeNoir was more appropriate.  Sloan told me this was ridiculous and possibly racist.  I told him that when he was home he could name the mice whatever he damn well pleased, but since he was in Raleigh going to see Roger Waters with a client that he could just suck it.  The mouse is named Matt LeNoir.

Let it also be known that during this time I was finishing up Jenny Lawson’s memoir Let’s Pretend This Never Happened.  And in her book she has hundreds of scorpions in her wall and I think a demon goat.  So of course, I was pretty damn sure that our house was built on Native American burial grounds and our house was attacking us, avenging the long ago murder of a squirrel chieftain.  Every noise I heard, I was certain it was a chupacabra.  Yes, yes, I didn’t even know what a chupacabra was until I read this (because I’m not insane from Texas).

This did not help me sleep Sunday night.  

Monday morning, I was fearful of running into a goat sucker in the kitchen but was met with something actually more frightening, a wet floor and a sagging ceiling.  

It was unavoidable; I was going to have to call the plumber.  And the exterminator.

The plumber came quickly and fixed the toilet (in ten minutes) and replaced about ten things in our toilet.  I didn’t even know our toilet had ten things in it, and that’s counting the stupid Dixie cup (which has yet to be located, by the way).  He also drained the ceiling.  (Since the Tupperware cereal container I had placed under the drip was now full.  FULL.)

Monday afternoon, the handyman came to look at the ceiling and we made plans for him to come this afternoon.  Monday evening, however, when I went to straighten up the kids’ bathroom, I discovered a huge puddle of standing water in the base of the kids’ vanity.  You know where I usually store all the toilet paper and paper towels I buy at Costco?  Throwing away 24 rolls of waterlogged toilet paper and five rolls of paper towels was beyond gross.

I sent this picture to my handyman who is also a plumber.

And when he came to set to work on the ceiling this afternoon, it was discovered that it was not dry yet.  In fact, as he set to pull some of it down, it sagged off and even more water rolled out into our kitchen floor.  

So now the hole looks like this.  

Awesome.  That smaller hole in the back?  That's where our pot holder chandelier used to hang.  And to answer your next question, yes.  We did go out for pizza for dinner.  It was $7 pizza night at Angelo’s. 

Homestudy visits, the Muppets, and the Police--Only in my life do these things go together

Monday our case worker C came to our house.  She interviewed each of us individually.  We talked about teenage rebellion, our relationships with our folks and one another.  C also got to hear what it sounds like when a meeting goes longer than expected and we leave Gracie in her room for too long.  And since we have a video monitor, she got to see it as well.  Basically, she got to watch G jump off her train table and hear her sing the Muppets Manamana song.  Over and over again.  My cell phone also rang a lot because my friend who was keeping Henry had expected me to pick him up at 4 (since, ya know, C got to our house at 12:30), but I didn’t get over to pick Henry up until 4:40 or so.  Awesome.

On Tuesday, Sloan and I went to the Bethany office for a joint interview.  Again we talked about our parents, our marriage, our views on parenting, and our (ahem) romantic life.  When asked if I was satisfied in my love life, I may or may not have said, “You know, I don’t like that question.  It’s asks if I am satisfied.  To satisfy means to completely fufill desires, to be full of something.  Well, I will never get enough of Sloan.  I will always want more kisses.”  Sloan blushed.  C just said, “Ok, I’m just going to put yes.”  

And then my stupid cell phone started ringing again.  Sloan was peeved I hadn’t turned it off, but I needed it on in case something happened to the kids.  C understood this.  It was an 800 number so I just turned the ringer down.  Five minutes later, it vibrated on the table.  Again an 800 number, so I ignored the call.  Then my sister called.  And texted.  So I picked up my phone and said, “I think I ought to listen to these voicemails.  My sister is my emergency contact.”  

Ummm…apparently our burglar alarm was going off at our house and ADT had been trying to reach us.  So they called my sister and dispatched the police.  Which I guess would’ve been good if we had had a burglar and not just an idiot homeowner who set the alarm, forgetting that her cleaning lady was coming over.  

Sloan and C asked what was wrong.  “Um, our alarm is going off and they’ve dispatched the police.  So it is entirely possible that our housekeeper has been arrested. Sweet. Can we leave this part out of our homestudy?”  

We had a good laugh and I made some calls.  The police were cancelled and the cleaning lady thought it was funny.  Or she didn’t understand my explanation of it and was just laughing at me.  Either way, she cleaned my house.

We were supposed to have our final homestudy home visit tomorrow.  But it has been postponed (augh!) because we cannot seem to find any psychologist available to give us our MMPI tests.  And China requires that every person who has ever seen a counselor of any kind for any duration or has ever experienced trauma or has ever taken a med for anxiety or depression or has ever had a problem with drugs or alcohol to take the test.  So I’m fairly certain that equals to all Americans taking these tests to adopt from China.  Bonus.

