The Fletchers' Dark Little Secret...

Our basement is hideous.

It's a nightmare of clashing colors, old/cheap/broken particle board furniture, toys the kids love mixed up with toys the kids hate strewn all over the place, paper hole punches and crumpled up crayon drawings, frames purchased from Walmart in the nineties (wasn't stylish then and sure isn't now). You get the point.

Saturday I just couldn't take it anymore. I told Steve I wanted to throw all of it away, especially the sagging entertainment center and the ugly beast of a desk, and he thought I was crazy. "It's a basement. It's supposed to look like crap," he said. "Besides, we can't get rid of that stuff. We can't afford to replace it." "I don't care," I said. "I'd rather have an empty room than a room full of garage sale junk. It makes me unhappy." "Where will we put the computer and the TV then?" he asked. "As far as I'm concerned, they can get tossed out with the rest," I told him. Now he thought I was REALLY crazy. He turned his attention away from me and back to the basketball game in session.

That's when I started going all "freaky female" on him, telling him that I was not just his personal maid and babysitter, asking him who was he to make the call on whether we kept all that junk or not anyway, and why was he only concerned with making me happy when it was convenient for him, but if it wasn't then, who cares about Jenn? And on and on...(Please tell me other wives do this, too. Not often, but sometimes?)

He stared at me for a while without saying anything. (Steve's a natural peacemaker and doesn't like to fight, so when I usually do this--which I try not to do too often--it gets results.) Then he began cleaning out the top three drawers of his dresser and all the junk out of our closet until it was downright spacious. "Here," he said, "Take your clothes out of your armoire and put them here. Then we can get rid of the entertainment center and put the TV in your armoire. I think we can also throw the desk out and put the computer on something else." Then we spent the rest of the night and half of Monday breaking down furniture, bagging up junk and finding a better spot for the things Steve truly could not let go. Then I used the money I was going to spend on a sewing machine to buy a new slip cover and pillows for the couch. Then I stripped the pictures off the walls and kept only the four pictures that I thought worked.

I tried to find pictures of our basement BEFORE the transition, but I obviously did not take many because it was so embarrassing to me. Here is the ugly old denim slipcover that--no matter how many "matching" pictures we tried to hang--never went well with the green walls.








Here is a VERY flattering picture of the entertainment center (and what looks like an episode of last season's American Idol). I tried to put baskets on the entertainment center to draw some attention away from it. Trust me, it is hideous. What you can't see are the doors long since broken off and the way it sagged in the middle. And don't get me started on the curtains, the pictures, the rug. Ack.

So here is the cleaned out, updated version. Time will tell, but I think I like it. At least it is clean and dejunked. (Note: the rocking chair was a non-negotiable Steve item.)

The armoire (which is tan, not pink as it appears in this photo) and the picture which I know is too small. That'll have to be replaced later.

Here's the new computer area. I wish I had a picture of what it used to look like. This is so much tidier.

Even Steve likes it better now. Phew.

Happy Birthday Grandma Kim!

If I were the Birthday Fairy and could grant you your birthday wishes (without actually asking you what you wanted, of course, and just off the top of my head...)

I would feed you breakfast in bed. Ice cream, of course.

Then I would make you go for a long scenic walk.

Pick whichever one you want. Or, heck, do all three. (Gotta burn off that ice cream!)



Then you'd come home and my kids would make you lunch.

Then right after I would have to take you to a real restaurant for some real food.

Afterward, you could shovel my driveway. I think we are supposed to get 2 plus inches of snow today.

Then I'd put you on a plane and send you to Norway to see the fjords.

Then I'd have you jet over to see the Bellagio.

Oh wait. Not that one. The real one in Italy. I don't think it has any singing water fountains, though. Sorry.

Then you'd hop over to Vienna to have your dinner and birthday cake at the lovely Sacher Hotel. (The famous Sacher torte.)

But you'd have to eat fast. You'd have to get back home before Noelle's bedtime so she could give you your birthday hug.

Ha! Beat that, Dad!

Happy Birthday, Mom! We love you!

A hatred for all things romantic.

Lincoln's defacement of Noelle's coloring book:

"You will come to jail!"

Prince Charming wearing a "Kick Me" sign.

Lincoln, if you are reading this right now (he's looking over my shoulder snickering) remember that just because I am posting this does not mean I condone it!

Please don't buy these homes!!!

On Sunday Steve and I went on a house-hunting drive. Just for fun. I mean, he still has a year left of his residency, so we can't actually put in an offer on our dream home for another year at least. Maybe two or three, depending on how long it takes us to sell our current (podunk) home and save for a decent down payment. So this drive was all in good fun...nothing serious.

Bad idea!!! We found our dream home...for sale...IN OUR PRICE RANGE (future price range, that is)...fitting every single criterion for both Steve and me. For some reason, we are both devastated. There is no way it will stay on the market for two more years. (I mean, technically, I guess it could. But that would be mean of us to hope for such a thing.) Here it is, all cute and red brick and five bedrooms and three acres in a good neighborhood zoned for the perfect schools...etc, etc, etc.



It even has a firepit (one of Steve's requirements). I tried to get inside pics, but they just had a slideshow set to music.


