Wrapping It All Up

Well it's over.

Christmas 2013 is in the books.  I have again resisted the yearly urge I have to cover every flat surface in the house with Christmas trees of various sizes.  Admittedly, if I didn't have two kids I'd be pushing other women in the Hobby Lobby aisles searching for various sized Christmas trees at drastically reduced prices as you're reading this, but alas, I am home with the kids wondering when the Anna who desires a clean & clutter-free home will win the battle with tired, lazy Anna who can't stop looking at boots on sale online.  Until the former Anna is victorious, we'll continue to enjoy all of our Christmas decor, including the eight foot tree that is covered in ornaments, each & every ornament hanging on its own special, tiny hook.  Fa la la la la.

A Quiver Full

I take back what I said in my last post about too much college football; there's no such thing as too much college football.  I missed it so much Saturday.  By the way, did anyone notice that a certain longtime Texas coach resigned?  Perhaps I should venture into stocks.      

Feast or Famine

Oh.  The merriment.  This time of year there never seems to be any middle ground.  There's either too much of something, or not nearly enough.  There's too much food, too many activities, too many gifts to buy & wrap, too many decorations, & too little time, too little money, too little sleep.  It's 80 degrees & muggy, or it's 30 degrees & you're smearing yourself with Aquaphor.  There's too much college football, & then, poof! - - no more football for months.  And in my world, it's everyone's birthday, all in the same week.

The Sunday Scramble

Edmund Burke famously said, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

I sometimes recite this quote for myself on Sunday mornings.  Sundays are hard, at least for this mother of two young kids.  Occasionally on a Sunday morning, things fall into place, but usually there is an ill-timed dirty diaper,  a tantrum over getting out of bed in time to make it to Bible class, an infant who decides Sunday morning is an opportune time to switch up his nursing schedule, or waits until I've changed him into his Sunday best to regurgitate breast milk, everywhere, which usually necessitates an outfit change for both of us.

At present, with a two-(nearly three!)-year-old who adores her nine-thirty Bible class & a nursing infant whose one love in life is to breastfeed, Trey & I often have to tag team to ensure Reagan makes it to class & Henry & I make it to the building by the time service begins at ten-thirty.  I think there was one Sunday morning the four of us made it to church in one car; Trey escorted Reagan to her class while I raced to the room for nursing mothers, where I spend much of my time at church these days, cloistered away, nursing my son, or attempting to get him to fall asleep.

For those of you who've never had to rouse, feed, groom, & dress small children in the hopes of arriving somewhere on time, with everyone dressed presentably & everything you might possibly need while you're away from home packed neatly in the six bags required for all the stuff, let me tell you, it's a tiring ordeal (even if you've had a full night's sleep . . . I know, hahaha).  It's not simply a matter of planning & making sure I'm up early; all the planning in the world can't compensate for the surprises your children often have in store for you, surprises they wait to spring on you when there is somewhere you're attempting to arrive by a specified time.  Have you ever attempted to put hosiery on a small, uncooperative person who thinks it's imperative that she watch an episode of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood before changing her clothes?  It should be an Olympic sport; I would certainly medal.

When I was in my teens & twenties, I was late for church more times than I care to admit.  I look back now & wonder how I could have managed my time so poorly; I am ashamed for my former self.  If you're reading & once shot me a glance, perhaps laced with judgment, as I slipped into the pew after services began, well, I deserved it.  My current & former selves thank you for your subtle attempt to shame me.  Please do understand that if you give me a look now if I straggle in late, a baby on my hip & spit up that I'm unaware of in my hair, things might get ugly, & I'm not just talking about my hair.

I've had more than one moment over the last few years - - sitting alone, nursing, exhausted, absent from the worship service, my Sunday clothes spotted with spit up - - when I've asked myself why I do it.  After all, I can sit alone & nurse at home, in my pajamas, & maybe sleep a little later.  I'm currently remembering having these thoughts while nursing Reagan, only this time, as I tend to Henry, I have an ever-present, thirty pound reminder of why I do it.  In three short years Reagan grew from a helpless infant who cared only that she was warm & fed to a bouncing little girl who loves to go to Bible class.  Not once has she cried when I left her in class; the only tears came one Sunday morning when she didn't want to leave.

Let me tell you a quick story.  Last night I saw an old friend.  She's in town because her grandfather passed away, & I saw her at his visitation.  When I was young, I spent a lot of time with her; our families were friends & I was in their home often.  She had an older sister, & then one day, she had a younger sister.  I was young, maybe four, when her second sister arrived, but even at a tender age I knew there was something atypical about the arrival of her younger sister.  There was a sense of sadness that I didn't quite understand at the time.  What I would come to learn was that my friend's aunt & uncle had been killed in an automobile accident, an accident their young daughter survived.  I never knew him, her uncle, but his name was Darrin.  When I heard of her grandfather's passing, the first thought I had was of Darrin, a man I never knew, who died young, & who was recently reunited with his dad in Heaven.  What a celebration that must be.

