DIY Adventure

A couple years ago, we bought a dining table and chairs from Amazon (rather cheaply, might I add). We lost a chair a year in. And two years in (now), the other three are wobbling slowly to their deaths.

I've had it in my mind to find solid wood chairs for a long time but hadn't acted on it--until now.

I had an amazing paycheck from my "job"--post to come about that soon. So I felt it an appropriate time to start my chair search.

Did I go to Ashley Furniture Megastore you ask? Heck no. Never again.

Try the Black Swan Flea Market in New Bern. It will change your life.

In the attic of this century-old home cram packed with the most beautiful furniture and antiques I've ever seen sat 4 old solid wood windsor chairs. For $15 a piece. I'll TAKE 'em!

As we were leaving, the owner asked us if we needed a table to go with our new chairs. Well, she ended up selling us a dining table--solid wood Ethan Allen--for $40. YES.

I have never worked with wood...never refinished anything...never really even sanded anything. So it really was anybody's guess how this would turn out.

Can't hurt to try though, right?

At Lowe's I got some sanding blocks, a foam brush, a quart of black flat paint, and a bucket of matte polyurethane.

I sanded until I got the effect I wanted.

I painted the legs black (again).

When they dried, I distressed them.

Then I poly'd the legs and the table--3 coats each.

Time to bring it inside and reassemble! Jonathan had some good help.

And here it is!

The legs turned out beautifully unique.

I'm in love.

I think I've turned into a DIY junkie.



Chairs are next! (Hint: I'm thinking Gumdrop Red and Aqua Blue)

I'll Have a Large Order of Compassion, Hold the Judgement Please

Just a note to my fellow moms out there:

If you ever see a sister out and about with her children and you notice that she might be struggling a bit or maybe even a tad stressed out from, say, trying to keep up with her 5 year old that talks incessantly and therefore cannot hear instructions and therefore cannot obey said instructions, AND trying to focus on the task at hand while the 2 year old repeats his request a THOUSAND times, AND running after the 1 year old who loves the freedom that his ability to walk gives him and takes off any chance his toes hit the ground...I beg you to consider compassion instead of judgement.

Compassion. Judgement. 

Which would your rather receive?

Let me back up a tad. 

This morning was...eventful. It started out calmly enough. One by one, the children woke up. I started the day with Mason snuggles and a soft rendition of "Happy Birthday" to which he watched my mouth form every word--completely entranced. 

Next Andy woke up. For a boy who typically awakes grumpy and needs at least an hour to snap out of it, today was pretty good for him. It only took a few minutes of whining before he was ready for his breakfast and playtime. 

I read a chapter of my book (and it was an awesome chapter) while the boys played and had snacks. Emily woke and went straight for her new birthday toys. She and I tattooed some barbie hair before it was time to get ready for her last day at VBS at a church we have visited twice. 

I gathered everyones socks, shorts, shirts, undies, shoes, and hair-fixing necessities. Then I threw on a pair of jeans and my hair up into some sort of a bun to make myself appear to be a semi-civilized adult. FYI, I have decided that when I put on a clean t-shirt before bed, it is entirely acceptable to wear the same t-shirt for at least half of the next day. 

Jonathan took the van this morning and put the 3 carseats in the back of the Volvo. I was supposed to take the Volvo to get the oil changed. Well, the Volvo doesn't have a fancy schmancy DVD player like the van does. Because of this, the very second I strapped Mason into the car, he started screaming. And he didn't stop until we got home 30 minutes later. 

After squeezing Emily into the middle and spending at least 10 minutes trying to reach the bottom part of the seat belt buckle and sweating profusely by the end of it, I strapped Andy in and we were ready to go. 

But wait, my wallet is in the van. 

All of this suffering and screaming and sweating in this darn tiny car for nothing. 

But hey, whatever. I can get past that.

"Oh...I left Emily's one pair of tennis shoes in the van yesterday. There might be a pair in the garage. Let me go check."

