Now you are three.
This year, you've learned so much that you're practically unrecognizable. It's easy to forget how much a toddler changes until you look back at the year before. Your dad runs a full-time classroom of one around this place, and what with colors and letters and numbers and such, it's making it seem like he really misses homeschooling your brother. You can finally ride AND steer your tricycle. You had the pedaling down pretty much instantly, but you could never get the idea that those handlebars were there for more than just comfort. You can run like the wind, and you know how to put your "running shoes" on all by yourself. There was great rejoicing when you finally consented to be potty trained, and you are out of diapers (nighttime doesn't count, it's hard to hold your bladder in your sleep, I totally get it). You are stubbornly independent, and voracious for knowledge, which keeps us on our toes with your barrage of "why" questions. Not going to fudge, here, I've totally replied "because I said so." It's not a cop-out, it's exhaustion. You are more logical than your developmental charts say you should be, and easier to reason with than your older brother (ahem!). You notice when we take a wrong turn on the way home...from anywhere! I couldn't do that until I was...well, still can't...
You have converted back to being a dress-wearer. You love wearing your gigantic pink tutu over everything (including nothing...), and are so proud of the fact that you can put it on and take if off by yourself. I had to convince you yesterday that your pirate dress wasn't acceptable church attire. You dressed as Alice in Wonderland, Princess Anna, a fairy princess, Batgirl, and aforementioned pirate (complete with frilly pirate tutu, lest you should be concerned...) all within the course of your birthday month. When people asked me what you were going to be for Halloween, I just said you'd decide on that day. How could it be otherwise, when it means your world is full of possibility and imagination?
You still talk ALL. THE. TIME. Most of the time I can understand you now, but sometimes you still say absolutely nonsensical things. You converse with me over the breakfast table, and when you sleep in of a morning, I miss hearing your constant chatter, which is about absolutely nothing, but perfectly captures your delight in the world around you. This morning, I was trying to multitask, and you took me sharply to task for not being available to "talk" to you. I think your father's hearing has gotten worse, just from the steady stream of sound directed towards his ears. You have an extremely loud stage whisper that you usually employ in church, to the giggling delight of your brother. You have a maniacal laugh where you throw your head back and burst out laughing. It makes everyone around you giggle, but also scares them a little bit... You'll say something crazy, and then roll your eyes while declaiming, "I'm just kidding!" You didn't get that sense of humor from anyone I know...
You have warmed up to strangers (somewhat). You now realize that when you wave at someone, or smile cheekily, they will respond in kind, and you take every chance to scan the crowd for takers. This must be done from a safe distance, however, for the instant that contact is made, you are done with the new relationship, and have moved on. I surmise that you were suspicious of the world at birth, and are planning on doing more research into the subject before fully committing yourself to an opinion. Maybe when you're ten, you'll be capable of shaking someone's hand. You make Stranger Danger into an art form. The same wariness does not characterize your love for the Animal Kingdom. You adore animals of all kinds, but especially Tesla. It's not even really true to call her "the family cat", or "our cat." She's your cat, and has been from day one. You will "play" with her, "talk" to her, hug and squeeze her, and she will allow your affection without batting an eyelash or swishing a tail. Either you are part cat, or she's your familiar...
You sing constantly - one would suspect you get that from your mother, but your father has plumbed previously-unrecognized depths, and loves to teach you new songs, or make up words to old ones. You nickname all of your lullabies: the Sunshine song, the Ariel song, the Cheeky song, the River song, the Dancing song. You can sing in tune, and you add a hefty dose of dynamics to your vocal offerings. You like to create impromptu drums out of everything (much like your brother, I will add), and you notice when everyday sounds have repetitive rhythm or variable pitch ("it's making music, Mom!"). Your dad will turn on "ballerina music" at your command, and classical strains will fill the house, as you spin and twirl with your eyes closed, swept up in the sound. One day, my heart almost broke for joy as you sat beside me at the piano, learning your first notes. I have always hoped that we could teach you to love music, but I don't think you have need of teaching when melodies run in your veins.
You still fit on my lap and in my arms, a warm, compact parcel of curls and wiggles that smells of sunshine and sugar. You have learned to say "I love you", and you make sure that we know it, we who share this life with you, with liberal hugs, and kisses, and words of appreciation all around. And if I have one wish for you, it would be that someday you glimpse how joyfully, how deeply, how fiercely we love you.
Happy birthday, beanie.
My slightly-insane life and times
Showing posts with label Peabody. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peabody. Show all posts
10/4/14
With Thanks to Richard Rodgers
Today, you are two years old.
You have decided that you are a picky eater, something I anticipated, and that your poor father did not. Overnight, you went from eagerly eating onions and peppers and pickles, to turning your nose up at chicken nuggets, and squeezing huge crocodile tears out every time we suggest you eat food you don't want (which is everything). You don't throw food very often, but you do like to dump milk and cereal onto your tray. And then splash in the mess. This sort of behavior is odd, considering that falling down and getting dirt on your hands is a household crisis. But this is you learning to exercise control, and by all means, I want you to grow up to be a strong, independent woman. So you go right along with your food refusal. Just know I'm also a strong, independent woman, so I'm not going to make you something special to eat (but your dad probably will).
