What I Wore (to drive) to Thanksgiving Dinner

Holler at me Grace.

Coming to you fresh from the Rocky Mountains...

Not a drop of alcohol has been consumed yet.

But the promise is there.

Top: White House Black Market (thrifted)

Necklace: Lia Sophia (gifted)

Skirt: Target (exclusive boutique in my hood ... sorry if you've never heard of it.)

Shoes: Blowfish (thrifted)

Side view. You're welcome.
(Want guns like that? Dream on. I have good genes and hours at le gym to thank. Ever female in my immediate family has a pair. My dad refers to them as the 'Senour Baby Cranes' ... you know, for lifting babies. You can see why my parents have enjoyed the long, happy marriage they have.)

Gratuitous family shot. Only missing like 65% of our members.

The happy couple.
In real life, I'm not this fat, and he's not this tired.
Okay, yes we are.


 Happy Thanksgiving y'all!

Anthro bookshelf hack

Oh, who am I kidding, probably more closely akin to Target's dorm-room chic RE line...but a girl can dream.

Armed with a roll of hideously expensive Hallmark wrapping paper, a can of Elmer's spray adhesive, and a willing victim in the form of a freshly-stained former bachelor bookshelf, I set out to make DIY history on my back porch during naptime yesterday.

A few lessons learned:

1. Measure things. Oh, you do measure when you make things?

Well you're awesome, and I'm not.

2. Spray adhesive will be sticky once applied to the surface you're looking to adhere stuff to. Along with your forearm hairs, cell phone screen, and unsuspecting lurking jogging stroller. Ahem.

3. Wrapping paper was a brilliant and yet oh so stupid pick for covering the back of my bookshelf. It looks awesome...except from certain angles where it looks like...wrapping paper. So perhaps a matte rather than high gloss finish next time? Does wrapping paper come in a matte finish? Do I have too much time on my hands? Probably, maybe, and definitely.

Without further ado, I present to you, my new 'home office.'

I started with some scissors, the above-mentioned luxury wrapping paper, and some spray glue.

I measured one space between shelves (should have measured each individually), cut 3 more against the template of the first, pressed each cutout into the intended shelf space folded the excess edges over to cut off

And then went at the thing with aerosol Elmer's like you wouldn't believe.

I like (but don't love) the way it turned out, and it certainly makes use of a dead space in our dining area that was formerly a tangle of cell phone chargers and computer cords.

mood lighting. Ooh la la.

I'm calling it my little home office. Because honestly, it has just about everything I need at arm's reach during a typical weekday, from the boring basics like laptop, pens, and paper to the exciting personalized touches of a mobile baby changing station and some Jillian Michael's-approved hand weights. And a basket filled with current cans of spray paint. Because you honestly can't say when the mood will strike, so it's best to be prepared.

Clearly I missed my calling as a design blogger. Clearly.

A Late Vocation

My IHOD-inspired (don't ask how, it just was) refurbished coat-rack.

When I was a young and single thing, carefree and flush with cash from my lucrative stints in the world of Catholic non-profits, I used to dream about the way I'd decorate my eventual home, and about the many lavish and extravagant purchases I would one day make at AFW.

Fast forward three years and two babies, and while the benjamins have stopped rolling in (in fact, most of them roll out these days, what the ...) my desire to decorate my nest has not abated.

$6 headboard from Saver's, transformed ala spray paint and glaze. Also pictured: small party animal.

In fact, as Dave would be quick to point out, it is actually fairly and neurotically intense. To the point that, 2 days after a move or the night of an arrival home from traveling, I'm frantically unpacking, moving furniture, scrubbing floors and filling bags and bags (and bags and bags) of crap for Goodwill. So that I can, you know, bring home more future bags of crap from Goodwill.

Detail on headboard. You're welcome.

So I've had to figure out a way to channel this latent desire to decorate - to create - in a way that doesn't destroy our meager 'home furnishings' budget. Because let's be honest; there's just not a line item for that one yet. For some saner, holier people, I suspect the answer might be patient, gradual accumulation of nice pieces over the course of several years/decades of marriage. For me, it's the suburban equivalent of dumpster-diving. For my husband, it is a deeply shameful exercise in humility every time I direct him to pull over in his church clothes and 'grab that thing off that person's curb' wearing a sharpie'd 'free' tatted on a piece of cardboard.

roadside freebie turned back porch coffee table. also pictured: the truck we hauled it home in.

