#24: complete a DIY home project

Double Whammie.

First, Mr. 30x30 and I tag-teamed the giant 3 hour effort that is re-upholstering our kitchen chairs. I've had this table for six years, this is the second re-upholstery attempt. Normal? Or life with lots of children? I digress.

My chairs were practically begging for the attention (like everything else in this house!).

After nagging from my sister and BFF, I thought I'd at least look at fabric, seeing as how I was in a fabric store and all.

Behold the clearance corner/section/box.

$13.95 for 3 yards (enough to cover 10 chairs...we have 8).

Out with the old, in with the new.

HOWEVER,

That didn't seem like a true DIY project, I mean, afterall, Mr. 30x30 helped and all.

Then there was the little fact that in my head, since I started this here journey, I had in mind to tackle the ugly country-fied goodness that is our craft table.

This table has been hit HARD my friends. Five little girls that love all things messy and creative have beat worked this table to the bone and the table has the scars scribbles to prove it. 

Being slow to jump on the bandwagon, this is the very first chalkboard-inspired AND aqua-colored project I've to put my hands on.

But I did it.

pretend you don't notice I haven't painted the chairs yet...

Oh yes. DIY goodness at its join-the-crowd finest and I'm in love.

It looks so good rocking out the stacks of coloring books/old envelopes/junk mail/worksheets that my kids cover it in. And just think of the endless possibilities when you throw some 3D chalk into the mix. Score.

 #24 Complete a DIY project

Dear #10

get within 15 lbs of ideal weight

Dear #10,

You are officially not going to happen. In fact, I kind of hate your guts for even making it onto my decidedly joyful and fun list. You have no place here. All you do is incite anger and rebellion in my soul. Or maybe not you exactly, but what you represent.

One year ago I had a baby. My fifth baby.

After baby #1, skinny again.

After baby #2, skinny again.

After baby #3, a little thicker, but hey, I wasn't 19 anymore either.

After baby #4, target weight.

But what?

Baby #5. FATTY mcfatty pants.

Seriously. 10 lbs UP from post-partum weight.

20lbs up from pre-baby #5 weight. I gained 20 lbs in the year AFTER #4 was born. Opps.

124343 million pounds from post every other kid weight. 

No, seriously. 

55lbs people. 

That's a lot.

That's more than my seven-year old and a few pounds shy of my nine-year old.

That's my three year old and my one year old combined.

It's a lot of weight.

And it shows.

I'm officially that fat mom.

This is the part where I give my self a motivational speech and what not, but I'm just not feeling it. Instead, I'll just be pissed off and angry at you number 10. Because, clearly, it's your fault and not mine that I'm obese.

Clearly.

Okay. 40 lbs need to fall off of me in three months.

Uh, not likely.

So. 

I need to at least try (again).

My blood pressure has been in the "pre-hypertensive" range since having baby #5. I've had gestational diabetes 3 out of 5 pregnancies. My parents both died from massive heart attacks.

Diabetes and heart disease will find me.

But...I probably shouldn't be handing them a formal invitation to dinner either, huh?

Now what?

15o0 calorie days forever?

Forced exercise?

That's what it's going to take.

I don't want to be my mother. And, I'm kinda tired of my husband giving me dirty looks every time I complain about my mcfatty status as I shovel my self into big-fine-woman-size jeans.

sincerely,

mcfatty 

p.s. I refuse to become crazy. Daily effort Katie. Daily effort. No charts, online groupies, or progression pics. Just put down the food and walk away. and keep walking so it'll count as my exercise for the day.

weaned.

I have been pregnant and/or nursing since July of 2009.

For the last decade (give or take a few early post-partum months after each of my five babies), I've been pregnant, nursing or trying to get pregnant.

As of March 21st, I am none of the above.

And I'll stay that way.
Weird.

All it took was dropping one feeding. After his first birthday 2 weeks ago, I dropped his mid-morning feeding. One week later, J dropped the rest; for 36 hours. Then he reconsidered. So he nursed one last time. That lasted another 24 hours. So he nursed one last time (again).

That time he meant it.

And...weaned.

Baby J, consider yourself a big boy. *sigh* 

#19 wean baby J

#5 paint stripes somewhere in the house

Don't pretend like you don't love my non-staged, nor fixed and pretty post-painting photos ;)

Yeah, that's how real we keep it around here. It was now or never for taking a picture...I swear we have toilet paper in there now. And a place to sit and do your business. Why, yes, I did just go there.

I mean, it IS a bathroom after all. And now it's a noticeably more beautiful one.

Even if I chose the most insane weekend to complete the project (we might have been celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary, hosting a 5th birthday party AND battling strep throat and stomach viruses in our house at the same time).

I really wanted cream and white stripes, but the difference just wasn't enough to satisfy my rather overstated design tastes, so I borrowed from the beige landing paint supply and whipped up these chocolate and vanilla inspired stripes.

I love it.

Like for real.

I might be making excuses to go to the bathroom.

Wait, that would be weird...

#5 paint stripes somewhere in the house--all kinds of finished!