You decided that you were going to be two, as in "terrible," several months ago. You try your darndest to tell us exactly what you want, and even when we do understand, sometimes you can't have your way. It's so hard (and, I will admit, sometimes hilarious) to watch you be frustrated and furious as you learn to communicate with us. It would probably help if you didn't speak your own very precise, very extensive language. You like to make long-winded speeches in this untranslatable tongue, speeches that are complete with gestures, and you even laugh at your own jokes. I suspect you get that propensity for verbosity directly through the maternal bloodline. I also get the feeling that if we could only understand you, you'd tell us such wonderful things.
I don't make you wear as many dresses as you used to, but that's because you're so active that a dress sometimes slows you down (I know, who knew??). You can roughhouse with the best of them, you see. You still point out the "pretty" things you like in stores, which your daddy just loooooves (sarcasm). You love to have your hair done, and you like clomping around in my high heels. One time, you took a proxy brush out of a bag of dental supplies, and used it like a mascara wand. On a less girly note, however, you have recently become obsessed with a certain Thomas THE Tank Engine (your brother's extensive Thomas book collection may have had something to do with that). This has sparked a fierce debate in our home as to whether Thomas says "peep peep" or "toot toot." The jury is still out.
Your baby book collection is ridiculous. You have more board books than any toddler could possibly need. In the course of an hour, you make your dad read the same one over and over again, so why would you even need more than one? And yet, every time you see a new book, you greet it with adoration and excitement. Your parents are bibliophiles themselves, so I guess that's why they keep buying more books. They did name you after a character in a fantasy novel, after all. You like to sit in your book box and read stories to yourself. I just know someday soon you'll be reading under the covers with a flashlight, as girls like Anne Shirley, Laura Ingalls, and Jo March come alive for you. I can't wait for you to meet them.
You continue to be enthralled by music in all forms. You nod your head and dance when your father plays his heavy metal in the car. You were the first one on the dance floor at my cousin's wedding this year. You've learned that both Daddy and E wear excellent platforms for you to stand on while they dance with you. You've gotten your father to dance with you more times in your short 2 years of life than I have in all my years of knowing him. Sometimes, a man just has to concede that his daughter needs to dance. Tonight, while your brother practiced the piano, you insisted on sitting on my lap next to him, and "practiced" your toy piano. You were then upset when you had to go to bed and he got to keep practicing. You have startled yourself awake while singing your favorite lullaby in your sleep. Your brother and I once sang the ABC song in two-part harmony for 30 minutes at your request. Every night, you fall asleep to an instrumental lullaby CD, and if it isn't cued up when you're ready to get in bed, things get ugly.
Before you lie down at night, you sometimes ask me to sing. And my heart aches with the sweetness and the joy and the sheer delight of loving you, temper tantrums or no.
You have decided that you are a picky eater, something I anticipated, and that your poor father did not. Overnight, you went from eagerly eating onions and peppers and pickles, to turning your nose up at chicken nuggets, and squeezing huge crocodile tears out every time we suggest you eat food you don't want (which is everything). You don't throw food very often, but you do like to dump milk and cereal onto your tray. And then splash in the mess. This sort of behavior is odd, considering that falling down and getting dirt on your hands is a household crisis. But this is you learning to exercise control, and by all means, I want you to grow up to be a strong, independent woman. So you go right along with your food refusal. Just know I'm also a strong, independent woman, so I'm not going to make you something special to eat (but your dad probably will).
You decided that you were going to be two, as in "terrible," several months ago. You try your darndest to tell us exactly what you want, and even when we do understand, sometimes you can't have your way. It's so hard (and, I will admit, sometimes hilarious) to watch you be frustrated and furious as you learn to communicate with us. It would probably help if you didn't speak your own very precise, very extensive language. You like to make long-winded speeches in this untranslatable tongue, speeches that are complete with gestures, and you even laugh at your own jokes. I suspect you get that propensity for verbosity directly through the maternal bloodline. I also get the feeling that if we could only understand you, you'd tell us such wonderful things.
I don't make you wear as many dresses as you used to, but that's because you're so active that a dress sometimes slows you down (I know, who knew??). You can roughhouse with the best of them, you see. You still point out the "pretty" things you like in stores, which your daddy just loooooves (sarcasm). You love to have your hair done, and you like clomping around in my high heels. One time, you took a proxy brush out of a bag of dental supplies, and used it like a mascara wand. On a less girly note, however, you have recently become obsessed with a certain Thomas THE Tank Engine (your brother's extensive Thomas book collection may have had something to do with that). This has sparked a fierce debate in our home as to whether Thomas says "peep peep" or "toot toot." The jury is still out.
Your baby book collection is ridiculous. You have more board books than any toddler could possibly need. In the course of an hour, you make your dad read the same one over and over again, so why would you even need more than one? And yet, every time you see a new book, you greet it with adoration and excitement. Your parents are bibliophiles themselves, so I guess that's why they keep buying more books. They did name you after a character in a fantasy novel, after all. You like to sit in your book box and read stories to yourself. I just know someday soon you'll be reading under the covers with a flashlight, as girls like Anne Shirley, Laura Ingalls, and Jo March come alive for you. I can't wait for you to meet them.
