abrupt beginnings, too.

the pictures i’m about to share hardly do the dresses justice.

but then again, that’s kind of become my motto. either “oh boy i haven’t blogged in FOR.EH.VER because reasons” or “sorry these pics are lousy but the kids were cranky and reasons.”

whatever. i’m over it. this is my life and i’ll never be THAT blogger. i’m me—the blogger that sews things and doesn’t take pictures because she can’t be bothered, and sometimes takes really super cute pics of her kids to share but mostly they’re just…not. consider it my way of keeping us bloggers, as a whole, approachable. you’re welcome.

so, where was i? ah yes, the dresses. first i tried the window shot:

nope. blown out pic and oh heyyyy untrimmed door! how you doin’?

(good thing i watermarked that bad boy…people be stealin’ that pic like whoa)

so i moved on to the hanging-from-our-dresser shots.

i swear to you—those handprints on the drawers? NOT there when i took the picture. at least…i didn’t see them.

but this is it: two little dresses. the paper boat fabric had me at hello when i found it in joann’s. 1 yard, which i managed to miscut. truly these dresses were like a comedy of errors with the poor photography as it’s climactic ending. it began when i cut the first front bodice piece of elliot’s dress in half accidentally. i had to recut it, and so i ran short on fabric for gigi’s bodice and had to make it more empire waisted. worked out though—i like the shorter bodice better.

but it didn’t end there: i somehow made the top of elliot’s dress way too small. no way would she fit. i sent it to the corner for a time out and to think about what it had done. eventually it came back sheepishly, apologized, and offered up the idea of a contrasting back placket with buttons to add in a design element and extra bodice width. (i sound so like i know what i’m talking about, right? totally made up that ‘back placket’ thingy.)

i like big bows. and i can not lie.
elliot’s bow actually ties, and only the left three buttons are functional. the right three are just for looks. gigi’s dress has an invisible zipper and her bow attaches with snaps nope. at midnight before they were to wear these dresses i sat down in bed to sew on the snaps and sewed the first one on backwards and said that’s the end of that. i’m pinning it. like with a literal safety pin, not like on my imaginary online pinboard. so yes, gigi’s bow is safety pinned inside. (approachable, remember?)

i also pretty much love the little cap sleeves on gigi’s dress. and if i had thought to take some closer photos you would surely be astounded by the pattern matching happening through those aforementioned sleeves. which was totally on purpose. (shifty eyes).

and so all my foolishness with door/dresser pics in the morning left me no time to get pics of the girls in their just-dressed, just-coiffed, happy happy morning looks. instead you get afternoon just-before-naptime photos. and as…well, virtually anyone will tell you: that is simply a Bad Idea.

gigi was actually trying. bless her little heart--even with messy hair and a grumpy sister she was attempting to give me a smile and be cute.

elliot, on the other hand…well, i think her face says it all. i took. away. the noodle.

there is five yards of navy tulle between these two dresses. FIVE.
tulle, i don’t know how to quit you.

it’s like trying to sew two live cats together and every stinkin’ time i’m like oooh a tulle skirt would be sooo purdy yes five yards please and then later i’m all RAZZAFRAZZA PPPFFFLLLLTHHH HATE TULLE stomping around like that red headed looney tunes character (figures. us gingers have such a bad rap. totally undeserved i might add.)

please—for my own sanity and the welfare of my family, should i ever again be lured in by the siren song of tulle you have my permission to smack me on the head with a bolt of fabric.

not only did i do three layers of tulle on each skirt, i hit up my favorite trashy fabric store and bought the world’s largest roll of navy piping for ONE DOLLAR (adding to my collection of black and brown). so, obviously, PIPE ALL THE THINGS. or each layer of tulle. individually.

i see you lookin’ at that stripe matching across the zipper. yeah.

it’s fine though. the bazillion yards of tulle and piping and miscut striped fabric turned into two fluffy dresses. the piping simultaneously weighed down the tulle skirts and puffed them out. how? i don’t know. can we get some scientists on that? but i like the way it looks.
mmmm…tulle….
you know what else the piping did? provided a convenient hook for elliot’s skirt to catch on daddy’s shoe and rip clean off one whole tulle layer. the second time she wore it.

not cool. not cool at all. :(

so now i’m tired and cranky and can’t think of a smooth segue way to ending this bad boy. thus, abrupt ending.

dear 24 month sleep regression: i kinda want to punch you in the face.

the following is a mainly true account. no names have been changed, because no one is presumed innocent.