#2-write our 'love story'

Just a note, this post, this 30x30 to-do, was inspired by my own parents' love story. For my 18th birthday, I asked my mother for one gift. I wanted her to write down hers and my  father's love story. When she wrote it down (by hand no less), she wrote it in a journal, inviting me to write my own story in it one day for my future daughters. 

I was 18.

He was not. 

More like over-thirty.

Okay, fine, he was 32.

And I was interviewing, on the suggestion of my sister-in-law, with an agency that provided services for special needs children and adults. 

It was June of 2001 and hot. I was wearing a purple shirt, black pants and driving my sister's Toyota Four-Runner (David said he thought I was a spoiled rich girl when I drove up in that...as opposed to my own trusty little green Geo-metro).

I was nervous.

Truth be told, I was nervous that this single-dad to three I was meeting with was going to be hot. I was relieved when he wasn't.

haha.

My boss, Mary, met me at his apartment to meet with the two kids (Adriana, age 3 and Jacob, age 17 months) I'd be working with. 

Did I mention I was nervous?

The kids were adorable. Especially that little brown-eyed boy. I could tell even then the little girl was trouble.

About 15 minutes into the interview and the dad walks out, leaving me with two very needy little kids (he confessed later that this was a test).

I rocked it.

My job was to work Monday-Thursday from 6-8pm with Adriana and Jacob on their goals.

David asked me to babysit one night; he was going out to celebrate his divorce being final.

He called the apartment totally wasted (in the eleven years since, I've only seen him like that one other time). I was un-amused.

Perhaps I should mention that David is somewhat difficult to understand (read: significant speech impediment); well add alcohol to that and I was like, "What?"

Anyway.

The next month, I went to the beach with my girl friends. I got my first and only speeding ticket on that trip. A few weeks later, I went back to the beach and David, trying to be cute, wrote me a note that read, "Watch your speed." Or something like that.

I kept it on my dash.

That was probably my first clue.

You see, I was dating my on-again, off-again high school boyfriend  at the time.

By August, I knew something was different in my interactions with David in the evenings. Enough of that something was enough to convince me that I called it quits with my boyfriend.

A few days later, my friend and I were in a minor car accident.

I went to work that night, but my back was killing me.

And, well, I'm a sucker for a good massage.

David offered.

I accepted.

*

A few nights later, I met David's mom and step-dad; only David didn't tell them we were dating. Yeah, that was every shade of awkward. But his mom loved me.

My mom loved him.

Everyone else? Not so much convinced of our fast and non-traditional coupling. It was hard. Mostly because I couldn't quite explain it. I just knew. Yep, in that cliched, tried and trued tradition of yesteryear, I just knew David was right for me. I could feel it.

And I've never been one to hesitate when I know something is right.

By November, we were "casually engaged." I say casually because when he asked me it was so nonchalant that I thought perhaps he wasn't serious. I called him the next day from my mother's kitchen to make sure!

We married March 2nd, 2002 in a very small ceremony. It was beautiful and perfect.

I loved him then.

I loved him in that 19 year old girl kind of way.

But I'm in love with him now.

In love with him in that we've persevered and laughed our way through tragedy after tragedy and now celebrate our marriage as God-inspired.

In retrospect, I know I loved him because of the proof. I could see he was (and IS) an incredible father. Like, one-of-a-kind. That kind of man is few and far between and I KNEW that any man that can be that good of a father has to be one heck of a man.

Turns out I was right.

Less than one month from now, we'll celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. If I could go back to the 19-year-old me on her wedding day I'd tell her it's all good. David and I have endured tragedy like no other, but    we also share a love so genuine I cannot fathom for a second any other man that could end this story with me.

I love you David.

January 2012

#15 attempt to appreciate A (as in singular) football game

Technically.

And I do mean, technically, I did this one.

I attempted.

Half-heartedly.

More than once even.

But, alas, and all those other words...

This nearly-thirty-year-old just doesn't do football.

I did learn a few things along the way.

For example, I now know that a down is the same thing as saying a try. As in, 2nd down (out of 4, thank you very much) is the second attempt at securing 10 yards. That brings me to my next piece of pigskin-playing knowledge. I know that the goal is to score 10 yards during your 4 given downs.

That's about it. The teams take turns doing something simple, but calling it something fancy.

And I still don't understand all the positions.

Or how you find the ball on the field. I mean, that thing is tiny and there are so many big men all around it. Why bother? It's like trying to play Where's Waldo but he forgot to wear his stripes.

*sigh*

I even tried to go to a Panthers game when we scored free tickets on Christmas Eve...but the football hater, I mean, good mother in me, won out and I let Mr. 30x30 take three kids with him instead.

I was not here. But people who share my DNA were. Totally counts.

So...I did say attempt to appreciate right?

Do I get credit?

I say yes.

This is the way we paint the house, paint the house,

paint the house.

Or, in our case, landing.

#22 paint upstairs landing


Painted.


Six years worth of little girl scribbles with pencils, markers, crayons, and yes, even sharpies, are all covered.


I'm sure a certain little boy will add his own scribbles one day. 


But for now, bliss.

the before

the after

It's all beige and beautiful like. 

As for me, I'm tired.

and covered in paint,

and my knees hurt.

and I'm only 29.

for now.