You continue to be enthralled by music in all forms. You nod your head and dance when your father plays his heavy metal in the car. You were the first one on the dance floor at my cousin's wedding this year. You've learned that both Daddy and E wear excellent platforms for you to stand on while they dance with you. You've gotten your father to dance with you more times in your short 2 years of life than I have in all my years of knowing him. Sometimes, a man just has to concede that his daughter needs to dance. Tonight, while your brother practiced the piano, you insisted on sitting on my lap next to him, and "practiced" your toy piano. You were then upset when you had to go to bed and he got to keep practicing. You have startled yourself awake while singing your favorite lullaby in your sleep. Your brother and I once sang the ABC song in two-part harmony for 30 minutes at your request. Every night, you fall asleep to an instrumental lullaby CD, and if it isn't cued up when you're ready to get in bed, things get ugly.
Before you lie down at night, you sometimes ask me to sing. And my heart aches with the sweetness and the joy and the sheer delight of loving you, temper tantrums or no.
"Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good"
Happy birthday to my fierce, darling, strong-willed, much-loved baby girl.
10/3/13
She's not a baby now
Tomorrow, you will be one year old.
On your third night of life, you reduced me to tears because I couldn't get you to wake up and eat. Tears! I have never been so tired in my entire life. I was even a surgery intern, once upon a time, I'm very familiar with exhaustion. So congratulations, you have superior exhaustive powers.
You started out as "Peabody," but your dad calls you "Little Bear," which seems more appropriate considering that you are so wild. You are willing to be held, but you are not amenable to cuddling. You do not tolerate meditative mother-daughter periods, and even our bedtime rituals are all-business. Sometimes, however, when you aren't quite ready to go to sleep, you reject my arms, and demand your father's. Sometimes a girl just needs her daddy, you see.
You have more facial expressions than a mime. I literally feel sad sometimes that my eyes are not cameras, because I will catch glimpses of you in positions or in lighting that breaks my heart with your perfection, and I want to share those moments with everyone. However, you rarely hold still long enough for pictures, because you are constantly on the go. Sometimes you flash this silly, adorable, toothy grin that makes you look like a demented bunny, and your dad thinks it's really funny when you frown, because apparently you look just like me. When your brother walks into a room, you watch him so expectantly, knowing that sooner or later, he will do something hilarious, and you will laugh uproariously. The first time you laughed, I thought I would die of joy.
When you were just starting to babble, you would stare at completely blank walls and hold entire conversations. So, I'm fairly certain that you see angels. And yet, you can be more than a little devilish, like when you cried all the way to Kansas City. Your brother wanted to give you away that day. And your dad wasn't far behind. Most of the time, though, you are easygoing and cheerful, which is something you definitely did not inherit through the maternal line. You have also inherited your father's need to explore, however, which is not something an infant needs. You scared me so badly the other night when I thought you were about to swallow something you shouldn't have. So badly that I cried from relief because you were still safe.
You love being in water, which I think is funny, because your favorite lullaby is "Baby Beluga". When we brought you to the river for the Fourth of July fireworks, you were so overstimulated and tired that I thought we would have to leave, but I started singing that song to you and you were instantly calm, like I had thrown a life preserver to someone drowning. You dance, and you bang on the piano, and you are mesmerized by your Papa playing the guitar. I think you were born with music inside of you.
We seek out and celebrate all of your milestones with such fervor: first smile, rolling over, sitting up, crawling. I rejoice when you learn something new, like the first day you signed or when you copy a sound after your brother demonstrates. And yet, I hate that you are growing up, that you aren't the same little freakishly loud, wrinkly-old-man infant we brought home one year ago. I would freeze time to keep you from changing, because I love every single moment with you and cannot bear for any of the moments to be over.
One time, before you were born, I dreamed that you were not mine, that you existed, but I could not have you. So I thank God every day when I wake, when you are and that I do.
Happy birthday, little bear.
On your third night of life, you reduced me to tears because I couldn't get you to wake up and eat. Tears! I have never been so tired in my entire life. I was even a surgery intern, once upon a time, I'm very familiar with exhaustion. So congratulations, you have superior exhaustive powers.
You started out as "Peabody," but your dad calls you "Little Bear," which seems more appropriate considering that you are so wild. You are willing to be held, but you are not amenable to cuddling. You do not tolerate meditative mother-daughter periods, and even our bedtime rituals are all-business. Sometimes, however, when you aren't quite ready to go to sleep, you reject my arms, and demand your father's. Sometimes a girl just needs her daddy, you see.
You have more facial expressions than a mime. I literally feel sad sometimes that my eyes are not cameras, because I will catch glimpses of you in positions or in lighting that breaks my heart with your perfection, and I want to share those moments with everyone. However, you rarely hold still long enough for pictures, because you are constantly on the go. Sometimes you flash this silly, adorable, toothy grin that makes you look like a demented bunny, and your dad thinks it's really funny when you frown, because apparently you look just like me. When your brother walks into a room, you watch him so expectantly, knowing that sooner or later, he will do something hilarious, and you will laugh uproariously. The first time you laughed, I thought I would die of joy.
When you were just starting to babble, you would stare at completely blank walls and hold entire conversations. So, I'm fairly certain that you see angels. And yet, you can be more than a little devilish, like when you cried all the way to Kansas City. Your brother wanted to give you away that day. And your dad wasn't far behind. Most of the time, though, you are easygoing and cheerful, which is something you definitely did not inherit through the maternal line. You have also inherited your father's need to explore, however, which is not something an infant needs. You scared me so badly the other night when I thought you were about to swallow something you shouldn't have. So badly that I cried from relief because you were still safe.