8:00 pm – the bedtime ritual starts. clean diaper, jammies on. she is in agreement—“big gul bed!”
8:30  – daddy handles actual bedtime. prayers, tucked in. it begins.
8:35  – she’s up. back to bed.
8:40  – STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP.
9:00  – late night walmart trip for emergency sneakers for harrison (field day tomorrow)
9:30 – guinevere calls our cells. are you coming home soon? elliot won’t stop crying. she won’t sleep.
10:00 – we return home. guinevere is asleep on the couch, elliot is tucked in next to her, bright eyed and watching doc mcstuffins.
10:05  – back to bed. goodnight.
10:06  – PLEASE STOP CRYING YOU’RE GOING TO WAKE UP YOUR SISTERS.
10:10-10:30  – 4 story books read. okay, night night. that’s it.
10:35 – PLEASE STOP CRYING.
10:45 – tiny footsteps coming down the hall. she’s carrying five books and crying. “i told” (translates to “i’m cold”, which really means “i’m hot”. she’s got the concept, a little hazy on the finer points.)
10:47 – back to bed.
10:55 – she WON’T STOP CRYING.
11:00 – bring her in our bed. 3 hours in and she’s won her first major skirmish.
11:01-11:30 – wide awake and talking. lay down, elliot. nigh-night, elliot. QUIET, elliot.
11:30 – shhh…i think she’s sleeping. so long as i lay here on my back next to her with my arm around her in such a way that guarantees a painful nights sleep for me. and don’t move. or breath.
1:30 am – she wakes up crying. for me. i’m right here next to you, elliot. she cries anyway. she finally settles when we are totally face to face, noses touching, her leg over me and her arm wrapped around my neck.
1:50 am – i think she’s sleeping again.
3:00 – she’s crying. again. i’ve dared to move my arm and try and turn on my back. NOT ACCEPTABLE.
4:30 – she’s hot. she’s mastered the maneuver where they lift their legs straight up then flop them down, pulling the blankets down with them. which means pulling the blankets off of us. i’m cold. and i can’t feel my arm anymore.
6:00 am – she’s awake. i can’t ignore her because clearly they’ve made some sort of evil pact and now the dog needs to go out. when i get back in bed she wants to talk.
6:10 am – i’ve settled her back into our 1:30 am position. go to sleep.
6:20 – i think she’s sleeping. her eyes are closed, her breathing deep
6:25 – i hear scary movie music in my head when her eyes suddenly pop open.“what dat noise, mommy?”
6:30 – that’s it. i’ve had enough. i’m tired and i’m turning over to my comfy spot. back to elliot, pillow between my legs, blankets pulled up. i’m a mountain. i’m unmovable. i’m tough.
6:31-6:40 – she cries.
6:41 – she turns into a cat. she climbs on me, meowing and pawing me. i’m mentally writing this blog post.
6:45 – i give in. i turn on the tv. please, for the love of all things sleep related—WATCH OCTONAUTS AND LET ME SLEEP.
8:00 – i wake. at some point we both fell back asleep. she’s sprawled across 70% of the bed like a capital “X” of toddler limbs.

+

+

i don’t have a “what to expect from your baby/toddler/school-age child/pre-teen/teen” book in my home library. i’m a little more granola and crunchy than that--more of a go-with-the-flow kinda parent, embracing each challenging week or growing week as they come. you’ll roll when you roll, walk when you walk, talk when you talk. no pressure. i’m the mom who says “man, you’ve been one miserable baby the last few days”, and suddenly notices a new tooth poking out. huh. that explains that.

but last week i found myself googling “sleep regression in 2 year old” at 2:30 in the morning because please PLEASE let this be a “thing” because if it’s a “thing” then she’ll grow out of this “thing” because i seriously CAN NOT TAKE IT MUCH LONGER.

this lady likes her sleep and i won’t apologize. i’m a champion sleeper. if napping was a sport i’d be olympic level. #truestory

and moonrise kingdom wasn’t bad movie, but watching it from 1am-3am with your wide awake 2 year old? not my idea of fun.

sometimes when we’re not sleeping we pretend to crochet with mommy’s narn.

anyway, turns out it is a “thing”. 4 months, somewhere between 8-10 months, 18 months and 24 months. bada bing—sleep regression.

now the truth is that if i googled “sleep regression in 33 month old great dane born on the east coast in a leap year” i’d probably get 1.67 million hits in .023 seconds. but i think i believe this one, and i’ll tell you why.

first, i read the description of the 24 month old sleep regression: multiple delay tactics for going to bed, wide awake late, waking up multiple times through the night, waking early, and the odd thing—napping well. check check check check. all of it. the bed that is anathema at night time? she can not WAIT to jump in at naptime…settles in and falls to sleep like it’s her job.
the second clincher: i can’t remember 4 months or somewhere between 8-10 months, but i counted backwards to 18 months and realized that’s right about the time we were in cape cod. when she WOULDN’T SLEEP. we thought maybe it was just being away from home? but she would wake in the middle of the night and scream her head off and flail around like she was possessed. this would go on for 15-20 minutes and nothing calmed her. hello 18 month sleep regression, you rotten jerk. i swear if you had been here you would have seen the lightbulb pop on over my head.