So we wait. 

Put on some big rubber boots and go fight some fires

I literally just sent this email to a friend.


My main issue right now that is causing me anxiety is these effing mice that keep finding their way into our pantry.  We caught 2 this weekend and I thought it was over, but saw another scurrying across our family room to get to the pantry. And of course Sloan is out of town. So I had to set the trap, knowing if it gets caught I'll have to deal with it tomorrow on my own.  I know that's lame, but I'm kinda freaking out.  Setting that trap, while I could totally see the tiny mouse jumping from shelf to shelf like effing Mary Lou Retton was the single bravest thing I've ever done.  I'm sure you can appreciate, if not quite understand, my hysteria.  It's embarrassing too!  Our house isn't a shack or something and I feel like I'm just two steps away from that Indiana Jones scene with all the rats.  Just to set the trap I had to put on my rain boots, pray out loud saying things like "I'm made in God's image and Jesus will protect me!  He has commanded me to be strong and courageous.  He put me over you.  I will exercise my dominion on you.  I literally weigh more than 100 times what you do!  Be afraid mousy, Jesus is for me, not you.". And this was just to extract the Cinnamon Toast Crunch (thankfully in one of those Cereal Tupperware things) and retrieve the box of sticky traps.  I had to slide the trap across the floor with my broom like I was an Olympic curler.  And then I had to take a shot of Firefly Vodka, followed by a Valium.  This entire trap/cereal retrieval ordeal took 20 minutes.  Mainly just me yelling at a mouse by myself.  And, of course, this was after I ranted and raved and cried on the phone to Sloan about the mouse.  I may have accused his work of planting the mouse.  I can't be sure.  I did threaten to move to a hotel.

I know it's funny, but it wasn't at the time.  I was quite literally shaking in my boots.  And I sent a dramatic email to my Terminex guy that my Thursday afternoon appointment may be too late.
     
Also, as a fellow blogger, you'll appreciate that I may just copy and paste this email as a post.  I promise to be rodent free when I see you at the Writer's Conference.        

Raindrops on Roses

So I’m channeling my inner Barney Stinson mocking Oprah as I say….MYYYYY FAVORITE THINGS!!!!

Also, in this fantasy, I’m able to share with you, dear reader, the things I love most.

(Let it be noted that I said, things. Not people. It should go without saying that my most favoritetest of all favorites are Sloan, Henry, and Gracie. In fact, that’s a saying here in the Philips’ house. Sloan first said it to me when we were dating. “You’re my favorite.” “Favorite what?” I asked. “Favorite everything…” So if you hear me tell Henry he’s my favorite, rest assured, Gracie is my favorite too. And what’s my most favorite? Being theirs…)

So here, in no certain order, are my favorite things…

1. The entire works of David Sedaris.
Sure, he’s a bit crass. But he’s Southern, honest, and once worked as a Christmas elf. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received was from my friend Rich who told me my writing reminded him of David Sedaris. And I received his new book for my birthday from Sloan. The inscription said, “He’s almost as funny as you…” Be still my heart.

2. Chick-Fil- A Spicy Chicken Sandwich with extra pickles.
If you ever tell me how many calories this has, I will kill you. But seriously, I love CFA. I love that it is all their pleasure, they have the only dipping sauces worth the risk of car spillage (Honey Mustard and Polynesian, please), family nights where Henry eats free, Peppermint Milk shakes (damn you! Laura with posting the calories on FB!), Purel wipes, and they are the only fast food restaurant to get that children need bendy straws.

3. The Jesus Storybook Bible, by Sally Lloyd-Jones.
Best children’s bible. Ever. Hands down. It has made me cry as it teaches my children and reminds me of God’s never ending, all rescuing, and unending love for us. I love it so much I asked that the money raised for Bethany from Grace’s birthday party be used to purchase these Bibles for the babies whose parents reinstate their parental rights. And props to the author who heard this and is working with the publisher to make this more feasible financially. My favorite is when it says at the end of the story of Noah’s ark in reference to the rainbow… “God’s strong anger against hate and sadness and death would come down once more—but not on his people, or his world. No. God’s war bow was not pointing down at his people. It was pointing up, into the heart of heaven.”
4. Motown
If you’ve been reading for awhile, then you’ve read about my love affair with Sam, Al, Diana, Lionel, Aretha, Gladys, Marvin, Smokey, Otis, and, in particular, a one Mr. Wonder. And, as of late,  Mr. Jerry Lawson and the Talk of the Town.

