I'm a Stalker.

Ok, I admit it. I like to stalk people. Through their blogs!! And facebook! Not like, on their lawn or anything. I'm not a crazy woman. OK, that's debatable. But anyway...

I have this friend that I've known for 14 years now. She has a great sense of style and her home is always darling. She's also a wife and a mama. And a tooth lady. She's a dental hygienist. But best of all, she's a crafty lady. And her craftiness has always inspired me. Plus, she's beautiful. I hate her.

Not really.

What I wish was that we lived on the same street and neither of us worked outside the home and we could send our kids to school and make crap all day long every day. Because you should see some of the awesome things she has made, people! What's that you ask? Who is this crafting marvel? And how can you see some of her awesomeness? Well, that my dear reader, is what I'm here to share with you. She has a blog!

You're going to want to check her out. Holly Meadows lives in Bentonville, Arkansas these days, way too far to go crafting every day. But she has a new blog and a new found excitement to carry it forward. I know this. And so I've been stalking her every day to see if she has a new post. ;)

Crafty Sunday

All right. Who's ready for a little crafting?! This is all simple stuff, people. So don't be overwhelmed by my greatness.

First up: your basic road side find meets sassy-ness.

No you can see in the end I went with another fabric because the chevron got lost in the chicken wire. But here you have the basic parts needed. A frame from an old barn (or a roadside shop in Noble, Oklahoma), chicken wire, and your favorite fabric. You will need a staple gun to put it all together.
Next, attach the chicken wire to the back. See how simple this is people?

And then staple on the fabric behind the wire. It's that easy!

That little fleur de lis I found in Canton, Texas at one of their First Mondays. It cost me $1.50.

And voila! The final product in my laundry room! I added some tea-stained clothespins so I could throw "found" socks and such on there.

So... who's going to Canton with me now?

And now I explain why I'm a PART TIME super mama

So yesterday I decided I needed to clean the outdoor a/c unit. I just knew it must be full of built up cottonwood because that's how life is here in Norman, Oklahoma. And because my house was 76 degrees and it's permanently set to cool at 69. Something was wrong.
As I pull the hose around the house to the side, I know I'm in for a fun experience. It's 104 outside and I'm wearing my bikini and a coverup. Plus my Tori Burch flip flops. Because who doesn't want to look cute while they are dripping with sweat and cleaning an outdoor a/c? Not me. I digress.
At this point I'm beginning to realize that spraying down the sides of the unit isn't cutting it. I'm going to have to remove the outer screens in order to get at the coils underneath. Partly because I don't have a nozzle on my hose and I'm having to create pressure by using my thumb. Totally ghetto, I know. But I am the orginal Mrs. Fix-It (thanks to a daddy who taught me goooood. But that's another blog post.).
Anywho, I begin removing the outer screen and spraying down the coils when I realize these sheets of cottonwood come off better when they're dry (like a lint catcher in your dryer). So I am tentatively at first, and then aggressively, scraping these sheets off by hand when I push harder near the top and slice my finger open in three straight lines. OH YES, I DID.
But it gets better, my dear reader (I know there's only one of you.). I continue the job, thinking as I went, about all the great facebook posts I could use to explain my bad ass-ness for being the most handy wife on the planet. And then it happened.
I was putting the screen back on, dripping with sweat and handling these wet screens. As I propped the screen with my hip and clutched the drill with the other hand, I lifted the screen into place with my left hand. And as quickly as that, it slipped, slicing off the top of my finger. OH YES, IT DID.
Now. Cover your ears if you don't want to know what I did next. I yelled at the top of my lungs, MOTHER! And by God's grace, the other word stuffed in my throat, right then and there. And thank goodness for that, since our friends and their son were around the corner in the backyard, using our batting cage. Bless you, sweet Jesus for protecting that little boy's ears from me.
OK, moving on. I go running inside to rinse off the inordinate amount of blood that is coming from my hand. And as I hit the kitchen sink, my mom sees blood and starts screaming. "Oh my gawd, Kim! You need to get in the car! We need to take you to the hospital! Grab your sweater!" WAIT. What? Why the $@%! do I need a sweater? Have you seen the temperature outside? But by now, I'm starting to think she's right (about the hospital, not the sweater) and I grab my purse and high tail it out the door for her car.
Now you should know, dear reader, that my mom is NOT a great driver. She calls it defensive driving, I call it crazy. Either way, as she drove me the 1.5 miles to the immediate care center, I was on the verge of puking. She is all over the road, "herky jerky", I believe I yelled at some point. And I'm moaning. Oh the moaning. I keep staring at the injury (a hinge of skin flapping and about to fall off), when I feel like I will pass out as I puke. I scream, "pull over!" and mom throws the car all over the road as she pulls over. And frankly, I'm not sure if I'm nauseous from the low blood pressure or the car sickness.
I throw open the door and lean out. And then I realize I'm about the pass out as I puke on CONCRETE. Ouch, that would hurt. I should get back in the car. I hear a faint sound, like a phone ringing. Oh! It IS a phone ringing! I'm not halucinating! And then I hear my mother pick up the phone and yell, "SHE'S THROWING UP ON THE ROAD! IT'S AWFUL! I'VE GOT TO GO!"
Can you say dramatic?? Holy crap, maybe it's HER halucinating and not me! But as I close the door, she hits the gas, throwing me around in my seat.
And that, dear reader, is how I made it to the minor er. Where I got a BANDAID and a tetnus shot. Which hurt like a MOTHER SCRATCHER.