After digging through partially unpacked boxes, more sweating, and a few spiders later, I found some shoes. I grabbed the shoes and realized I was starving and hadn't eaten anything substantial since yesterday at lunch so I ran inside and found a couple dollar bills. That would suffice for a sausage biscuit from McDonald's. Hey...food is food.

I jumped in the car, and we're off.

We get to the church, I go to put Emily's shoes on but wait...they aren't in the car. They are nowhere to be found. Going back home is not an option since we are already late and the bounce houses are inflated in plain view in the parking lot. Telling the kids we are going home before even getting out of the car would have most definitely incited rage and panic. My only option is to squeeze her sweet chubby feet into Anderson's 2-sizes-too-small shoes. Oh, and I should mention that Mason never made it into his shorts before we left the house--just a diaper and a t-shirt because, well, I don't even know why. 

So here we go. We are late of course and the first group gathering of VBS has already started. I have no idea where Emily's class is. Neither does she. 

We stand and we wait. Anderson is talking--more like repeating (because that's what he does). Mason is wiggling and wriggling his way out my arms because SPACE--so much SPACE to run around. Emily is distressed because every other day this week, her class was waiting outside. Why is this day different??

Emily thinks she spots someone she knows and of course...on the front row. So, Emily in her boy shoes walking like a kangaroo in high heels because they are tiny and Anderson in his bare feet and Mason in his diaper walk to the very front of the gymnasium in front of everyone to find her class. 

I can deal with all that. Whatever. Here's where I have the issue.

As we were walking out, a group of very put-together moms who were volunteering as workers for the VBS were standing by the exit. I cannot even begin to describe to you the up and down motion of their eyes. It was so painfully obvious. First they started with Anderson's feet. Then it went to Mason's diaper. Then it went to my over sized t-shirt and messy hair and non-made-up face. I mean...I know we look a bit a mess but do you really have to stare like that? Have you ever seen someone check someone else out from head to toe and from toe to head all over again in disbelief?

 Exactly.

This is church. You are volunteering. You are a member here. You've never seen me or my children before. Logically, we must be visitors. 

You never know what a person has been through. You never know someone else's story unless you take time to ask. You never know how someone's morning has been. You never know what someone is struggling with. You never know someone's stress level. 

Be the hands of Jesus. Have the eyes of Jesus. 

Not the eyes of judgement. 

Let's build one another up--lend a helping hand to a mom in need.

Let's be compassionate. 

Love. Love above all. 

P.S.- I never found the shoes. 

Yeah, that's whole milk.

Don't judge me.

Jesus Called Me This Morning

Trust me in the depths of your being.

It is there that I live in constant communion with you. When you feel flustered and frazzled on the outside (um...quite often), do not get upset with yourself. You are only human (Amanda), and the swirl of events going on all around you will sometimes (or all the time) feel overwhelming. Rather than scolding yourself for your humanness, remind yourself that I am both with you and within you. (Thank heavens).

I am with you at all times, encouraging and supportive rather than condemning. I know that deep within you, where I live, My peace is your continual experience (make it more so, Lord).

*Slow down your pace of living for a time. Quiet your mind in My presence.*

Then you will be able to hear Me bestowing the resurrection blessing: Peace be with you.

-Sarah Young, Jesus Calling (parentheses mine)


That whole slow down your pace of living line...boy, does that resonate. I find myself more irritated with Emily than ever lately because she is showing her individuality more and more. I think that there is a fine line (I'm still looking for it) between demanding her immediate obedience and understanding that there are lots of things going through that little mind of hers; she is discovering this big world and it can be and is confusing for her. She is very particular and methodical about how things are done. I need to understand that she doesn't think just like I do and she doesn't understand why it might not matter in the long run if she does or does not put that pretend skillet full of stickers (or eggs) in the kitchen cabinet very gently (and slooowly) on top of the stack of pots only to cause the entire stack to clank to the marble floor RIGHT before we have to leave the house to make it to an appointment barely on time. All the while Anderson has escaped to the bathroom to splash around in the toilet water, might I add.