5. My DVR
It’s how Sloan and I can watch our shows together when he travels (and why I don’t get your Office references until Friday night). It’s how I always have a Thomas or Cat in the Hat episode on deck for the Pickle. It’s how I can watch last night’s The Sing Off finale whenever I want. (Who has two thumbs and had a Committed +Boys II Men Dance party this morning with her kids? Bob Kelso. No, I mean, me!)

6. Diet Dr. Pepper
The best part of waking up is DDP in my cup.

7. Wi-Fi and all things wireless
Because sometimes the only time a Momma gets to be alone with her internet is when she is on the potty and sometimes that’s also the only time she gets to print out that recipe for Crock Pot Beef Bourguignon.

8. The Crock Pot and my rice cooker
I’m not a super huge fan of cooking. Mainly, it’s the 5 o’clock “Oh! Crap! I’m the Mom and am supposed to be feeding these people” scramble that gets me. Enter the crock pot. Add meat. Add some type of liquid…soup, beer, wine, broth, all of the above, some spices. Enjoy aroma all afternoon. Then, help Henry pour some brown rice and water into the rice maker. Press button. Empty bag salad into bowl. BAM! Homecooked meal, y’all!

9. Bacon
To borrow a phrase from my high school friend Katie, simply put, Bacon is meat candy. Bacon, a team of doctors, Al Roker, and Ellen DeGeneres saved Henry’s life. If you think this is over reaching, I commend you to read the first several months of this blog. I kid you not, pork belly saved us all. And continues to do so…

10. My house…it’s a very very very fine house.
I love our big front porch and circular driveway. Even if they are littered with buckets, trucks, bikes, balls, and dirty shoes. I love my foyer and stairwell and how they are covered with photos ranging from my parents when my dad was in the army, to our honeymoon, to the four of us dressed up for Halloween. I love that my guest bathroom has all of our diplomas, baptism certificates, honor fraternity certificates, and random hunting licenses. I love my new lipstick red kitchen with its big, deep, farm sink. I love my living room that is wall to wall books. I love that there is a corner in the living room stocked with kids books and a big fluffy orange kid chair that Henry and Gracie fight over. I love that my family room and dining room are mirror images of one another in terms of paint color. In my family room hang two of my decopage paintings and in the dining room is an arrangement of all of the silver platters my Grandmother Johnson gave me over the years. I love Henry’s blue transportation room and Gracie’s pink and green birdy room. I love that everywhere I turn in my house I see those whom I love so dearly and there is not a place that isn’t kid proof. It’s not a museum. It’s a nest; a cocoon; a small picture of what I imagine heaven to be— a place where PJs are worn well past breakfast, shoes are optional, and there’s always a good tune on the stereo.

Kitchen Pics

Sorry if you are my FB friend and you've already seen the after shots of the kitchen. The only problem with the spankin' new kitchen is that is sort of makes the rest of my house look like a dump and I feel compelled to keep it sparkling clean.

 View from the foyer.  We will be replacing the carpets with Zebra ones I found (thanks to Angie and my sister) at Ballard Designs. 

Best thing about the new farmhouse sink--makes cleaning babies and dishes so easy and rather enjoyable.  Although, the touch technology faucet is a bit tricky when your baby keeps touching it at odd times to make the spray go everywhere...

First breakfast in the new kitchen.  Henry is stoked to be back in his chair to eat Mini-Wheats with Gracie.

New pantry and magnetic chalkboard already in use. 

We're still moving into it.  I'm sure I'll reorganize things a thousand times.  The church's preschool yard sale is benefitting from the kitchen purge.  Who needs 8 spatulas?  And four muffin tins?  And really, do we think I'm ever going to use an Ice Cream Maker?  And with my instant hot spicket, I got rid of the ice tea maker.  The instant hot is money.  Have drunk 6 cups of hot tea today.  Perfect for a yucky rainy day. 

End of Week One

We had some set backs. 

It took awhile for them to move the lightbox for the new chandelier. 

And I decided to repaint the trim white. 

But the walls and trim have been painted.  The walls are Heartthrob and the trim is called Nude.  So yeah, there's a nude heartthrob in my kitchen.  Not unlike the nude blonde that is painted in the dining room.

Beneath the chairrail we've made it into magnetic chalkboard.  Sloan is a bit peeved that we now have a Georgia kitchen.  Oh well, my friend Meg and my cousin Jake will like it.

But the biggest set backs are that they didn't install the sink correctly and so they weren't able to make the granite template.  It needs to be lowered an inch and a half.  They're installing the tile floors tomorrow at 8am, so they are coming to lower the sink tomorrow at 7.  Which would be fine if my kids were normal and woke up early, but we've trained them to sleep in.  And they also need to reset the top cabinets.  They aren't flush with the ceiling and are unlevel.  Can you see how they are wonky? 