You love being in water, which I think is funny, because your favorite lullaby is "Baby Beluga". When we brought you to the river for the Fourth of July fireworks, you were so overstimulated and tired that I thought we would have to leave, but I started singing that song to you and you were instantly calm, like I had thrown a life preserver to someone drowning. You dance, and you bang on the piano, and you are mesmerized by your Papa playing the guitar. I think you were born with music inside of you.
We seek out and celebrate all of your milestones with such fervor: first smile, rolling over, sitting up, crawling. I rejoice when you learn something new, like the first day you signed or when you copy a sound after your brother demonstrates. And yet, I hate that you are growing up, that you aren't the same little freakishly loud, wrinkly-old-man infant we brought home one year ago. I would freeze time to keep you from changing, because I love every single moment with you and cannot bear for any of the moments to be over.
One time, before you were born, I dreamed that you were not mine, that you existed, but I could not have you. So I thank God every day when I wake, when you are and that I do.
Happy birthday, little bear.
11/1/12
Finally
The night before you were born,
we lay awake, unspoken anxiety
like a blaring alarm clock.
Items checked from lists before they reached
my full consciousness, my mind racing,
trapped in limbo by what was impending.
Forty weeks felt like a lifetime and yet,
and yet, the questions raised themselves.
The dawn of the day you were born
crept through the blinds,
pierced our awareness as we sat over a game,
attempting to focus on something
I could control,
trying not to watch the dips and peaks
monitoring your tolerance.
Knowledge is a heavy burden and fear
tempers it not.
Prayer is easier when you know the outcome.
The moment you were born,
your father's tears stood bright.
Relief and fierce,
fierce joy flooded my heart
as you screamed your displeasure
when cold, light, sound were foisted upon you
in this unfamiliar openness.
You are no stranger, though, not here,
not when hearts strain toward your existence,
not when love stretches to hold you.
Welcome, little one, welcome to the world.
We've been waiting
we lay awake, unspoken anxiety
like a blaring alarm clock.
Items checked from lists before they reached
my full consciousness, my mind racing,
trapped in limbo by what was impending.
Forty weeks felt like a lifetime and yet,
and yet, the questions raised themselves.
The dawn of the day you were born
crept through the blinds,
pierced our awareness as we sat over a game,
attempting to focus on something
I could control,
trying not to watch the dips and peaks
monitoring your tolerance.
Knowledge is a heavy burden and fear
tempers it not.
Prayer is easier when you know the outcome.
The moment you were born,
your father's tears stood bright.
Relief and fierce,
fierce joy flooded my heart
as you screamed your displeasure
when cold, light, sound were foisted upon you
in this unfamiliar openness.
You are no stranger, though, not here,
not when hearts strain toward your existence,
not when love stretches to hold you.
Welcome, little one, welcome to the world.
We've been waiting
9/30/12
The Nursery!
Since I won't get the chance again, I'm going to take this time to have a little pride-fest about the nursery. Complete with before-and-after pics and everything. I'm so excited, and I know you are too!
Step one: this was the nursery before we moved in.
I don't appear to have a picture of it after we moved in and before it became the nursery. Pooh. Oh well. It used to be my office/guest room. Mostly guest room, since I rarely did actual work in there. Imagine it with a massive dresser against the wall where the bed is, a desk to the left, lots of plants, and a futon couch under the window, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what it looked like. But when we moved into this house, it was with the plan that it would eventually be converted to the nursery. The other bedrooms in the house being occupied, respectively, as the master, E's room, and the Man Cave, you see. We love this room's architectural details (the ceiling), how much light comes in through that huge window (which you'll see later), and the two huge closets that are on the wall to the right. It was pretty much already the most peaceful room in the house.
Step two: inspiration. If you're my Pinterest friend/follower (makes you sound like a disciple or something), you've seen all the nursery pictures I've posted. In actuality, I drew direct inspiration from very few of them. In general, I just wanted to figure out what the feel of the nursery should be, not the actual look. I considered doing a theme, but all of the themes I liked seemed overdone, so I couldn't commit.
There was one thing already set in stone about the room: the dresser. It's massive and dark and it properly belongs with our master bedroom furniture, but our room was much larger when we bought the set than it is now. Hence, the dresser was relocated to the guest room/office/nursery, and it was NOT an option to move it anywhere else. So, because it is such an impressive piece, I kind of had to plan my other furniture choices around it. Luckily, another furniture piece in the room gave some guidance. The little plant table (you can see it on the very right in the finished pictures) had already been forcibly colorized a few years ago when I couldn't handle its inherent ugliness anymore and my beloved husband had obligingly spray-painted it white. Believe me, it looks much better this way. So I planned for the rest of the furniture to also be white. I had considered asking my poor husband to paint the room (and he offered to several times), but I couldn't think of any color I actually wanted more, so he dodged that bullet.