Figuring out that #1 I liked to do this kind of thing and #2 I was passably competent with a can of spray paint was nothing short of astonishing. 

Formerly known as ugly-ass some-assembly-required Walmart bachelor piece.

After 13+ years in the public school system, I had successfully managed to avoid a single art class past the 5th grade, so I was fairly certain I was creatively crippled, doomed to spend allllll my hours of leisure time as a SAHM reading trashy novels and emptying the dishwasher. And maybe dusting off the 'ol trumpet for some souza-inspired afternoon tunes, since I was playing in the pep band while my cooler friends were throwing pots in ceramics class. Loser.

I have to admit, even Pinterest, with all its glittering promise and happy 'finished product' images made me a little nervous and not a little insecure. I couldn't replicate anything from the culinary department, I had no desire to learn how to sew (or any machine to feed fabric into), and I was certainly not about to refinish old milkcrates to look like Anthropoligie-inspired shelving for our family library...or was I?

Basically, choosing the least intimidating (in my humble opinion) means of 're-creating' something old and ugly into something new, fun, and, if not perfect, than at least passably attractive, has opened up for me an entire creative world. Instead of pallet boards, I now see potential patio furniture. An abandoned MDF bookshelf from Target looks to me suspiciously like a wine shelf waiting to be redressed. And a can of spraypaint? Liquid gold. Even if it is a more sensibly-hued turquoise or bronzed iron. (Sorry, Glamma.) And you know what? Naptime has never, ever been this fun.

Gotta be honest, one of my most amazing creations yet. Definitely a collaborative effort.

Women, infants, children

I suppose Dave was spot-on with his withering critique of my go-to momiform, but I guess I didn't realize how right until the checker at King Sooper's asked me yesterday, in all seriousness, 'Is this WIC, or what?'

I blinked at him a couple of times and then realized he was asking if my cartfull of produce, canned tuna and refried beans was going to be paid for in foodstamps. Nice.

Since we've been reigning in the 'ol food budget I guess my haul does look suspiciously, well, healthy. Aka government subsidized? Or perhaps it was my two mewling children, a shocking 19 months apart, one of whom had wiped banana all up and down my sagging yoga pants.

It's all glamor up in here, all the time.

Tom Petty and my Chiropractor

... Really do take the cake for the best one-liner delivered to my mammoth self in this, the 10th month of the marathon pregnancy I apparently signed up for last July.

Yesterday, in a fit of sciatic rage, I went to my local 24 Hour not-quite-looking-the-part-at-this-point Fitness to whale around swim laps before my chiropractic adjustment, per the instructions of one very trim, athletic and admirably crunchy home-birthing friend ... but alas, after only 10 laps I was booted from the pool by a hoard of neon and floral ... Silver Sneakers water aerobics was getting underway, and so I was banished to the hot tub (shh, I'm the world's least compliant preggo - I also drink -gasp!- wine.)

After a minute of two of soaking (on the top step, I'm not that terrible of a mother), I was approached by a charming, elderly Vietnamese man who interrupted his Tai Chi routine in the middle of the tub to swim over and interpret for his broadly smiling wife who was perched next to me, staring at my stomach.

'My wife, she say you have baby soon...is soon?'

Damn I hope so.

More excited Vietnamese chatter.

'My wife want you know, you eat nothing but pork, green onions and carrots for one month. One month after give birth. And no BEEF.' (more excited chattering) 'No beef for 3 month, three month you no eat beef or drink cold water, yes?'

Um, yes.

'And no eat anything sour. No lemons, no oranges, no sour. And no ice cream'

Fat chance there.

'And keep legs closed for one month, sit with legs closed, you need heal. You rest and rub salt water on teeth and keep legs close together' (graphic demonstration on the wife's part ensues)

Not too sure about the possible double meaning of that last one...

Our happy exchange ended with much vigorous belly rubbing, patting, smiling and assurances of 'you have boy...you have good BOY in here, happy boy!'

I love being touched by strangers.

But hey, they were friendly, enthusiastic about my impending birth and motherhood, and did not once use the words 'pop,' 'go soon,' 'explode' or 'fully cooked.'