the thing is, i don’t know why this makes it better. but somehow it does. elliot has never been a good sleeper—in fact i’d say she’s the worst out of all five. and that's including harrison who would puke in his crib if i tried letting him cry it out. (future grown harrison: that was so gross. and i wish on you a child who does the same so you may know the grossness first hand) so knowing that this really is a “thing”, a phase she’s going to pass through, makes it a little easier to bear.

before The Great Sleep Regression of ‘13 it felt like we were winning. she was sleeping through the night in her big girl bed. she was happy to go in, book in hand, asleep within minutes, and came toddling in to my room around 7 each morning for some cuddles.

and it all changed on a dime.

and this is also how i know i’m done. because even though my uterus aches when i see a pregnant lady or hold a squishy little baby (samuel, i’m looking at you dude)…i also realize i’m so over the night time thing. i’m ready to sleep solid hours without being woken up by sleep regressions or peepee sheets or whatever. at least…that’s what i’m telling myself.

because deep down there’s still a part of me that just can’t help pulling e into bed with me when she comes in. she snuggles in and pretends to read her book “peetaboo! no, no, no i see you!”, oblivious to the fact that it’s almost midnight and she should have been asleep 3.5 hours ago. instead i sniff her up in all her chubby-wristed-toddler-ness and try to brand it on my memory. this feeling—of your baby who loves you completely wrapped up in your arms—is worth more than gold. or at least worth more than some uninterrupted sleep…

also: carmen sandiego.

you know those times when you like…i don’t know, go on vacation or have a baby or something, and you don’t drive for a week or two? and then you get back behind the wheel of a car and you’re all whoa how do i start this thing? i turn the big wheel and push the pedals to go?

that’s the best analogy i can come up with for what’s happening here. i’m sitting in front of my computer to write a blog post and i’m all
c://
READY
10: write “hello googiemomma readers!”
20: goto 10
RUN

(that’s BASIC for all you youngsters. what we rocked on our commodore 64’s WHATWHAT back in the day when computers were large and in charge!)
(p.s. you have died of dysentery)

anyway i’m still here and still planning on blogging. it’s been a whopper of a winter so far—flu (ugh) hit us. twice now elliot has gotten sick with a fever for one day and passed it on to gigi, who then ran a wicked high fever for 5 days straight. we’re starting to think it might be a conspiracy—sibling rivalry by way of biological warfare. the stomach flu (double ugh) hit us. harrison was quarantined in his room for 4 days straight (i didn’t need a repeat of Puke Fest ‘12).

the doctor visit where they said yup, she has the flu. have a nice day. thanks for that.

throw in some random fevers, sniffles and coughs, a trip to ohio to visit family (not quite as epic as this one, but yes there was an excessive amount of bodily fluids involved on the drive there and i’ll leave it at that)(unless you follow me on instagram and then you know the story) (okay, elliot puked. and puked. and puked. it was as awesome as it sounds.) so yeah, i know i’m not alone on all that.

covered in towels we stopped to buy, and finally sleeping.

i’m also still actively gym-ing. i don’t lose weight easily—i struggle and fight for every.single.ounce. if i breath in too hard near a bakery i’ll gain back all i’ve lost for the week.
but i’m determined, and i’m seeing results, so i refuse to give up.

and i’ve actually been doing quite a few projects that i can’t share at the moment for one reason or another. (gifts for people not-yet-given, upcoming series, really lousy photos i need to redo, etc…)

my hands are in everything right now.

i’m easily distracted and require a change of pace and/or scenery often. (SQUIRREL!) i rush through things, multitasking like a BOSS...at least that’s how i see it. my husband wouldn’t have the same view, i believe. and it occurred to me this morning as i poured my coffee with one hand and AT THE SAME TIME poured my creamer in with the other hand (really. who does that?) that i need
TO.

s t o p .

well, actually it’s something i’ve been brooding over for a few weeks now. i’ve seen a lot of bloggers pick their Word of the Year. and i won’t go so far as that, but i was (haha, here comes the irony…wait for it…) thinking about it and what my word would be be as i did 4.6 million other things the other day and it occurred to me:

f o c u s .

there it is, summed up in that one word.

stop, breath, focus.

BE.
be intent on what i’m doing—whether that be time with children, time with husband, making dinner, writing a blog post, exercising, sewing, reading—don’t let a hundred other things crowd into my brain and thoughts and actions. set down the phone, walk away from the google and just…focus.

as a matter of fact, in the time i’ve written this blog post i’ve also half quilted a blanket, played a battle round on the voice app with gigi (starships were meant to flyyyyy hands up, and touch the skyyyyyy), talked to my mom on the phone, and thought about dinner.

focus, shannon. f o c u s .

so there it is. one big excuse of a post. but hang on tight, i’ll be back.

and i’ll be better than ever. ;)

night owls sleepover

what was it, two years ago that i first talked about the “night owls” sleepover party?
okay, so it was a year and a half ago…not too shabby. but believe me when i tell you that my girls did NOT forget about either the party details i talked about, or my off-the-cuff promise that we would do our own night owl party.
 