There are things that are incredibly important to a three-year-old that adults will never understand because we've lost our sense of imagination and have allowed the "real" world to become superior to child-like wonder, play, and imagination. Would she or I benefit from me being obviously irritated and rushing over to throw the pots in the cupboard, grab her hand, and drag her out the door? When I do things like that, her spirit is crushed. She asks me, "Mommy, are you happy?" when I am obviously not.
 She knows.
 She's smart.

 I don't want to be a spirit crushing, madly demanding, irritable mother.

 Or would she and I benefit most from me remaining calm, slowing down our pace of life, helping her put the "eggs back on the stove", and asking if she will share her breakfast with me when we get home from our errand? That sounds much better.

 I want to be a mother that fosters her healthy independence, her incredible imaginary skills, and understands that she is a quirky three year old.

She needs that from me.
 I expect it of myself.
But, I need the grace from God to slow down.
I need Him to increase my eagerness to listen before I speak and seek to understand before I demand understanding. Even from a three-year-old.

Thank you, Jesus, for calling this morning.

Bedtime with Eloise

Emily and I are reading "Eloise" at bedtime. I've never read this book, but friends of ours gave it to us and said it was a "must" for childhood.  One of the pages tonight sounded JUST like Emily. Here's a snippet (I'll type it exactly as written--punctuation and all):

"I have two dolls which is enough
Their names are Sabine and Saylor
Sabine is a rag doll and she has absolutely no face at all
partially because she came from Jamaica by Air Express
Otherwise she has shoe-button eyes and two right legs
She is rawther unusual


Saylor is a very large doll and has a hard head and no arms
She was in the most terriblest accident and she bleeded so hard
she almost choked in the night and this ambulance came and took
her to this hospital and it was an emergency and they had to give
her all this terribly dark medicine and a lot of Band-aids and when
she came back home she was weak weak weak and had to take cod-liver
oil

I gave her a strawberry leaf from under my grapefruit for not
whimpering and Weenie licked her face
They have to have a teaspoon of water every hour or so, so you can
see they are an extremely lot of work"

I typed all that to give you a peek into what it's like around our house these days.

A 3 year old that constantly chatters. Constantly.

And a 1 year old who is into everything. Everything.

But they are so wonderful. Being a parent is so rewarding.

Happy Birthday Anderson

Today marks one year since this peculiar baby boy decided it was his time to see the earth. The memories of his birth are less than desirable. No first sweet moments together, no cuddling, no bonding, no nursing. Heck, I didn't even get to get a good look at the kid (besides his feet when he was in an incubator about to board a helicopter for a hospital an hour away from myself and my freshly severed abdomen). The next two weeks involved us temporarily moving into Jonathan's parents house to be closer to the hospital. And their bedroom nonetheless. We will always be grateful for their generosity to us in that time. It made the recovery more bearable. Anderson spent the next two weeks in the NICU--struggling along. It was tough. It was an emotional roller coaster. Wouldn't wish that on anyone. I'm already praying that the next baby (who is NCY, btw) is overdue rather than 6 weeks early.

Throughout Anderson's pregnancy and his first year, I've often thought about the baby that should have been. We conceived a baby in May of 2010. That baby went straight from my womb to the arms of Jesus at the end of June. Then, Anderson was created at the end of that same year. I can not imagine a more amazing little boy than my sweet Anderson. But there will always be a place in my heart and my mind for the baby that we won't meet until we get "over yonder".

So, today we celebrate Andy's life. He has more personality than any baby I've ever known. He is saying da da, ma ma, na na, and all sorts of fun sounds. He could have been walking two months ago, but he is too cautious to try it on his own. Funny, because he's not cautious to try anything else--emptying the cabinets, emptying the dishwasher, opening the fridge and throwing things onto the floor, climbing up the entertainment center, climbing in the washer, playing in the toilet. He is such a boy. In to EVERYTHING. But, he is so much fun. And he brings so much joy to us.