I started typing this blog a week or so ago after a particularly trying Sunday morning & have dabbled around as time permitted, but I never felt I was quite done with it, until now.  Darrin's story reminded me why I don't give in to the temptation to do nothing on Sunday morning; I want the sweet reunion Darrin & his father recently shared to be mine one day.  I don't know what the future holds for my children, but I do know that, unless we're alive when the Lord returns, we will be separated by death, & it's my intent to make sure that is only a temporary separation.  

I know that soon my nursery days will be behind me & I'll be swatting at my kids in service & telling them to be quiet.  For now, I try to relax & enjoy the alone time Henry & I share during services.

I'll end with a portrait series of me & Henry I call, "Selfies in the Nursery."

I don't like to be bossy (somewhere, Trey's head just snapped up), but take your kids to church even when it's difficult.  Darrin's dad did, & that decision, made over & over & over again on Sunday mornings when everyone was tired & nothing went as planned, is one that I am certain Darrin's dad does not regret today as he worships the Father alongside the son he hadn't seen for over two decades.  

AZ

Free Starbucks

I thought that might get your attention.

A King & a Libertarian

Read This Now

A bit bossy of me, I know.

Today

You know what today is, right?

The Time of Your Life

Well, your wait is over.  AZeigler Dailies, Edition: Junk in my old closet, is here.

In the weeks leading up to my recent birthday, my life flashed before my eyes.  Literally.  A quick history lesson: In the late eighties, my parents built a house.  On the second floor of that house, my sister & I shared many happy years in our bedrooms, & we were so busy living fulfilling lives & reveling in all the happiness that we neglected to clean out our cavernous closets.  Ever.

Blog, Interrupted

I have to interrupt today's regularly scheduled blog post.  Much has happened in the last week.  No, much is an understatement.

Busyness

I titled this post 'Busyness.'  Then I googled the word 'busyness.'  One of the definitions given was "sustaining much activity."  That's me, folks, that's me.  There is at least one day a week that we stay home all day, perhaps never shedding our pajamas, but don't let that fool you; at home or on the road, I sustain much activity.

IV

Yesterday Henry was four months old.

Hobbies

Speaking of hobbies, one of mine is reading, & I've had my nose in 1984 during the five free moments I've enjoyed the past few weeks.  Have you read 1984?  Wow, just wow, Mr. Orwell.  You know you're good when your surname becomes an adjective.  Between college football, 1984, & my kids, time with the blog has fallen by the wayside.  I need a secretary, really.  There's so much in my head, but so little time to sit & type it out.

Anyway, the dearth of blogs in no way correlates to the goings on with us.  The week after I was released from the hospital, an ordeal you can read about here if you're behind on your blog reading, I was told to stay home & rest & relax.  You can imagine how relaxed I was when Trey came home with this & announced he planned to change the oil in his truck:

I know, I know.  The best part is that the book was written by a woman (or a man named Deanna).  Henry & I spent a pleasant Saturday afternoon indoors watching the Aggies almost get the best of tan man Saban & the Tide while Trey spent roughly seven hours outside attempting to change his oil.  Reagan kept Trey company for much of the time, happily arranging & rearranging the sockets in his tool box.  The oil change was completed on Sunday afternoon after the four of us stopped at Auto Zone on the way home from church.  One of my favorite things to do on Sunday afternoons in August is hang out in the Auto Zone parking lot with my two young kids, one of whom has a tendency to scream (sometimes for no apparent reason), while Trey searches for replacements for the things he broke &/or lost while attempting to do something the kind folks at Goodyear will do for under $30 (& as an added bonus, they don't drip oil in our garage . . . or take two days to change the oil).  Deep breaths, deep breaths . . . sooner or later, Trey's hobbies seem to have ill effects on my blood pressure.  Thankfully, it's usually extremely low so I can afford for it to skyrocket every now & then.   

As I mentioned in a previous post, when I decided to host Jessica's baby shower, it was the kick in the pants I needed to spend a lot of money get some things done around the house I'd been putting off.  The first & perhaps biggest change was the painting of the master bath & kitchen.  

Here's a before shot of the kitchen: 

And a before shot of the master bath:

When I first saw the kitchen walls, I thought I could live with them (I always knew the master bath had to be painted.  That aqua was just blah, not me, & the faux finish . . . I wish you could see the face I am making).  After living in the house over a year, & standing & waiting for countless cups of coffee to be dispensed by my Keurig (pictured above in front of the red mess that was formerly my kitchen walls), I decided the red had to go.  I like neutral walls; it's just who I am, & I can't get away from it.  I am not opposed to pops of color via rugs, etc., but the red walls just started to overwhelm me; I didn't realize how oppressive they were until I was rid of them.  You can read about the momentous turn of events that resulted in my new walls here.  