not only did they not forget, but in that year and a half that elapsed i managed to have another daughter grow to the age that she wanted in on the action, too.

even when i tried to convince them that owls are passé--foxes are the new owl--they wouldn’t bite. and as a last ditch effort i even threw out that maybe, just maybe they were too old for stuffed animals now? nope. it was night owl sleepover or bust.

all this to explain why i found myself on a saturday night a couple of weeks ago with 13—THIRTEEN—girls, ranging from 15 months (elliot) to 12 years, piled in my family room. and why for the three days prior i found myself attached to my sewing machine into the wee hours churning out stuffed owl after stuffed owl.

oh look, a pile ‘o owls.

party wise i really kept it fairly simple (besides all those dang owls). walmart had owl-themed paper goods (SCORE!) for 98 cents a pack. i had the girls make a banner from some scrapbook paper and owl stickers. i threw a yard of fabric down on the table as a runner.



if it was owl-y and under $2 then into the cart it went.
they made their own pizza, and i threw out some grapes and chips for snacking.



the fat little hanging owl lanterns were a pinterest find—$1 store paper lanterns + scrapbook paper wings, eyes & beak.




the cupcakes—another pinterest item—were easy. oreos split in half and topped with chocolate chips made eyes, an orange gumdrop cut in half made a beak. they were a hit.

there are an obscene number of owls in this one small photo.

i bought just about every “glow-in-the-dark” and/or light-up item i could find. between the party store, $1 store and walmart we had bracelets, necklaces, straws, and even glow in the dark balloons.
the only game i planned on was glow-in-the-dark freeze dance. but they were having so much fun just dancing that it ended up basically being a dark dance club.

which sounds kind of creepy now that i read it, like we hosted some sort of preschool rave. and then we 
played beer pong and did keg stands. oops.



but they couldn’t get enough of dancing to top 20 pop hits in the dark. even elliot wanted in.



then they all got their owls. i didn’t take a picture of this, of course. but i put each owl in a bag with a tag hanging that had a small clue as to the “personality” of the owl inside. my thinking being that i had such a range of ages—if it was random owl assigning i didn’t want a 12 year old to get a “princess” owl, while a 3 year old got the ipod wearing “music” owl. so they couldn’t see the actual owl, but had a clue as to what it was.



again—$1 store owl bags. SCORE. i collected all the bags after they got their owls and threw in a little notebook, some crayons and a pencil and some candy for them to take home.
to round out the night we got jammies on and snuggled in with popcorn to watch a movie on the big screen.



supervised by daddy ;)



gigi with her besties. of course we had to explain that sleepovers are only for girls, and her other bestie—uncle dan—couldn’t come. ;)

i put these three little girls in the bedroom to sleep, and left everyone over the age of 7 in the family room. then i spent the next hour and a half bouncing back and forth between the two trying to keep everyone settled and quiet. it may sound like i’m mean, but the next day was sunday. there were a couple of sleeping girlies in our congregation that day ;)

the next morning i made an easy breakfast casserole and some pancakes. they filled their bellies and then i threw out a little craft kit i got on clearance for them to play with as they got picked up one by one.
all in all it seemed like everyone had a blast. fortunately my girls are surrounded by lots of other sweet girls from good families, which makes doing things like this a joy.

as for those stuffed owls? well, you haven’t seen the last of them. tomorrow you can expect a nice big post with all the details on those guys. i’m sure you just can’t wait. ;)

feel free to skip this one.

i was going to begin with “if you’ll allow me to indulge myself for a moment…”

but then, i realized, blogging is nothing if not inherently self-indulgent.
hi, here’s my pantry i organized. and my picture i painted. and my skirt i sewed. now praise me. and dance for me! (whip crack)

be that as it may, this is my space for self-indulgence, and so i shall. it’s quick Brain Check Time, and the forecast is looking rather grim these days.

oh look, the poor little suburban white mommy has the sadz. let’s all boo-hoo for her.

and there it is. the inner dialogue that depression takes on. the running soliloquy that follows your every move—that judges your every thought—dropping by for a quick kidney shot. oh, did you think you’d get out of bed and DO something? why bother. nothing is worth it. just go back to bed.

it’s like having your very own creepy stalker. except one that can read your mind. and doesn’t want to steal your panties so much as just beat you down emotionally. but other than that—totally like a stalker.

we’re solidly in the dog days of summer. the frenzy of june and july has given way to too many days in the house. too many days cleaning the same dishes, vacuuming the same floors, folding the same laundry, stopping the same sibling battles. too hot and far too mosquito-y to enjoy any outside time. trigger #1—getting too stuck in a rut. i know it. but i can’t really help it. this is the minutiae of life—the things that need doing daily. the job i signed up for 13 years and 10 months ago. 

i feel like a drowning person clinging to the thought that in 2 weeks we start anew—the school year begins! it’s a new schedule, a new beginning! change is in the air—the change of seasons and the cooler air like a balm to my depression addled mind.

