always find a stud

Disclaimer: I started this blog post about a week ago. I don't know. I've lost track of time, but when you read "this morning" below, it wasn't actually this morning.

This morning I was feeling quite pleased with myself because it was the first time in my adult life that I had a true walk-in closet (and it happened before I turn 40!). I was so overjoyed and that I had one of those "I feel like a character from Sex in the City" moments, to which only girls of a certain age can relate, as I placed my first pair of shoes in my new closet. With great gusto--and alone with my dramatic devices--I anointed my favorite pair of shoes (white Birkenstocks, obviously) queen of the closet. It was a Carrie Bradshaw meets Austin wannabe hippie mom moment.

Several hours later; however, the moment came crashing down. Literally. But let me back up a for a second. I neglected to tell you that the night before I became a true adult with a closet, Alex and I stayed up until 3:00am assembling that closet. It was someone's brilliant idea to start the project around 10:00pm when the children were sound asleep and the wine was flowing because anyone who has ever tried to renovate a house will tell you you get nothing done with children around. And wine makes home projects more fun. Do you see what a great idea this was?

The only setbacks were 1) we don't have a functioning light in our bedroom, which made reading directions a little tricky and 2) it was 10:00pm and the wine was flowing when someone decided to embark upon this project. I'm that someone, by the way, and I stand by my decision.

Back to the crash the following day: some time around mid-afternoon I heard a suspicious noise from our bedroom. It sounded too loud to be any sort of rodent activity, so I checked it out without hesitation. When I looked in the closet I discovered one of our sturdy hanging units had separated itself from the wall. It could have been a disaster, but luckily the other screws were holding on for dear life and kept the shelves and hanging rod afloat. Apparently Alex and I had missed a stud--even after my big joke of the night where I referred to myself as the true "stud finder"--when we were screwing the hanging thing (that's what you call it at 2:00 in the morning) into the wall.

I should note that the endangered shelves and a hanging rod had already been meticulously organized by me. Even going off three hours of sleep, I can organize a closet; however, my spirit may not have recovered if I had had to witness my day's work strewn recklessly about. That would not have been a Sex in the City moment.

boys and their toys

Saturday morning I woke up and heard "I want to see the backhoe! Mommy, I want to see the backhoe!" Catcher had heard a beeping noise from his bedroom and knew there was some sort of "man" work going on outside that he just had to witness. Considering a backhoe had been parked on our street for the better half of two weeks, he was pretty accurate in his assumption that this backhoe was up to something that morning. From his room he ran straight to the dining room window only stopping to say "I can't not see it. Move the curtain please." (He did say please. He's very polite).

There's a giant hole in the street directly across from our house. I'm thankful that there weren't exploding pipes in our front yard so we didn't have to pay for this in any way, and I'm thankful that our house is temporarily off the market. I'm not confident that the black mulch--for curb appeal, remember--would counteract the eyesore of the construction vehicles inhabiting our street.

I left the little guy unattended for a few minutes to change Scout, and I came back into the living room to find him standing on the back of the sofa peering out the window for a bird's eye view of the action. Boys are funny.