Color Blocking

Between the posts about puking and cardboard and hanging neon reptiles I probably tend to imply that nothing is really getting accomplished 'round these parts.

But no.

We've painted Andrew's office and cleared behind the garage (hello, pea gravel) and planted new rose bushes and sold half our furniture (and bought bunches of new furniture) and began working on a wall of bookshelves for my studio.  (spoiler alert: I finally sprang for a Corbu chaise.)  Actually, there's a lot of designing and planning and hoarding (of lighting fixtures, particularly) going on around here, plus, of course, there are the rentals.  But let's not discuss.  I am tired.  I am trying to keep up.

Anyway, shiz is happening and I will try to share more soon. 

But right now shelving.  Let's look at colorful shelving shiz.



p.s. Yes, that is a television and I let him watch.  Kid has his own DirectTV and DVD and IPad.  I'm hopeful that one day he'll teach me how to use them.



See Aston's entire Nursery here.

It's All Fun And Games Until Somebody Gets Their Eye Puked On

Before + After: The Lake House: Nursery Closet

Aston is five months old and he finally has a functional closet. (Life altering work going on over here. I know. Pitiful.)

There are a lot of reasons this thing dragged out, but mostly it's because I was waffling over everything. We painted the room months ago when I was still pregnant, bought brackets and planned built-ins and then... nothing. Fast forward to two weeks ago when, by chance, we stumbled across this maple dresser.


















Aaand that was that. It came together haphazardly and ended up nothing like I originally planned.

But with a neon frog hanging from the ceiling, I think that goes without saying...



p.s. I just realized that there are no Before photos in this post. I'm such a rule breaker. Maybe I'll dig them up later. (Probably not.)

See Aston's entire Nursery here.

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Aston here. I got your Christmas ornament in the mail today and, of course, I love it. You both have exceptional taste which is apparent from the killer gifts you always send and the fact that when I visited you recently Grandpa got down on all fours and crawled around the living room floor with me and declared that I have the most remarkable strength and mindblowing judo kick and gorgeous blue eyes and most endearing little laugh and also I'M PERFECT. So clearly, he is a man of discernment. Anyway, this is why I'm writing. That particular quality, that keen sense of style and good judgement that you both share has perhaps... how shall I suggest this... skipped a certain generation.



IthinkwebothknowwhoI'mtalkingabout.

So... you see... the thing is, Grandma and Grandpa, Dad wants to do a big holiday get together this year and frankly? I don't think I can talk him out of it. Twenty four seven, nonstop, it's all Santa this and Santa that and on and on and on about Rudolph and eggnog and stockings and cookies and carols and presents and Griswalding the house. GRISWALDING THE HOUSE. What in the EARMUFFS is he talking about???

To be honest, Grandma, I'm worried about them both. Yesterday, Daddy hired someone to hang these lights all over our house, these hundreds of millions of thousands of lights, and he booked the guy for three EARMUFFING months from now. Three months out? What the EARMUFFING EARMUFFS. Three months is, like, eons from now, almost the same amount of time I've been on this earth. And then I overheard Mommy tell Auntie Allison that she thinks he might set the entire neighborhood on fire with these light thingies and that she's pretty sure there will be matching Christmas sweaters involved. SWEATERS??? I don't even wear pants on a VOLUNTARY basis, I sure as EARMUFFS am not hiding this impeccable beach bod with something called a sweater.



Anyway, my point is that I'm really relying on you both to get me through the holidays. I can't hold down the cuhrazy around here alone, and I'm counting on you to shake some sense into these two. I'm not going to go into all of the details right now, but let's just say that Mom is talking hair products and felt antlers and putting them on. my. head. Antlers, people. NEED I SAY MORE ABOUT THE CRAY CRAY I'M DEALING WITH? (Also, she can be arrested for that, yes? Grandpa? Look into it.)

Bottom line: HELP ME.

Also, thanks again for the ornament.



Loveyoubunchesandbunches,

A train

p.s. If, by chance, this whole Christmas thing involves breastmilk or lady babies then take back everything I wrote. Count me in.

Folly

The old cardboard box. Endlessly entertaining. Trust.











Hello, my name is Kelly and this is how I spend my Friday nights now.



p.s. Aston was so blown away with his new play house that upon it's unveiling he promptly... fell asleep. So since I have no photo proof of him trying to stick that entire truck in his mouth (rather successfully), I'll instead share this shot of his man boobs at the beach on Thursday. In all fairness, they only look like that when I squish him all up or when he's hunched over and pooping. Here is an excellent example of both.