But still, isn't it going to be grand?

Demo Derby

My dining room.  That shiny thing on the right is the fridge. 

After eating breakfast in here, Henry said, "Mommy, it smart to move milk close to da table."  Thanks for having a good attitude, buddy!

This is my current living room.  Not much living being done in here. 

Today's demo was super noisy.  They had thought they'd be removing only three layers of super cool vinyl floors. False.  6 layers. 

Groovy faux slate vinyl found at the bottom of the foyer.  Didn't think to get a pick of the last layer in the kitchen.  It was uber 70s orange, green, and yellow, faux Mexican vinyl.  Even uglier than the version of this we had in the kitchen in our old condo--a feat I once thought impossible.

Being held hostage upstairs in Mommy's room.  And to answer all of your questions...

Yes, Gracie is trying to roll under the bed.  She rolls around everywhere as though she was Tina Turner on her Proud Mary tour.

Yes, That is the little round table I had when I was a little kid. 

Yes, Henry is pointing at the camera telling me not to take his picture.

Yes, I took the picture anyways.

And, finally, yes, those are the ugliest curtains known to man in the background.  Courtesy of the previous owner.

Shockingly, both of my kiddos were still able to nap. Despite the loud banging.  This is shocking as G is teething and not normally a good napper.  (Who cares?  She is never cranky and sleeps from 7:30pm-9am!!!)  But halfway through Henry's nap I heard yelling from H's room.  "Mommy!!  Mommy!!!  I need you."  "Yes, Henry, what do you need?"  "I know Mommy sick, but I need kiss.  Can you kiss my head?"  "Yes, I can kiss the top of your head."  "Now  kiss my feet?"  "Yes, I can kiss your feet."  "I wuv you, Mommy.  Henwe can rest now." 

BE STILL MY HEART.

The end of day one.

Tomorrow the painters are supposed to come to paint the walls and ceiling.  But we discovered that the previous light fixture was hung askew and the light box needs to be moved and a new hole cut.  My contractor is trying to get someone in there Wednesday, and I haven't been able to get in touch with the painter to see if he can paint the walls tomorrow and the ceiling on Thursday, pushing the cabinet install to Friday.  But my painter is awesome, so I'm praying this doesn't turn into a whammie. 

Oh, and where is Sloan during all of this?  Playing 36 holes of golf in the annual YoungLife Golf tournament. 

Please don't think ill of me when I smirk if he is sore tomorrow...

RIP Old Kitchen--BEFORE PICTURES

What started as a little leak meant that we needed to replace the floors. 

Which meant we decided to replace the island and light fixture. 

Which then made us decide to get granite countertops.  Which of course would mean that the old cabinets would look horrible.  So now, new kitchen.  Gutting it all save the appliances. 

They come tomorrow to demo.  Tuesday and Wednesday they repaint the kitchen a color called "Hearthrob"--a red that has more blue in it than the red that is in there now, with magnetic black chalkboard beneath the chairrail.  Thursday they install the cabinets and white ceramic farmhouse sink, complete with my no touch faucet, and soap and instant hot dispensers and measure for the countertops.  Friday they hang the new light fixture and electrify the island.  Over the weekend, Sloan and I hang up the closetmaid stuff for the new pantry.  Monday and Tuesday the lay the new tile floor in the kitchen and foyer.  And then hopefully, by the end of the week, they come in and put in the countertops and install the hardware. 

So this weekend was spent emptying everything and organizing the contents from the pantry, kitchen and foyer into our living and dining rooms.  Who knew we had soups that expired in 2006.  Which means that we moved with them.  But it has been a good time to clear out all of the Red40 foods and meds.  And bonus with the Tylenol, Motrin, Benedryl recall--we'll get coupons and then get Dye Free. 

All the while I am the sickest I've ever been in recent memory.  I've been the to the doctor twice and he's crossing his fingers that the nasty virus I have doesn't develop into pneumonia.  My throat feels like I'm swallowing razor blades, I've got a nasty productive cough, and get tired easily.  Yesterday, I thought I was getting better.  I told Sloan, "You know, I think the worst may have past.  I can now swallow without having to brace myself."  His response?  "Um, perhaps it could just be that the Hydrocodone you took 30 minutes ago is starting to kick in."  Perhaps.  Today I've been ok so long as I keep taking the non-narcotic pain meds to Dr. gave me. 

Fingers crossed that we don't all kill each other shoved into the family room and dining room, that I don't get the kids sick, and that they are able to keep to the time table.  I'll post pictures of the progress. 

And just to warn my Richmond friends, the Phillips family may be inviting themselves over to see you. 

I'll bring the chubby baby, you put the kettle on.