With these two items, I had a theme developing regardless of my original intentions. And it was definitely a vintage theme. Which was rather solidified by the next purchase: the curtains. I looked at every set of nursery curtains that Amazon had available and was not inspired by any of them. Luckily, at yet another thrift store visit, I came across these pink, super-frilly curtains (you can see the edge in the bunny picture). I'd like to think they look perfect, but it was not so obvious in the cold, impersonal light of thrift-store fluorescent bulbs. It took some serious vision to see these as nursery curtains, because I'm absolutely positive that they came out of some little old lady's best drawing room, and I can imagine the entire room down to the gold tassels on her lampshades. I'm not sure how she was able to part with them (death? How morbid...), but regardless, they landed on a thrift store rack and cost me $20 for the set. My husband was appalled by them, and wouldn't agree to their purchase, but I bought them anyway, and now he admits I was right (of course ;-)).
Next step: wall art. I already had the Humpty Dumpty canvas, but clearly the room was begging for matching art on either side of the window, and I only had one of the aforementioned canvases. Back to the thrift store I went, and found these.
The Degas print was an obvious choice (I freaking love to dance) and the other just had something nostalgic and sisterly about it that appealed to me. (My mom noted that it is reminiscent of Little Women.) The frames were not even close in size, and hideous, to boot. Again, gotta work that thrift store vision. They cost me maybe $15 for both, and I spent another $3 on this ugly thing ---->, just to get a frame that was close to the right size. My helpful husband did some spray-paint magic on both the frames and the mats, and I did some transplant surgery, and behold (you'll have to wait for the end, and technically, you can't really see the pictures up close. You get the idea, though...)
The next project I took on was inspired by my little sister. She mentioned that she had made a lampshade out of coffee filters and waxed poetic over how beautiful it was and what an easy project it had been. These lampshades are inherently frilly/girly, and what better place for one than a baby girl's nursery? Some Googling revealed instructions, and after purchasing a gross, stained lampshade (at...you guessed it...a thrift store) for $2 and spending another $2 on coffee filters, I spent an hour's work and this lovely confection was soon adorning my husband's very manly arm.
The actual lamp took a lot longer to find, but perseverance paid off, and this brassy beauty (at a comparatively hefty $8) eventually caught my eye. I considered painting it white, but I think it plays well into the whole vintage thing as-is. Incidentally, if you want a lampshade to experiment on, I now have an extra one lying in my craft box...
We originally needed somewhere to put said lamp, so we transported a bookcase out of the Man Cave into the nursery. It's one of those $15 bookcases from Walmart. Originally, it was honey-colored. D spray-painted it with much difficulty, since the material isn't really made to be spray-painted. Only after it was complete, and I was filling it with what child-friendly books my son wasn't interested in (and yes, we have a huge kids' library), did I realize that E has a white bookcase that is the same size in his bedroom. We both felt rather sheepish. Regardless, it turned out okay.
Rearranging those books led me to yet another idea. I went through the house and removed the jackets from various hardcover novels and stacked them (artistically, of course) on the windowsill. The addition of some little statues that had been gifted to me at various times over the years tied in wonderfully. See that bunny picture for what I'm talking about.
Pinterest led to the next project with this little gem. The idea of having family members contribute fabric was so great, and the look tied in so well with everything else that I just had to do it. So I went to Hobby Lobby to look for an embroidery hoop, saw the price of $15 for the smallest one and almost had a stroke. Ebay had better offerings, but not much. Luckily, I live in a city with a plethora of thrift stores. It took me probably 7 or 8 trips to various places to gather all of them. The smallest was about 50 cents and the largest was $3. I also managed to find one in one of those catch-all craft bags that some thrift stores will put together, just in case you're ever looking for your own embroidery hoops. I ended up with a bunch of random buttons and thread, zippers and lace bits, but since that whole bag was $8, I count it worth it. These are two of the ugliest ones I found...
My godmother, another aunt, and my mom contributed the fabric pieces that you can see in the finished pictures, and I didn't glue any of the fabric down, so it's easily interchangeable should the need arise. One semi-secret, here: the empty nails are for the name. No, I'm not telling. But we took a piece of acrylic to an awesome place here in town, and cut the name out in a font that we picked, and thanks to the generosity of friends who let us use their membership there, we only paid for the acrylic.
The biggest project overall was: the rug. I couldn't find anything that I liked that was in the right price range (read: cheap), so I turned to Pinterest and found this almost immediately. I do not recommend taking this on unless you have lots of time and an incredible amount of patience. I have neither. Thank goodness for my wonderful mother, who devoted hours and hours of her time to finish it when I confessed myself spent when it was less than halfway done. As far as cost breakdown, I spent about $30 on the latch-hook backing at Hobby Lobby, $20 on 2 sets of thrifted t-shirt sheets, $15 on dye and binding. It turned out beautifully, but OMG it was a lot more work than I had anticipated. I took the original pictures with our transplanted living room rug in place, so look at the later ones for the actual rug.
I originally was planning on using an oversized reclining armchair from the Man Cave in the nursery, but my mother strongly suggested I find a rocker/glider. To prevent her from just going out and buying one, I started shopping. After pricing the cheapest ones I could find on Amazon and Walmart, I shuddered with horror and turned to the used section of the Internet to find one. Nothing turned up at first, so we went a-thrifting. I was looking for a wooden one with cushions, intending to paint it white and DIY some new cushions. D turned up his nose at the shoddy craftsmanship of the ones we found, or we both agreed that the prices were too high for something we'd basically have to completely redo. My husband also threw a wrench into the works when we went window shopping at a baby store, he test-rocked some gliders and decided we had to have the gliding stool to go with. Thankfully, we eventually found a listing on Craigslist for a glider and stool for $25. We hotfooted our way to the seller's apartment, and not only was the glider in great shape, but the owner was a non-smoker, and gave us a bunch of other baby items for free. I considered covering the existing cushions, but as you have read, I had taken on way more than I could handle with the rug project already, and the cushions are neutral anyway.