At least not in english.

p.s. love you Sarah, but still totally pregnant...perhaps more laps are in order.

Color blocking ... I can hit that

My primitive understanding of this haute topic informs me that basically any combination of formerly mismatching colors now a. go together and b. identify you as stunningly on-trend.

Right?

I have taken to assembling random arrangements of clothing/accessories/shoes and putting them together in no specific order and have been consistently achieving compliments from an otherwise style-illiterate spouse and always-very-stylish girlfriends, which leads me to believe I have found the answer to every woman's daily question: what should I wear?

This could work, if I weren't 1 million months pregnant:

(Source)

 

 

 

 

 

But this serves equally well, and has the added bonus of being essentially an outfit I can hit both 'shuffle' and 'repeat' on multiple times a week. And so far, no one has noticed....

It was all working out reeeeally nicely, but then it snowed today. I asked my black yoga pants if they'd take me back, and they grudgingly agreed. Spandex is so hard to accessorize...

Drumroll Please...

In honor of my 500th blog post in history (actually, just a happy accident) may I introduce to the world the next best thing in mommyblogging: another former Senour sister.

But wait, there's more! A fabulous 20-something professional version, too.

Watch out, we're witty.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Jackson circa Jurassic Park: Hold on to yer butts.

Highs and Lows

Hit the gym bright and early this a.m. for 40 excruciating minutes on the elliptical machine, trying to deconstruct my own pelvis/shatter my spinal column I guess ... what can I say, any kind of physical activity at 9 months feels like holy hell. Except swimming... but there was a very glamorous and exclusive water aerobics class occupying the pool area, and I didn't feel like wobbling my arm fat with the senior set. (Mine, not theirs. Probably theirs are more toned).

But a workout was had nonetheless, which was then promptly undone by lunch at Chicfila. Mmmmhmmm.

Aaaaand, I may or may not have nested at Costco today. A dangerous and unusual phenomenon yielding no fewer than 16 cans of black beans, a 3 lb. bag of tortilla chips, and a 30 pack of horrible, horrible eco-friendly toilet paper that is almost as cheap and fluffy as discarded newspapers.

So pretty much we're all set to get birthin' ... cept for I'm only 36 million weeks along, and even the unusually prompt and polite Joey didn't arrive until week 37 day 4.

So...

Until then, hoping for many more awkward moments at the Kid's Club whereby one lady points out how I've clearly 'dropped' over the weekend and then all three childcare professionals gather around my midsection, hemming and hawing on whether or not that baby is, in fact, hanging out nearer to his/her final exit point.

Litany of humility ... who needs it?

Get low.

Valentine's day

In which I bust out the pipe cleaners and start crafting some terrible, terrible homemade goodies 'from' Joey to his loving parents.

Is it ever too early to start depriving your children of time-honored social customs which will inevitably lead to their stigmatization in grammar school?

I didn't think so.

p.s. Get up, get up and get Downton.

7 Quick Takes Friday, Glamor Edition

1. Final countdown for molar numero quatro means very little sleep was had by all last night. This resulted in a house being left with an unattended stove burner burning merrily away, a case of inverted underwear whose wearer shall remain nameless, and a heated debate in the car on the merits of McDonald's vs. Starbucks coffee (I know, how sad that anyone would enter into this debate in favor of Mickey D's) and the tragedy that perhaps many adults have never tasted a truly great cup o' brew and therefore continue to bolster the sales of Folgers/Maxwell House and the like. So much ignorance. So much suffering. Such a sad little First World convo.

2. Joey spent the entirety of the morning whining, dripping snot (sorry, teething produces more fluids than any other natural process known to man, including birth, and it is freaking disgusting), and circling my legs like a baby shark, bedecked in all of mommy's old racing medals which clanked merrily around his scrawny neck and carrying a tiny, one-armed statue of Padre Pio which he occasionally and piously kissed/worshiped. (For the benefit of all my non-Catholic readers)

3. I dump-cleaned (husband's term) my 'central command station:' a beleaguered Pottery Barn armoire we inherited in one of our many moves and which serves as our collecting dumping ground for bills/craft items which I will never use to make anything crafty/cast off electronics and vitamins, prenatal or otherwise. Dump cleaning basically involves throwing away 99% of the content of whatever you happen to be cleaning, and scores high on the emotional gratification scale, especially for a preggo. Plus, it's cheaper than a retail therapy session in the Target dollar bins.