The Offended Finger

Killer

I have a dog. She is the sweetest dog ever, which makes up for her stupidity. Really, she's not the sharpest blade in the drawer, although I don't know if I've given her enough credit through the years. She can sit. And occasionally, if she's in the mood, she'll get in her crate when you look her in the eye and say, "Get in your bed!" But ONLY if you're leaving the house will she decide that. Most of the time she hears the keys jingling and hides under someone's bed so she doesn't have to go to the crate. And because we are lazy pet owners, we aren't about to run from room to room looking under beds for her when we're already in a hurry to get out the door. Lucky dog.

Anyway, we like to call her Killer because when guests come knocking on our door, she barks like a crazy dog. Now if push came to shove would she actually protect us? By, say, biting the intruder? Hell no! She would run the other way! She's all bark and no bite. Pun intended.

Case in point. One time a couple years ago we left town to go the lake for the weekend. When we had gotten about 20 minutes from home, it hit me. I had left Chloe (her real name) at the house alone. WE WERE GOING TO BE GONE FOR 3 DAYS, PEOPLE. See what I mean about lazy dog-owning?? What was I thinking?! The answer to that is: I clearly WASN'T thinking. So, I called my friend Terri. She loves dogs. Maybe she'll save Chloe! Sure enough, Terri is the friend who will go to the moon and back for you, so she called her husband and asked him to run by our house and get Chloe.
Rob pulls up to our house and comes inside. He has a little trouble with the keypad for the alarm (hey, we were keeping her safe, if alone). And when he finally gets it turned off, he looks around to see nothing. No barking. No dog. Nothing. The house is silent. The dog is missing. So much for protecting our home.

Let me interject here that Rob and Terri have spent many hours on our couch loving on this dog. Petting her, snuggling with her. She LOVES Rob and Terri. But Rob has grown a beard. And Rob doesn't look like Rob. He's the scary man who just came into our house. And so Chloe did what she knows how to do. She hides.

Rob spent about 20 minutes searching our house for this crazy dog. He's a saint I tell you, with patience unmatched by most men. And as he moved from room to room, my dog stealthily moved around as well. Finally when he had looked under every bed, in every closet, in every nook and cranny, he gave up. He was standing in our living room, throwing his hands up in the air and saying to himself, OK, forget it. She can stay here by herself all weekend. I give up. When right then he looked across the room. There was Chloe, hiding between the couch and the side table, staring at him.
Do you see why I have no faith in this dog? She was ready to watch a stranger steal our house clean while crouching in the corner.