My sister gifted me with the lovely changing table you can see in the corner. It originally lived on Craigslist, but with a little DIY magic, she and our father beat it into the gorgeous form it now has (the DIY gene runs in our family, you see). She saved us from having to use our dresser as a changing table (which was really too tall for the purpose, but we were willing to put up with the inconvenience). We bought some Wal-Mart fabric bins for under the changing table for about $6 a pop to hold diapers and other sundry items.
The crib came from Amazon. It's beautiful, no? I was nervous about purchasing it unseen, but it's soooo much sturdier than I expected (and sturdier than E's crib, which is saying a lot, considering that crib managed to last until he outgrew it and I gave it away), was easy to put together, and shipped really quickly. It's just so elegant, I almost can't handle it. It's the only item in the nursery that was bought brand-new for the purpose of being in the nursery...*
The draped fabric was actually my husband's idea. I was dissatisfied with the way the crib space looked even with the embroidery hoops and he suggested the whole thing. He wanted "something princess-like" (he's spoiling her before she's even born!). The things holding the fabric to the ceiling are curtain tie-backs from Pottery Barn that I found at a consignment sale for $3. The fabric is held to the wall with Mardi Gras beads and pushpins. Seriously.
Last, but not least, the pompoms were made by one of my best friends for my baby shower. I collected them afterwards and distributed them as seen below. I love them!
So there you have it, an overly-wordy celebration of my baby girl's room. And here's the finished product:
My phone can take panorama pics, but it didn't like the lighting...
There's that massive dresser I was telling you about, along with the finished coffee-filter lamp!
My comfy glider, the bookcase-we-didn't-have-to-paint, my hardcover novel vignettes.
The finished flokati rug! Thanks, Mom! And both pictures on the wall.
The lighting in this one is so much prettier. And you can see how the fabric is attached to the wall here.
*Ah! I can't take it! I have to say that I only paid $45 for it because of a gift certificate I randomly won! I'm so cheap, I can't pay full price for anything...
Step one: this was the nursery before we moved in.
Step two: inspiration. If you're my Pinterest friend/follower (makes you sound like a disciple or something), you've seen all the nursery pictures I've posted. In actuality, I drew direct inspiration from very few of them. In general, I just wanted to figure out what the feel of the nursery should be, not the actual look. I considered doing a theme, but all of the themes I liked seemed overdone, so I couldn't commit.
There was one thing already set in stone about the room: the dresser. It's massive and dark and it properly belongs with our master bedroom furniture, but our room was much larger when we bought the set than it is now. Hence, the dresser was relocated to the guest room/office/nursery, and it was NOT an option to move it anywhere else. So, because it is such an impressive piece, I kind of had to plan my other furniture choices around it. Luckily, another furniture piece in the room gave some guidance. The little plant table (you can see it on the very right in the finished pictures) had already been forcibly colorized a few years ago when I couldn't handle its inherent ugliness anymore and my beloved husband had obligingly spray-painted it white. Believe me, it looks much better this way. So I planned for the rest of the furniture to also be white. I had considered asking my poor husband to paint the room (and he offered to several times), but I couldn't think of any color I actually wanted more, so he dodged that bullet.
The first thing I actually purchased for the nursery was this Humpty Dumpty wall thingy. Found it at a thrift store and fell in love with its little $6 self. I guess you could say this was the real jumping off point for the entire room. Especially with my next thrift store find: this little wooden bunny. It cost about $3, I think. I loved its simple, old-fashioned charm.
With these two items, I had a theme developing regardless of my original intentions. And it was definitely a vintage theme. Which was rather solidified by the next purchase: the curtains. I looked at every set of nursery curtains that Amazon had available and was not inspired by any of them. Luckily, at yet another thrift store visit, I came across these pink, super-frilly curtains (you can see the edge in the bunny picture). I'd like to think they look perfect, but it was not so obvious in the cold, impersonal light of thrift-store fluorescent bulbs. It took some serious vision to see these as nursery curtains, because I'm absolutely positive that they came out of some little old lady's best drawing room, and I can imagine the entire room down to the gold tassels on her lampshades. I'm not sure how she was able to part with them (death? How morbid...), but regardless, they landed on a thrift store rack and cost me $20 for the set. My husband was appalled by them, and wouldn't agree to their purchase, but I bought them anyway, and now he admits I was right (of course ;-)).
Next step: wall art. I already had the Humpty Dumpty canvas, but clearly the room was begging for matching art on either side of the window, and I only had one of the aforementioned canvases. Back to the thrift store I went, and found these.