but then my stalker returns…why do you think that this school year will be better? you always start out so upbeat, and 4 weeks in it’s lateness and screaming and mismatched socks and unbrushed hair and rushing out the door. and you know what else? while we’re talking—your kids are HEALTHY you ungrateful swine. you have friends all around you who’s children are sick and facing surgery and you’re sitting here depressed???!? pathetic.
p.s.—you’re fat.

i’m lulled into total inactivity. although, that’s not entirely true. my newly downloaded marble shooter game gets a lot of action. (level 78—WHAAA?!?!) it’s mindless and repetitive and doesn’t ask me for anything.

it’s the weirdest thing. i simultaneously want to go for a jog, and eat a dozen donuts. i want to crawl into bed, and hop a plane to somewhere—anywhere.

i’m not sleeping. 2 AM has become my mistress these days. then i finally fall into a fitful sleep and in the morning i beg off mothering, if that’s even a thing you can do. and i’m pretty sure you can’t.
feed the baby a waffle. put on sesame street. mommy doesn’t feel good. let me sleep, i tell the older ones.

and i hate it. i hate that i say that. that i did that. that i’m telling you that now. that i spent more hours of my day today either asleep or playing stupid computer games than i did interacting with my children.

so i have guilt. trigger #2. and i sleep too late so i can’t sleep so i sleep too late so i can’t sleep…vicious messed up sleep cycle. trigger #3.

the day goes by in a blur of sitting. and sitting. then getting up and loading the dishwasher. and sitting back down. and thinking hey, maybe i’ll go sew something. you like sewing, right? go—sew! or…just sit here. because…why not? what difference does it make anyway.
and then night comes and jeremy comes home and i look at the sum total of my accomplishments for the day and in my eyes they equal precisely ZERO. trigger #4.

and i get frantic. grasping at whatever i think will help me conquer this get over this climb out of this pit. and i’m haunting target at 10:30 at night with greasy hair and a ratty t-shirt, throwing $150 worth of whatever into my cart because hey, why not? maybe it will make me feel better. but even as i’m paying i’m tucking the receipt carefully in my bag knowing i’ll probably return half of it.

jeremy, to his credit, allows me my retail therapy. whatever will help he’s there for. and if a new fruit basket is what my stalker demands at the moment jeremy is totally on board. (seriously, it’s a cute fruit basket)

i texted him this afternoon. i can feel it coming, i say. i’m slipping down and i don’t know how to stop it and i HATE it. so he comes home from work and climbs into bed with me. and doesn’t get annoyed or angry when i have no idea what’s for dinner. because i started looking for something but then i remembered i didn’t buy broccoli. and then i wandered away.

long periods of time pass where i’m just staring.

shake it off, shannon. shake it off.

the good, the bad, and the ugly.

the good: getting your mess of a purse cleaned out.
the bad: why you need to clean it out.
the ugly: what you find when you clean it out.

it’s like carrying a huge trash can/changing table/snack bar/supply closet/office/bank on your shoulder. everywhere you go.
and it’s that first one that’s the most trouble.

a few months ago i was out with a friend and started digging through my bag. not a single diaper in site. but let me tell you i would KILL on let’s make a deal.

i had her in stitches as i pulled out item after item from my bag. some seemed legitimate: needle and thread, crochet hook and yarn, mints, wallet. others? not so much: one sock, a pair of underwear, an unopened and smashed cereal bar.

but still—amidst the trash and detritus there’s some important stuff in there.

so last week when i couldn’t find my purse anywhere in the house i got a little nervous. i searched high and low, finally thinking maybe in my sick haze i left it in the van. the day before i had done a walmart run. i was sick as a dog though, and by the time i got home i was pretty sure jeremy would return from work to find my dead body lying in our bed. it was all i could do to throw the cold stuff in the fridge and drag myself to bed.
and i was right—in my sick haze i had forgotten to bring in my bag.

i had left it sitting, wide open, on the driveway.
all. night.

the good: i was fortunate—it was totally undisturbed. my wallet was sitting right on top in full view and was fine.
phew. close call.

i was relieved beyond measure. i scooped it up and threw it into the van—my search had already made harrison a bit late for the appointment i was taking him to.

the bad: 2 minutes into our trip harrison said “whoa! a big ant!”
gross. get it with a tissue.
“whoa! another one! and another one!”


you see where this is headed, right? stupidly happy to have found my purse unmolested by human hands, i neglected to consider the fact that my purse—which at this point is probably made of equal parts pleather and cracker crumbs—had been OUTSIDE.
ALL.
NIGHT.

i’m sure you can imagine me--frantic one handed driving, holding my purse in the air with the other hand.
my thoughts: WHAT DO I DO?? roll the window down and hang my purse out while i drive? pull over right here where there’s not actually anywhere safe to pull over? just hold it up in the air? yeah! maybe that will work!
uh huh. because obviously bugs don’t like, you know, jump.
but we arrived at our destination, and i did the most logical thing i could think of: threw the van into park, jumped out and dumped my bag all over the parking lot.