Killer.

The orchid in the window

Yesterday I was on the phone with my friend Michelle. And as most female conversations go, we were covering the gammet of available topics. I randomly tossed out there that I had this orchid. I had bought it in the spring and one day all the flowers fell off and I was left with a stick. As I carried the pot out to the trashcan I began looking closely at this stick. I tried to break it, but it was still green. LIFE! My guilty conscience told me to carry the stick back inside and stick it in the window. I began watering it every week and watching it do NOTHING. Until about 4 weeks ago. The stick began growing a new leaf at the base. And then a branch began to form. And on that branch were tiny buds (this is where my mind automatically, from years of teaching and mothering, began singing "and on that branch, and on that branch, there was a leaf, there was a leaf....). Oh my! I digress. Anywho, this stick that is on the verge of sprouting some beautiful orchid blooms has been sitting there for quite some time now, I lamented. And I'm sure has caused many visitors to wonder, "Why does she have a stick in her window?"

And this is when Michelle, in her infinite wisdom says to me, "You know, it's like an analogy of life. It's like God sees us and to everyone else we appear to be useless, a stick. But he puts us in the window and patiently waters us and watches us grow until the day when we bloom!" Wow. So simple and so true.

I love that some people can think in analogies. It's not my gift. I craft well instead.


The infamous orchid

Why am I here?!

OK, let's be honest. I started this blog for myself. I've got my feet dipping into so many pools of water (like the analogy? i learned that skill from The Man) that I wanted one place to get it all out there. Truth be told (which is what you'll always hear from me, like it or not), I'm obsessed with a couple of well known bloggers. I heart The Pioneer Woman and The Bloggess. These ladies are frankly, polar opposites. But like my personality, they are eclectic.

The Pioneer Woman (Ree Drummond) lives here in Oklahoma, ended up in a place in life she never imagined as a child, and has a blog that covers everything from photography to cooking and homeschooling. What's not to love?!

On the other hand, you have The Bloggess (Jenny Lawson). She's funny hilarious. She's vulgar. She is eclectic. She is a mom. And she shares her disfunctions openly and honestly. I love her colorful background and her ability to be a functioning member of society today in spite of her past. Love love love this blog!

So, here we are with a blog that no one wants to read and ME! a 39 year old old lady who has a million things on her mind and no where to share them. Hence, 39 is the new 40.

In the future, I hope to figure out how to add tabs to my blog. And here's what they will cover:
DIY
Homeschooling
Running
Cooking
Reading
and last, but certainly not least... my favorite:
Decorating.

Stick around. You might find something fun! :)

How it all began

Once upon a time there was a girl who made fun of her older sister for scrap booking. She giggled when the wiser, older sister asked her to use her font-like handwriting on the scrapbook page, so that it would look “nice” for all of eternity. She told her bigger, wiser sister that she could see how that older, more matronly lady would enjoy scrapbooking, since she had “so much time on her hands” as a stay-at-home mom. And “WOW!” She told her sibling, “This stuff sure costs a lot of money!” while, privately thinking, “What a waste.”

As it so happens, this young, 19 year old girl had just had her first seed planted. The first in a string of domestic seeds, that would eventually lead her down the path to this blog. To this life, of wifehood, motherhood, craftiness-hood (did I just coin a new phrase here?!)and a strong desire to create… anything… that would make her world a little prettier. Or easier. Or fun to spend time in.

This is the story of one girl who became a woman in today’s culture. Doing it the hard way, but creating a story along the way of God’s grace and sufficiency. And doing her best to point to Him all the way on her long journey… home.

Come along, and I’ll do my best to help you enjoy the ride.