We originally needed somewhere to put said lamp, so we transported a bookcase out of the Man Cave into the nursery. It's one of those $15 bookcases from Walmart. Originally, it was honey-colored. D spray-painted it with much difficulty, since the material isn't really made to be spray-painted. Only after it was complete, and I was filling it with what child-friendly books my son wasn't interested in (and yes, we have a huge kids' library), did I realize that E has a white bookcase that is the same size in his bedroom. We both felt rather sheepish. Regardless, it turned out okay.
Rearranging those books led me to yet another idea. I went through the house and removed the jackets from various hardcover novels and stacked them (artistically, of course) on the windowsill. The addition of some little statues that had been gifted to me at various times over the years tied in wonderfully. See that bunny picture for what I'm talking about.
Pinterest led to the next project with this little gem. The idea of having family members contribute fabric was so great, and the look tied in so well with everything else that I just had to do it. So I went to Hobby Lobby to look for an embroidery hoop, saw the price of $15 for the smallest one and almost had a stroke. Ebay had better offerings, but not much. Luckily, I live in a city with a plethora of thrift stores. It took me probably 7 or 8 trips to various places to gather all of them. The smallest was about 50 cents and the largest was $3. I also managed to find one in one of those catch-all craft bags that some thrift stores will put together, just in case you're ever looking for your own embroidery hoops. I ended up with a bunch of random buttons and thread, zippers and lace bits, but since that whole bag was $8, I count it worth it. These are two of the ugliest ones I found...
My godmother, another aunt, and my mom contributed the fabric pieces that you can see in the finished pictures, and I didn't glue any of the fabric down, so it's easily interchangeable should the need arise. One semi-secret, here: the empty nails are for the name. No, I'm not telling. But we took a piece of acrylic to an awesome place here in town, and cut the name out in a font that we picked, and thanks to the generosity of friends who let us use their membership there, we only paid for the acrylic.
The biggest project overall was: the rug. I couldn't find anything that I liked that was in the right price range (read: cheap), so I turned to Pinterest and found this almost immediately. I do not recommend taking this on unless you have lots of time and an incredible amount of patience. I have neither. Thank goodness for my wonderful mother, who devoted hours and hours of her time to finish it when I confessed myself spent when it was less than halfway done. As far as cost breakdown, I spent about $30 on the latch-hook backing at Hobby Lobby, $20 on 2 sets of thrifted t-shirt sheets, $15 on dye and binding. It turned out beautifully, but OMG it was a lot more work than I had anticipated. I took the original pictures with our transplanted living room rug in place, so look at the later ones for the actual rug.
I originally was planning on using an oversized reclining armchair from the Man Cave in the nursery, but my mother strongly suggested I find a rocker/glider. To prevent her from just going out and buying one, I started shopping. After pricing the cheapest ones I could find on Amazon and Walmart, I shuddered with horror and turned to the used section of the Internet to find one. Nothing turned up at first, so we went a-thrifting. I was looking for a wooden one with cushions, intending to paint it white and DIY some new cushions. D turned up his nose at the shoddy craftsmanship of the ones we found, or we both agreed that the prices were too high for something we'd basically have to completely redo. My husband also threw a wrench into the works when we went window shopping at a baby store, he test-rocked some gliders and decided we had to have the gliding stool to go with. Thankfully, we eventually found a listing on Craigslist for a glider and stool for $25. We hotfooted our way to the seller's apartment, and not only was the glider in great shape, but the owner was a non-smoker, and gave us a bunch of other baby items for free. I considered covering the existing cushions, but as you have read, I had taken on way more than I could handle with the rug project already, and the cushions are neutral anyway.
My sister gifted me with the lovely changing table you can see in the corner. It originally lived on Craigslist, but with a little DIY magic, she and our father beat it into the gorgeous form it now has (the DIY gene runs in our family, you see). She saved us from having to use our dresser as a changing table (which was really too tall for the purpose, but we were willing to put up with the inconvenience). We bought some Wal-Mart fabric bins for under the changing table for about $6 a pop to hold diapers and other sundry items.
The crib came from Amazon. It's beautiful, no? I was nervous about purchasing it unseen, but it's soooo much sturdier than I expected (and sturdier than E's crib, which is saying a lot, considering that crib managed to last until he outgrew it and I gave it away), was easy to put together, and shipped really quickly. It's just so elegant, I almost can't handle it. It's the only item in the nursery that was bought brand-new for the purpose of being in the nursery...*
The draped fabric was actually my husband's idea. I was dissatisfied with the way the crib space looked even with the embroidery hoops and he suggested the whole thing. He wanted "something princess-like" (he's spoiling her before she's even born!). The things holding the fabric to the ceiling are curtain tie-backs from Pottery Barn that I found at a consignment sale for $3. The fabric is held to the wall with Mardi Gras beads and pushpins. Seriously.
Last, but not least, the pompoms were made by one of my best friends for my baby shower. I collected them afterwards and distributed them as seen below. I love them!
So there you have it, an overly-wordy celebration of my baby girl's room. And here's the finished product:
*Ah! I can't take it! I have to say that I only paid $45 for it because of a gift certificate I randomly won! I'm so cheap, I can't pay full price for anything...
5/18/12
Sibling Rivalry
Dear Peabody,
Today, your brother felt you kick for the first time. The look on his face was precious, priceless, and so full of awe. Someday, when both of you have driven each other nuts and you think you hate each other, I'll remind you both of this day. He has so much love to give you, sweet girl.