the ugly:


and then, of course, i took a picture of it. good blogger that i am.

the end of the story isn’t as exciting. we pretty much peaked at the purse dumping. i spent the next 15 minutes sorting through trash and junk, putting the stuff i was keeping into a plastic bag from the car and putting the trash back into the purse. no way i was keeping the bag—too big with too many nooks and crannies to ever be certain i’ve eliminated every 6 legged creature. no way i’m sticking a hand blindly into that.

oh—and of course explaining what happened over and over and over to everyone who happened to walk by and see a lady sitting in the parking lot with the entire contents of her bag spread around her, picking up and shaking each piece before putting it into a plastic bag.

yeah, that required some explanation.

wow.

it’s been a big week for this little blog.

first, the fine john and sherry of young house love featured our girls’ room.

there i was, minding my own business, getting my old navy shopping groove on, and my phone dinged that i had an email. it was a comment from someone congratulating us on the feature post over at YHL.

WHAAAA??!?!? in the next few hours my blog got more traffic than it has literally seen since i started it over 2 years ago. it was IN.SANE. the comments and questions and emails and requests for more details lead me to second what john and sherry always say—they really do have the BEST readers! (i had a few people even find rug ideas for the girls’ room and email me links! as in—more than one person took time to search out something for ME, who they’ve NEVER MET! for realsies!)

then i got a second surprise--

 

DO YOU SEE THAT??????????

THAT IS MY GIRLS’ ROOM ON APARTMENT THERAPY.

ON.
APARTMENT.
THERAPY.

this, for you non-homeimprovement-blog-reader-types, is a BIG DEAL.

and just when i thought my head had exploded all it could possibly explode, i got a tweet from these guys:

apparently, i was wrong. one’s head can explode over and over and over.

just so i can type it out in black and white for me and for you and for my mother: that’s my girls’ room, on canadian house and home blog.

i knew i loved those canadians. ;)

so at the very real risk of sounding like i think i just won an academy award, i have a list of thank you’s i need to get out.

thank you john and sherry for being so kind to feature other people’s work on your popular blog (yeah, we’re totally on a first name basis now. probably we’re gonna be besties soon. i think my five monkeys will just eat up their little clara.)

thank you apartment therapy for just being the uber-awesome apartment therapy. and mentioning me. i can die happy.

thank you canadian house and home featuring my girls’ room as one of your “stylish kids’ rooms”.

thank you to krista of kiki’s list. it was the gorgeous room she created for her daughter lou that provided the inspiration for my own red and white striped ceiling and aqua walls. she saw my completed girls’ room on pinterest a couple of weeks ago, and sent me a lovely email. and then she put a post up on her blog about it!

i also have to mention and thank, once again, august fields for her boys’ bunk room, the inspiration for our double bunks.

thank you india.

thank you providence.

(!)

and finally,

a HUGE THANK YOU
to all the
readers, browsers, commenters, emailers & friends
who have visited over the past few days.
if you have asked me a question or for more detail—i will ABSOLUTELY be getting back to you within the next few days! in the meantime, you can check my “details” post here that has some basics, or this post all about the bunk beds themselves.

crazy pants

last night i sewed 80 pairs of pants.

yup, 80. EIGHT-OH.

it didn’t take nearly as long as you might think—actually, i timed it. every five pairs took just about 2 minutes and 30 seconds, give or take a few seconds. so every 5 minutes i finished 10 pairs of pants.

granted, they were only about 3 inches big. but still…80.

today marks the start of PSSA testing for my older 2 kiddos. it’s standardized testing done every year, basically to check on how worked up and stressed out they can get a bunch of elementary school children.

what, no?

annnyway…i decided to whip up a little treat for them to take in and share with their classmates:

the “smartie pants”. i’d seen these around in one form or another all over blogland. one of those cute ideas you go “huh. that’s cute.” and file it away in your mental pinterest board.

so--no biggie, right? 80 pairs of “pants” made from navy felt sewn with yellow thread for that authentic levi’s look.

3 bags of smarties

(of which i’m happy to report i ate NONE. now those big giant smarties—have you seen them? yum.) 

80 tags.

ava’s class is too young for PSSA’s, so they got “have a great day at school!” smartie-pants. didn’t want to leave them out…and being the one to have something to pass out to all the other kids pretty which makes you da bomb amongst the school yard set…or so i hear.

as a brief aside…when guinevere was in kindergarten i sent her in one march day with 20 “lamb” and 20 “lion” cupcakes. letter of the week was “L”, it was march, it all fit. they were insanely adorable, the recipe chopped from family fun magazine, i think. it was a hit.
ditto for first grade.
when she hit second grade, harrison was also in kindergarten. no biggie—30 lions, 30 lambs—not quite so many extras.
by the time guinevere hit 4th, harrison was in 2nd and ava started kindergarten, i was looking at making close to 100 fairly labor intensive little cupcakes.