Here is the finished product (that's my Keurig on the far counter, to the left).  It's now a much more pleasant place to wait for coffee to drip.  If it were ever super quiet in my house, which it is not, I think you might could hear the walls sighing in relief:

And the master bath . . . aqua be gone!

Naturally, with new color on the walls, I gave myself full permission to have a heyday in Target.  I'm in Target a lot, & it's always a fete of self-control to leave without a new rug.  

New bathmats (complete w/ my socked feet):

Some matching decorative towels I placed in a basket on the tub, along with some candles, to give the two guests we have a year the impression that someone actually sits in the tub & relaxes by candlelight every now & then.  Someone who perhaps might need a washcloth that just happens to coordinate with the bathmats:

And the final touch, these distressed wood & iron wall sconces from Hobby Lobby:

They hang on opposite walls & are identical (b/c I am anal & cannot sleep in a house that lacks decorative symmetry): 

I was just getting warmed up.  I spent the better part of one Saturday hauling Henry around town with me.  Our first stop that day was Lowe's, where I purchased curtain rods for Reagan & Henry's rooms.  I knew that while they appeared nonchalant, deep down inside my children were both aghast that I had yet to hang curtains in their rooms.  

The finished product in Reagan's room:  

Her curtains looked so nice I thought it would be a great time to see her bed through to its final conversion . . . & so the toddler bed became a full bed:

But wait, I thought, I have no coordinating bedding for this full bed . . . what a quandary.  I didn't want to get rid of anything in Reagan's room, because I still like all of it (& because there should be a limit on what you spend to decorate the room of someone who's still 50/50 on urinating in the toilet).  So, I took to the Internet & looked for bedding that would coordinate with everything already in her room - - the rug, the lamp, the wall decor, etc. 

What I discovered is perhaps my greatest online shopping victory, ever.  I went to the usual - Target, Pottery Barn Kids, etc.  Nothing struck me.  On a whim, I looked at the bedding at Pottery Barn Teen, & I found a duvet cover & shams that could not be more perfect had I stitched them myself (in some alternate universe where I could sew).  Not only was it all on sale, it shipped free because they were having some "all bedding ships free" promo.  I consider myself a wise consumer, however I admit I am easily lured by free shipping from Pottery Barn because their shipping charges are OUTRAGEOUS.

Here are some shots of Reagan's bedding.  Don't be thrown by the 'dorm' label; we do think Reagan's intelligent, however we're mainly looking ahead to a Mother's Day Out program in the near future: 

And, because I know you care, here's my find on the newly converted bed:

   

She is pleased:

Because I can't leave well enough alone, I bought this mirror, pictured below,  to add to the montage above her bed.  She threw a few Hello Kitty dolls on the bed for good measure:

So remember my heydey in Target?  In addition to the goodies for the master bath, I bought this rug for Henry's room:

This is the little quilt that adorns his bed.  I actually took this picture to text it to Jessica, who lives in Dallas, home of many Pottery Barn Kids locales.  I decided to buy the window panels that match Henry's quilt, but wasn't about to pay to have them shipped to me.  Some days I feel my whole life is about skirting Pottery Barn shipping charges.

Jessica arrived for her shower, window panels in tow.  Unfortunately, if you recall, I was so sick at the time of the shower I could not have cared less about a panel-less window.  

I did place the bag with the panels on the ground near the curtain rod so as to give the shower guests an idea of what might one day come to fruition in Henry's room:

According to the PBK website, this is what the finished product will resemble:

As summer gives way to fall, which is signified by the official changing of the fake fruit in our house . . . 

. . . Reagan & Henry are actively involved in their hobbies.  

Lying around:

Sleeping:

Reagan continues to develop her photography skills.  This is an abstract set of her Pink Coupe she's been working on when she can get her hands on my iPhone:

It's always fun to get in bed at night & scroll through my photos to see what she's been up to; obviously she's been in a transportation mood lately:

They both continue to excel at being awesome.

So that's us lately.  I hope you're enjoying Kirk & football & the cool(ish) temps as much as I am.  I know it's cooled off a smidge because it's now possible for me to buy groceries & unload them & my kids from the car without needing to change my shirt.  Lovely, I know.  October looms, & it looks to be a memorable one.  Yes, yes, I will turn thirty-three next month, however I will also become an aunt (unless Jessica way overshoots her due date of the 22nd, making the conclusion of this blog post much less dramatic).    

AZ