Love,
Mama
Today, your brother felt you kick for the first time. The look on his face was precious, priceless, and so full of awe. Someday, when both of you have driven each other nuts and you think you hate each other, I'll remind you both of this day. He has so much love to give you, sweet girl.
Love,
Mama
4/20/12
Subliminal Messages
Dear Peabody,
Your brother announced today that it's weird to think of me having another person inside of me. We then proceeded to call you an alien, a parasite and a tumor. It's true. You'll understand some day. E will explain it to you.
E is making a playlist for you. I explained to him how you will be able to hear more and more of the outside world the older you get. So he's keeping track of all the songs he loves so he can share them with you while you're still cooking. He became very serious at one point during our discussion of music and was obviously concentrating on something. He then said "It's weird to think of languages. Peabody can hear us, but she or he has no idea what we're saying." We decided that you'll figure it out eventually, with a little bit of help.
So listen up, Tater Tot. The world's waiting for you.
Love,
Mama
Your brother announced today that it's weird to think of me having another person inside of me. We then proceeded to call you an alien, a parasite and a tumor. It's true. You'll understand some day. E will explain it to you.
E is making a playlist for you. I explained to him how you will be able to hear more and more of the outside world the older you get. So he's keeping track of all the songs he loves so he can share them with you while you're still cooking. He became very serious at one point during our discussion of music and was obviously concentrating on something. He then said "It's weird to think of languages. Peabody can hear us, but she or he has no idea what we're saying." We decided that you'll figure it out eventually, with a little bit of help.
So listen up, Tater Tot. The world's waiting for you.
Love,
Mama
4/19/12
Girls Versus Boys
So we had the big 16-week ultrasound today at my doctor's office. The nurse spent approximately 20 minutes of my 25 minute visit trying to get little Wiggle Worm-in utero to hold still and uncross his/her legs long enough for us to get a peek. After all of that maneuvering, we're fairly certain it's a....GIRL! Yay! A girl! What the heck am I gonna do with a girl?! I've only taken care of the male version of children, I don't know what to do with females!
My entire circle of family and friends were already convinced that this child was a girl. For his/her own sake, I hope the ultrasound glimpse was right, because if not, there are too many jokes already readily apparent.
My poor son was the only one (besides me) who was holding out a little bit of hope that it was a boy. Obviously boys always want brothers, and since he already has a half-sister, he thought maybe he'd get something different this time ;-).
I told him today and then, aware that he was slightly disappointed (it's ok, Peabody, your older brother adores the heck out of you regardless of whether you're a boy or a girl...), I assured him that he would get along just fine with a sister (evidence in fact: D and his 3 sisters are very close). I then reminded him that I had wanted him to be a girl, a joke that I say all the time and apparently he thought was really just a joke, because he said: "Really??" Rather horrified, he was. I said "Yep. But God told me, 'nope, you're having a boy, and you're going to name him E and he's going to be full of mischief but he'll give you the sweetest kisses."
E thought for a moment and then said "I think it's neat that God tells you how to do things. How does he do that?" I said, "What do you mean?" He said, "Well, you know, God told you how to tuck me in and things."
Where would I be without you, God?
My entire circle of family and friends were already convinced that this child was a girl. For his/her own sake, I hope the ultrasound glimpse was right, because if not, there are too many jokes already readily apparent.
My poor son was the only one (besides me) who was holding out a little bit of hope that it was a boy. Obviously boys always want brothers, and since he already has a half-sister, he thought maybe he'd get something different this time ;-).
I told him today and then, aware that he was slightly disappointed (it's ok, Peabody, your older brother adores the heck out of you regardless of whether you're a boy or a girl...), I assured him that he would get along just fine with a sister (evidence in fact: D and his 3 sisters are very close). I then reminded him that I had wanted him to be a girl, a joke that I say all the time and apparently he thought was really just a joke, because he said: "Really??" Rather horrified, he was. I said "Yep. But God told me, 'nope, you're having a boy, and you're going to name him E and he's going to be full of mischief but he'll give you the sweetest kisses."
E thought for a moment and then said "I think it's neat that God tells you how to do things. How does he do that?" I said, "What do you mean?" He said, "Well, you know, God told you how to tuck me in and things."
Where would I be without you, God?
3/31/12
Quickening
Dear Peabody,
Tonight I felt you move for the first time. Some people think that babies aren't supposed to make their presence known for a while longer. I guess you're ahead of the curve, kiddo. Or maybe I'm just so eager to meet you that I'm more attuned to those tiny bubbles and flutters, because they mean you're growing and getting closer and closer to actually being here. Pretty soon I won't be the only one who can feel when you're kicking around in there. If you're anything like your brother, you will keep me awake all night stretching out and exploring the boundaries of your little world. Have fun swimming, tiny one.
Kisses,
Mama
Tonight I felt you move for the first time. Some people think that babies aren't supposed to make their presence known for a while longer. I guess you're ahead of the curve, kiddo. Or maybe I'm just so eager to meet you that I'm more attuned to those tiny bubbles and flutters, because they mean you're growing and getting closer and closer to actually being here. Pretty soon I won't be the only one who can feel when you're kicking around in there. If you're anything like your brother, you will keep me awake all night stretching out and exploring the boundaries of your little world. Have fun swimming, tiny one.
Kisses,
Mama
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