once. i did it that one year, and i called it quits.

but i clearly don’t learn from my past. moving on…

so, 2 1/2 yards of felt, left folded in half and cut into approximately 3” wide strips. then i sewed them like this:

 

honest—i was gonna make a pattern and everything. but i didn’t find anything that easily made a mark on the dark blue felt in the 3.2 seconds i spent looking. weird, huh? so i just wung it. and yes, ‘wung’ would obviously be the past tense of ‘winged’…as in “i winged it”. but that was last night. so now, in using proper english—i wung it.

anyway, by not measuring i feel they’re more authentic—some straight leg, some more boot cut, some skinny jeans, and some that ended up pretty flare legged.

i trimmed the edges, then cut them apart and cut between the legs.

that crotch is insane! hey ya--can i get a michael kors shout out??!?

we’re not talking rocket science here—just straight up garden variety time-consuming and insanely tedious work. i’m not gonna lie though—a sick part of my OCD brain derived great joy from seeing all those tiny dungarees piling up one by one. but round about pair 60 i started thinking about adding a pencil into each pair of pants…and something on the tags about having #2 in your pants.

yup. i went there. yeah i’m a 32 year old mother of 5—what of it?

apparently shannon’s tired brain is much the same as the brain of 9 year old boy.

and making this stupid picture = 20 minutes of my life i’ll never get back. so please tell me you at least got a little chuckle out of it.

so there you have it: sew, cut, stuff a pack of smarties in each pant leg, and attach the tag. and you better believe at 1:00 am i was stapling them bad boys on with a stapler—tag to pants, done.

send your kids off to school with gifts for their friends.

80 pairs of “smartie pants”—about $15, give or take.

staying up until 2AM to make them—meh. sleep is for the weak.

perpetuating the myth that you’re the coolest mom ever for even just a tiny bit longer?—priceless.

i’m just a singer in a rock ‘n roll band

today is the first day in five days that i’ve put on real clothes.
real clothes being: a t-shirt, jeans, slippers and bra.

we here at the googiehaus are at the tail end of Puke Fest ‘12-- an event of such unsurpassed enormity that it will for all time go down in the annals of history.
all five of my children succumbed to the siren song of the stomach flu, providing virtually no end to the fun times (and cleaning) of the last five days.

if you are of a delicate constitution i suggest you just close your browser down right now. better yet, click over to some cute kitty pictures or rainbowsandpuppies.com (which i just made up so i don’t know if it exists but probably it does but don’t blame me if you actually go there and it doesn’t contain either rainbows OR puppies ifyaknowwhatimsayin).
come back tomorrow when things are back to the normal crafty/sewing thing and not quite so…body-fluidy.

little man came down with it first: friday night at bedtime punctuated by his whines of “my bellllllly hurts.” we were a touch surprised—seeing as how his typical m.o. is sunday night belly pains—you know--the infamous Sunday Night Sickness.
but the second time he came out his lips were noticeably grayer, and he was sent back to bed with The Bucket.
when the puking began i went into cleaning overdrive. i donned disposable latex gloves and followed The Boy to the bathroom—alternating soothing whispers and back rubs with spritzes of lysol.

we have FIVE children. i knew the havoc one stomach flu could reek, and i was determined to outwit it. i even dug out chux pads we were sent home with from the hospital after five’s birth. i layered them—over his pillow, the bathroom floor. thank you, nurses.

by sunday morning i optimistically thought i had won the battle. there had been no episodes since saturday morning, and if the boy wasn’t exactly 100%, he was undeniably better.

naivety, thy name is shannon.

the two older girls started within minutes of each other on sunday night. i sat across from guinevere at the table and literally watched her lips lose their color.
three kids sick with stomach bugs triggered something in my brain. a protective cleaning mechanism that made me start scrubbing and sanitizing. the “sanitize” setting on our washing machine has never been used so much.
so when ava only made it as far as the dining room before losing her cookies (and no, it wasn’t cookies—it was beef stew and how’s THAT for a mental image?) i couldn’t even hear the googiedaddy yelling for me over the sound of my vacuuming.
it was one of those times where you stand there and think i truly, truly don’t even know where to begin. i grabbed some rags and waded in, repeating my mantra over and over: this isn’t puke, someone spilled soup. this isn’t puke, someone spilled soup.

by monday morning it was a very, very quiet house. blobs of children draped lifelessly on the towel and sheet-covered sofa. i hoped for the best—maybe this was it. maybe the two little girls would be spared.

maybe the bucket of bleach water i had at the ready was actually helping.

maybe i’m a dreamer.

when gigi finally got sick i wasn’t surprised. what did surprise me was that my overdramatic three year old, who screams for virtually every bump and scrap she gets, was totally an awesome puker. sat in front of the tv with her bowl, perfect aim every time, not a tear.

there’s a silver lining for ya.

and when elliot started turning the most interesting shade of green on monday night all we could do was sigh and pull out some more towels.