Then the next day, Steve found this house listed. THIS HOUSE! This house has been one of my "Iowa City" dream homes for a long time. Trust me, the pictures are not as quaint as the actuality. In real life it is a lovely blue-gray and the door is red. Also, these pictures were taken in the winter. In the summer, the house is surrounded by rolling green hills that go on forever. Set on a 6 acre lot, it also has five bedrooms, a finished walk-out basement, a huge screened-in porch, and--big perk--it is down the street from friends of ours (luckily they don't blog).

We are sooooo sad! Boohoo!

Making the case for buying a sewing machine.

All I've been able to think about in the last week is buying one of these:

Someone showed me a rag quilt a couple of weeks ago and I thought to myself, "I could do that! I could DO that!" And ever since I have thought of nothing but buying a sewing machine.

(A rag quilt)

I've spent hours researching until I have singled out the very machine I want, the one that is meant for me alone.

Here's the question I'm posing: Should I buy one?

Your first question will probably be: Can you afford it? (Sigh.) Not really. I mean, not if we want to eat fruits and vegetables this month.

But can I afford not to buy one?

Here's my exaggerated line of reasoning:

1. In this uncertain economy, shouldn't a person have some skills? You know, skills. Like the ability to garden, budget, fix things, and...sew?

2. Won't this sewing machine practically pay for itself in the next year as I am able to (for example) adjust the hemline on my daughter's dresses, thus extending their wear for another year?

3. Wouldn't the lovely Christmas rag quilts I'd make for my extended family be both useful and frugal?

4. Wouldn't it be nice for me to have one talent? I've sort of been the Talentless Woman for much, much too long. I'm ready to end that run now.

5. Isn't it my responsibility as a mother to teach these sorts of skills to my daughters? And wouldn't this sewing machine provide hours of memories and bonding moments between Laura and myself as we sew (aka...figure out how to sew) together?

--OR--

In this uncertain economy, should I save my money and wait until we can afford to both eat well AND buy a SM?

Help please?

Tradition

Every March Steve makes everyone fill out one of these:

And I mean, everyone:

Pictures from yesterday

I love living in a small town. Yesterday we walked to the post office to mail a package, then walked past the shopping district back to the park to see the duck pond, past the water park and City Hall (while Noelle called out at the top of her lungs, "Bye, ducks. I love you, ducks!"), the police station, the fire station, and back to the library, all contained within about four blocks. If we'd have wanted to, we could have seen all Coralville has to offer in about fifteen minutes. One of the perks...you save a lot of gasoline!

Pretending it's Summer

Funny how 40 degrees feels so chilly in October but sorta warm in March. The sun came out yesterday and it seemed like summer to us.

Steve played catch with the kids.

Noelle dressed for the occasion.

It wouldn't be summer without:

Our favorite thing to grill:

Isaac was the only one who wasn't convinced summer had arrived yet.

If you have both a two-year-old and a blog, then at some time you will post this:

One of those posts Steve would rather I not post...

When I picked Laura up from school today, she was red-faced and sad about something. I asked her what was wrong and she said, "I don't want to tell you." So, I started thinking something really bad must have happened. "Just tell me," I said. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Please???"

After begging for about five minutes, she finally confessed that the really "terrible" thing that happened at school was that she had broken the "Word of Wisdom". (I think everyone who reads this knows what that is, and if you don't just leave a comment saying so and I'll explain.)

After much coercion, she finally told me that one of her classmates had brought a birthday treat for the entire class, and after eating it Laura learned that she had eaten "coffee cake".

Laura was very offended when I burst out laughing. I had to explain to her that coffee cake doesn't actually contain any coffee. She's such a good kid...trying to set a good example for her coffee-flavored-dessert-loving mom.

Man, I could really go for a tiramisu right now:

How to get picky kids to eat their veggies.

I decided to try this new crockpot macaroni and cheese recipe. Needless to say it didn't work. In Laura's words, the sauce was too "chunky".


The broccoli looked really good by comparison. It disappeared just like magic.

(I was really sad this recipe didn't work. It curdled up like nobody's business. Steve ate it for two days straight, though, because the recipe called for 4 cups of shredded cheese and I couldn't stand to waste it.)

Email I received from Lincoln's piano teacher today:

"As you probably know I had promised Lincoln a prize if he figured something out this week (which he did). He confided in me during the middle of the lesson that he thought the prize would be a Nintendo Wii...hopefully the stickers weren't too much of a let down."

No, they weren't. We can't get enough of Star Wars around here...

Mystery

I found this sock when I was doing laundry yesterday. It's one of Lincoln's ratty ones. Every sock in our house is ratty. We all have holes in nearly every pair--mine, Steve's and all the kids. I just refuse to buy ANY MORE SOCKS until next fall. Well, this particular sock has three holes in it, but yesterday I realized that...

...someone had SEWN the holes shut.

With a sewing machine.

I don't own a sewing machine. And I can't for the life of me think who could have done this. Not any of my friends. Certainly not Lincoln's school teacher. I asked Lincoln and all he said was, "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," over and over again until I could finally see that he really did NOT know.

Who, who, who...??? But now I am mortally embarrassed. Someone...someone...saw my poor child's sock and thought "This child's mother is neglecting him," and then felt as though he/she must anonymously fix it for me!

Here's a another picture. If you enlarge it, I think you should be able to see the stitching that could only have been done by a machine.

And if you--the sock-mending culprit--are reading this, fess up!