4. I add items to my to-do list even after they've been completed, if only to check them off and feel the rush of victory. Sad. True. Potentially evidence of mental illness.

5. My mother in law bought me this for Christmas and let me tell you, it has been life-altering. Case in point, I have only been to Starbucks thrice in the entire month of January. Who needs foam when you can make it at home?

6. I've spent a lion's share of most mid-days this week listening to this guy via the internets, and I feel deeply and spiritually motivated not to shop by the end of each show, which is probably the answer to my loving husband's daily prayers.

7. A trip to the gym may or may not be in order when the little man awakens, depending entirely upon whether or not we can feign 'wellness' sufficiently to be declared germ-free for the Kid's Club. Yes, I'm one of those terrible, selfish moms who sends my visibly ill child into the germy enclosure of communal toys and sharing time. But in my defense, any and all illnesses from the past 4 months have been contracted there as a result of similarly negligent mothers desperate for an hour of kickboxing class and free HGTV, so I guess I'm in good company. (Disclaimer: I would never send him in with tummy issues)

So there you have it folks. A day of week-ending glamor in the life of a SAH/WAH mom.

I know, I know... roll tape. We livin' the high life. Maybe Jen's doing something even more interesting.

The Sweetest Thing

Never foresaw this moment in all my years of Dave Matthew's groupie-ing, but somehow this seemed like the perfect soundtrack to my morning work sesh with little man playing under the table at my feet,

And of course he loves it. How could he not, the mama's boy? Anyway, we totally listened to this in labor...

Whew

Well that was a long Lent.  Ahem. 

Let's see if I remember how to do this thing called writing for leisure.  Between work and, well, lying prone on the sofa watching Hulu'd episodes of the artfully cast gymno-epic 'Make it or Break it' (don't judge me) while my tiny tornado naps in the afternoons, it has been preeeeetty busy round these here parts. 

So those are my excuses, pitiful as they might be.  And here I am, back in the blogosphere, ready to rock and roll. 

Except the tornado just woke up.  So until tomorrow, gentle readers, I bid you buonanotte.  And I'm glad to be 'back.'

And So We Continue

So this stay at home mom gig... it's a lot of work.  And, quite frankly, there are days where I find myself battling unbelievable boredom/frustration/loneliness/insert negative emotion here... but I wouldn't trade it for the world.  I've been "officially" working as a full-time mama for just over 18 weeks now, and while that seems like a remarkably short period of time on paper, it has felt like an entire other lifetime after 27 years of living differently.

Today is shaping up to have all the markings of a 'hard' day.  I am sick.  My baby is sick.  It snowed (and is still snowing) and is barely into single digits outside.  I have yet to shower (and to be completely honest, I don't know that I will get around to it today.)  And it has been no fewer than 8 days since I last worked out.  That's more than a week, and no, I'm not pregnant again.  On top of it all, I ate half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast, and I don't 'do' carbs.  Except that now I do.  Because you know what?  They're cheap... and it's almost impossible to pack a south-beach friendly lunch for a husband who thrives on culinary variety.  Oh, sorry honey, it's a breadless tuna sandwich on romaine lettuce with tomato slices and a hunk of cheese ... again.  Yeah, that didn't last too long.  And so we have bread in our home once again.  And darn it, I eat it.  Can't help myself.

So as I type, straining unconsciously to hear a wheezy, sneezy baby from the next room and hoping (praying!) he stays asleep for 10 more minutes, I want to share a few fabulous finds from around the internets... proof that other women are doing this job and doing it well... and living to laugh about it.  And to look incredibly stylish and/or crafty while doing it.  So enjoy.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be over at FlyLady engaging in a speed vacuuming competition while pondering the wisdom of chasing a pb n j breakfast with a grilled cheese lunch.  Or maybe watching the Bachelor on Hulu while nursing.  So sue me.

• Fashion forward fabulousness
• DIY deliciousness
• Sweet thoughts on living simply
• Nursing support (disclaimer: not for the faint of heart, nor for the males of the species)