i’ll hand it to him: jeremy tried hard to take the brunt of elliot’s sickness. he cradled her most of monday night while she squirmed and burped and gagged. but i told him early on—she’s saving it for me. fact.

when it finally came it was just as i suspected it would be: she was laying on top of me in bed. the towel we had so carefully kept at the ready nowhere to be found. she simply lifted her head, looked me in the eyes, and released.

there’s no way of sparing you the gory details. i will tell you this: it splashed. i had to shower. when i did, it was everywhere from between and under my boobs to the back of my neck, my hair and my back. i had to strip my entire bed—pillows and all.
i wasn’t covered in puke—i was AWASH IN VOMITUS.

which, it occurred to me as i scrubbed my hair during my impromptu midnight shower, would be an awesome name for a rock band.

probably a grunge band (giggle giggle snort).

so i think we’re done. googiedaddy and i have been queasy and shaky since the start of it all. but how much of that is due to us getting sick vs. just the fact that we’re cleaning up OTHER PEOPLE’S PUKE ten times a day is hard to differentiate.

this afternoon i brushed my teeth, flattened my hair, and dressed myself. i’m hopeful that these clothes will remain untarnished—and not be more in a long line of disgusting jammies i peel off myself and toss right into the washer without thinking about exactly why the hems of my pants are so wet.

in the meantime, while i’m in this state of wary watchful optimism, i’ll get to work on my first CD.
working title: Scrubbing the Porcelain Throne.

this is what crazy looks like

 

didn’t see that one coming, didja?

probably you expected “crazy” to be less curtain-y and more…

okay, so i don’t know how to draw crazy. thankfully this is my blog, not the World Pictionary Championships.
cause if it was, and you were on my team, you’d probably be all cursing wiggly arm person! drunk person with head on fire! zombie girl in the snow! GAH! what iiiis it???? and i’d be like uhhh NO! can’t you tell crazy when you see it? i would never wear an a-line shift dress with a shape like this! that’s CRAZY!

(and do they even have World Pictionary Championships? because if they do i’m totally there)

but really, truly—i thought i may just lose my mind making these curtains. why?

because this is where i started:



one flat gray sheet, one flat white sheet, both twin size.

(or, actually, one fitted gray sheet because i grabbed the wrong one and didn’t realize it until i took this picture. boo.)

i whined about discussed my troubles finding reasonably priced gray and white striped curtains for the family room.
i was seriously considering the tape and paint solution that most people out there on the interwebs have used. but in the end even the $20-$40 that would have cost me proved too heavy for my pocketbook.
my final solution was simple: two $5 sheets from walmart, cut into strips and sewn back together.

4 curtain panels for $10.
it doesn’t get much easier or cheaper than that. straight lines all the way.

i laid the sheets out together and folded them in half, pinning liberally to keep it all in place.



i measured my sheets/curtains and divided. i wanted 5” stripes, so i cut 6” strips, giving myself a 1/2” seam allowance on either side.



it wasn’t until after i cut all my strips that i realized the undertaking i had just…undertaken.



(16 strips per curtain x 2 sets of curtains) x 2 sides to each strip + 4 long edges to hem =
FOUR HOURS OF SEWING

FOUR hours of chug chug chugging on my machine in completely straight boring lines, nary a curve or dart in sight to break up the monotony.

in other news: why don’t sewing machines have cruise control?

i sewed my single strips into sets of two, and pressed them all—ironing some pellon on all the seams because i didn’t want to line them (i like the translucent look the cheap cotton has. i was actually looking for even cheaper curtains with a lower thread count)



then i sewed my twos into fours, pressed and pelloned.

the fours into eights, pressed and pelloned.

the eights into sixteens, pressed and pelloned.

the two big sixteens into four big sixteens, pressed and hemmed.

after four hours i had four curtains.

ahhh the troubles i have. #firstworldproblems, anyone?

and then we decided they were too white.



the chair fabric going in front of the windows is more off white than crisp white.

enter the tea dye.



we did a test swatch:



and it was approved. not too different—just a subtle color change. so we moved on to the big tea bath.




and then they got rinsed in the washer, and hung to dry.



when i realized i had to iron them. again.
well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty…

but you know? i kinda want to marry them (sorry babe)





not that i’m ready to do it again any time soon. but these curtains were kind of like having a baby…they’re so pretty to look at, i’m starting to forget the pain.



 

they are NOT, however, easy to photograph. i got a lot of this:



which is dramatic and all…but not too helpful for actually showing the curtains. nevermind the imp hiding in the lower right corner.

eventually two chairs in our accent fabric will be in front of these windows. but for now it’s a good spot for our stuffed animal chairs to live.






comfy and just right for enjoying a favorite book.

can i just say it again—4 curtains, $10. TEN DOLLARS.
can’t beat that. not with a stick.

linking up here:
http://www.bluecricketdesign.net/

http://somedaycrafts.blogspot.com/