It is so fun to watch Emily and Anderson's relationship develop. They are playing together more now. In fact, last night I sat in the recliner for about 10 minutes just listening to their giggles in Emily's bedroom. She dumps out her box of shoes and tries them all on. Apparently it's pretty funny. Anderson will crawl back out into the hallway periodically to check on me and make sure I'm still in sight. He is absolutely a mommy's boy. Anyone who has been around us for long will testify to that. This is my first experience with attachment like that. Emily has been independent from the get go.  Sometimes the attachment with Anderson is trying (ok, a lot of times). But, that look he gives me when he hasn't seen me for a while and the hugs that immediately follow are almost more than this mama's heart can take.

Anderson never did take a bottle. He's been a master nurser. Thanks in part to that, I'm back to my old college sized self. However, I've been wondering how to wean him. I started praying about it a week ago. The night before last, he refused the breast and self-soothed to sleep (something he has never done). Yesterday, he refused the breast at both naptimes (yes, he still needs two naps) and refused it again at bedtime. I must add, he absolutely did not refuse to nurse during his two mid-night wakings. Of course those will be the last to go. I thought that I was ready for him to stop nursing, but now that he's doing it on his own, I'm not so sure. I know it's time and I know we've had a good run of it. Nursing my babies is one of the sweetest experiences I've had yet in life. I fully recommend nursing for a year. The benefits for mom and baby are absolutely immeasurable. We are reaping those benefits.


Anderson is a happy, healthy, filled-with-personality baby boy. Not to mention, he already eats us out of house and home. With both the heavenly Father and his daddy's leading, I can't' wait to see the man that he will grow into. For now, we are enjoying our day to day play times, meals together, snuggles, and learning experiences. 


I love you, sweet boy. 

*Note: NCY=not conceived yet*

Words to Treasure

I received a card in the mail today that I just have to share.


The card wishes me a happy birthday and tells me that I am a gift from God. But it gets better.


There are two notes inside--one from grandpa and one from grandma.


"Dear Amanda, we wish you a very happy birthday. Thank you for making the trip with your children. I know it wasn't easy for you. You are always so helpful and you always know just what I need. You are so special to us. We love you and Jonathan and your two precious little ones. Love, Grandma."


"Dear Amanda, 'June of the third' is a special day in your life. It seems like yesterday that we waited for word from the delivery room that we had a beautiful baby girl. We were so proud. You gave us a lot of joy and still do. We are so proud of you. You have two beautiful children not only on the outside but on the inside.


We love you and commend you for the finishing of your college education, for the mother and wife you have become, and for being a loving and caring granddaughter. May you have many years of joy in your life.


Love, Grandpa"


Melt. My. Heart.


I will strive to communicate such love and pride in my children and grandchildren. These two precious individuals have set an amazing example for me and have provided me with love and security when I needed it most. I will never doubt their love for me. That is an invaluable gift. 






This afternoon, my kids took horrible naps. While they were asleep (for about 10 minutes), I made cookie dough.

When Andy woke up cranky as all get out, I dipped his finger in the cookie dough. He didn't stay sad for long. After that first taste, he insisted on crawling to the floor beneath the mixer on the counter and demanding another taste. Over and over again. Then Emily woke up. She wasn't happy either. I had to bribe her to get her attitude straight with a warm cookie. Hey...sometimes a girl just needs a chocolate chip cookie.

























Now i'm anxiously awaiting bedtime (I won't post a picture of that--it's not pretty). I am running my first 5K tomorrow and would really appreciate a decent night of sleep. It's doubtful. I have been actively putting kids to bed since 7pm. It is now 9:30. There is something wrong with this picture. A change is in order--just have to figure out how to get the result I desire. Isn't that what parenting is about? I mean, how many times can she get out of bed before she gets the picture? And how many times can she really say "mommy, mommy, ma ma" in a semi-sing-songy voice before she gives up? I'll let you know.